Hard Pass (Lone Star Rebels #2)

PROLOGUE

Dublin

Cabo San Lucas is loud.

Not just the music thumping through the walls or the laughter spilling onto the street, but the kind of loud that gets under your skin. There’s heat from so many bodies packed close. There’s a pulse of recklessness humming through what feels like everything and everyone here.

It’s the place you come to lose yourself for a bit. To pretend to be somebody else. Then once you board your flight home, you forget it all.

Or pretend to.

It’s taking everything I have to live by that motto for the next couple of days. Everything I have and a copious amount of alcohol to believe that I just might act on it.

“Dare I ask how many drinks you’ve had?” my best friend, Willa, asks as she studies me.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I close my eyes and let my head fall back as the bar moves around me.

“Four?”

“So observant, but I honestly can’t tell you,” I say with a lazy salute and glance across the vast space to where a large crowd is cheering on someone.

“Dublin? What’s going on?”

I laugh and the sound is lighter than I feel. I’m buzzed—well, more than buzzed—but I have all my faculties about me and just enough liquid courage to make some deliciously bad decisions. “You said this trip was for me to let loose for a few days. To be someone I’m not.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but I’ve never actually done it before and now that I am, you’re questioning your suggestion?

” I laugh again and hook an arm around her shoulder.

“I start a new job in five days. You, my best friend of all friends, are moving in with her boyfriend and will no longer be my roommate. And I haven’t been laid in way too long.

You said it yourself, if there was ever a time for me to break out of my rut, this weekend getaway is it. ”

“This isn’t like you,” she says finally.

“I know.”

And she’s right. This isn’t like me, the woman who’s been dubbed the no-fun queen more than a couple of times in the past few months. The one who stays home to work instead of going out, who plans instead of reacts, and who always—always—makes the safe choice.

This trip—tonight—doesn’t feel safe, and that’s what I need.

“You’re being a tad melodramatic, Dub. You might be super rigid and scheduled, but you’ve never been in a rut.”

“Ha. You’re so full of shit. I am and I’m totally okay with it. I’m proud of who I am and all I’ve accomplished—”

“Says the genius of our friend group.”

I wave a hand at her to dismiss her comment. “But also, maybe this weekend I don’t want to be that girl, ya know?”

My gaze drifts again, landing where it’s been returning all night whether I mean to or not.

Him.

He’s the focus of attention on a raised platform near the back of the bar, surrounded by people cheering him on like he’s the main event. Like he’s a god. Beer in hand, head tipped back in laughter, women and men alike vie for his attention, and yet he’s completely and effortlessly at ease.

He’s tall and shirtless with tanned skin, broad shoulders, and sculpted abs for days.

And I’m far from the only one in this club who’s noticed how attractive he is.

He’s everything I never go for—center of attention, loud, a man who takes up space without ever questioning if he should. And definitely someone I’d never expect to give me the time of day, especially not here, in an atmosphere where skin is abundant and inhibition is worn like a badge.

But I’m not her tonight. Not Dublin Locke, who has both a planner she writes in with a pen and an electronic calendar she uses as a backup.

Not the woman who checks her front door three times before she leaves to make sure it’s locked and then worries a few more times that it isn’t.

And definitely not the woman starting a serious job next week that utilizes her attention to detail and her ability to make sure people adhere to the rules.

Rules, that tonight, I simply don’t want to play by.

He puts his hands to his lips and shouts out when a song comes on, the crowd around him cheering.

I can’t stop watching him.

Willa follows my line of sight and lets out a low whistle. “Oh, absolutely not. That man has flirted with every woman in this bar tonight.”

“More like they’ve flirted with him.” I smile slowly. “And that’s exactly why I should.”

“Dublin, I—”

“You dared me to be different.” I toss back the rest of my drink.

“I didn’t mean that different.” Her eyes are wide as she gestures toward him.

I ignore the slight sense of doubt, that Willa doesn’t believe I can pull him. She’s probably right.

“I’m going to do this,” I say. “You have my location on your phone. You can find me if you’re worried. But”—I glance back as another cheer goes up and he hops down off the stage—“I’m not half-assing on this.”

Go big or go home, right?

The closer I get to him, the louder everything feels. The music. The laughter. The pulse of recklessness building with every step I take.

This is a terrible idea.

Every rational part of me hidden beneath it knows this is a dumb move—especially here in a foreign city where everything is unfamiliar—but isn’t that the point? To be wild just this once so twenty years from now I can at least say I lived?

I just move. Through the crowd. Against the grain. And push my way into the inner circle of beautiful people that surround him.

When I reach his table, he turns around to accept another beer from a guy to his right, before noticing me. And when he does, his gaze drops as he takes me in.

His grin is lazy—or maybe drunken—as we stare at each other.

“You.” I don’t know where the word comes from, but it’s out of my mouth before I can think twice.

“Me?” I like the hint of amusement in his reply.

“Yeah.” I lift my chin slightly. “You.”

Something shifts in his expression. Interest maybe? Or curiosity.

He’s even more attractive up close. Sandy-blond hair. Pale blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Strong features that make him more like Mr. All-American mixed with Abercrombie model. Athletic in that wiry, corded muscle way rather than bulky.

And yes, the etched lines and divots in his sculpted torso are even sexier up close. They call for me to reach out and touch them.

“Is that so?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as his grin deepens.

“It is. I’ve decided and my decision is final.” Who am I?

He barks out a laugh that has me leaning closer. “Bold.”

