Chapter 8
Eight
Another night. Another location. Another group of cowboys drinking around a crackling fire.
At least this is our last stop before we head home.
I can see why Holden’s tired of this lifestyle and ready to settle down.
I’ve been to a handful of rodeos and I’m over it.
In fact, the only reason I’m here now, rather than curled up in bed with a book, is because I didn’t trust myself not to text Holden.
Considering the way he handled our kiss, I didn’t know what to expect after the sexting, mutual masturbation moment.
But the following morning, I woke up to find a mug of coffee waiting for me.
We sat on opposite sides of the dinette, our knees occasionally knocking, while I read and he scrolled on his phone.
When seven a.m. rolled around, he was herding Logan and me into the truck. And that was that.
I have no clue where Holden and I stand. Probably never will, given his voiced disdain about talking through things.
The small fire throws sparks into the dark, and a wispy smoke ring encircles the distant waxing moon.
I shuffle my flip-flops around in the dusty gravel underfoot and sip my lukewarm vodka cooler.
I’m both pretending to be listening to the conversation around me and pretending not to catalogue Holden’s every movement.
He’s across the fire, elbows resting on his knees, listening to