“More like reckless,” I say.

“That too.” He lifts his beer to his lips, keeping his gaze locked on mine. “What’s your name?”

I laugh, glance back at where Willa is watching, and then shake my head. “You really don’t care what my name is.”

He lifts a lone eyebrow. “Probably not.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“More like efficient,” he states.

I tilt my head, studying him as the edges of my usual caution blur to make me think this is possible.

“Why, because you’ll forget my name by the time the sun rises?”

“Is that your plan? To see the sun rise with me?” he asks.

I shrug, my eyes dipping back down to his chest. His lips. Back to his eyes. “Depends how this conversation goes.”

He chuckles as his eyes fire with what I can only read as desire. “So no name then?”

“Why pretend you even care what it is if you’re going to forget it?” I ask.

He waves a dismissing hand at someone trying to get his attention. That simple action bolsters my confidence. “I still have to call you something because beautiful is cheesy.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “No cheesier than that horrific line you just tried on me.”

He shrugs unabashedly. “Not unlike your determined ‘You’ when you walked up to me.”

“It got your attention, didn’t it?”

“It did, more than anyone else has.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I quirk a brow and take the drink the waiter hands me after he points toward Willa—who’s still watching—to let me know she ordered it for me.

“You’re still standing here, aren’t you?” His gaze drifts over me slowly, taking his time in a way that should feel invasive but doesn’t. “Trouble.”

“What’s that?” I ask, stepping closer because I didn’t quite hear him. I’m hit with the subtle scent of sun and a clean smelling cologne.

He leans in, his lips so close to my ear that I can feel the warmth of his breath. It sends chills over my skin. “Trouble,” he repeats. “That’s your name.”

Why does that turn me on?

“Not exactly original,” I say, wanting to keep the conversation going. His interest bolsters my courage.

“It fits.”

“Maybe.”

This is the part where I don’t know what comes next. Where the liquid courage has waned and sensibility is winning over. Is he just teasing me or—

“No need to be nervous,” he murmurs just below the fray.

“You know . . . this isn’t like me to—”

“Good thing you’re not being you tonight then, right?”

He’s got me there.

“And if you’re not being you tonight,” he continues, “then why me?”

“My friend assumed I wouldn’t have the courage to walk over here, to . . .”

“To . . .?”

“Take you back to my room tonight.”

Jesus, I need another drink.

A smile ghosts over his lips. “So that’s your master plan?”

I shrug. “No. Yes. This is ridiculous. I’ll—”

“Wait.” He grabs my wrist, and it’s the first time he’s touched me. My pulse thuds and the warmth of his hand burns against the skin of my wrist. “Let’s think this through.”

“You’re drunk. I’m drunk. It’s a stupid—”

“Drunk is okay. Drunk is allowed. Drunk is what encouraged you to walk over here to me,” he says with confidence.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Yes, it did.”

“And what is it that you want?”

Silence stretches. My mouth goes dry but my courage returns. I grin. “Trouble.”

He laughs. “That could be dangerous for both of us.”

My hands tremble and heart races. “Your point?”

“I guess we better give that friend of yours a show of good faith before we disappear for the night.”

I’m so busy processing what he just said that his words don’t fully compute. “What do you mean—”

His hands are framing my face, and his lips are on mine before I can finish the sentence.

Like it’s an inevitable conclusion.

There’s no hesitation on his part. No testing if this is what he wants. He’s all in from the start.

For a split second, I think, oh, this is a mistake.

And then he devours me and every coherent thought disappears.

The kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s heat and precision, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and isn’t bothering to hold back.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, anchoring me.

I should care that we’re in the middle of a crowded bar, that people are watching, that this is reckless and completely out of character . . . but I don’t.

How can I when this kiss—God, this kiss—is skilled. It’s confident. It’s “the” kiss that makes your knees go weak and your head spin in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol.

And yes, I’m aware how buzzed I am, but I’m also extremely aware of how devastating his lips on mine are.

I’ll remember this kiss for the rest of my life, as it will become the measure for future kisses.

His thumb brushes along my jaw, tilting my head to deepen it, and I let him. I lean into it—into him—because pulling away isn’t even an option now.

Not when everything about this feels like a dare I don’t want to lose.

And when he finally pulls back, our breaths mix. I can feel the ghost of his mouth still on mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

Then his hand finds mine. “C’mon,” he says, voice lower now and rougher at the edges.

I don’t hesitate. Not even a little.

And I sure as hell don’t care about the hoots and hollers that follow us because our intentions are unabashedly clear.

As we make our way out of the bar, I’m aware of movement—of meeting Willa’s knowing glance as we pass by her—but it all blurs together. It’s background noise to the way his hand tightens around mine, pulling me forward. A physical demand to show me how much he wants me.

It’s empowering.

It’s equally terrifying.

The hotel lobby is quieter than the bar attached to it, but the energy between us hasn’t faded. My body aches with the sweetest burn from that same dangerous cocktail of alcohol, lust, and desire. Anticipation is a drug headier than the other two combined.

The elevator door slides open and we step inside.

The second they shut, we’re on each other.

There’s no control this time. No audience to watch.

It’s messy and urgent. A collision of mouths and hands and heat that has everything to do with want.

No logic here. My back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his body presses into mine, one hand braced beside my head while the other finds my waist and pulls me closer like there’s still distance between us.

Like there could ever be enough.

And for tonight? That’s absolutely correct.

And I’m here for it.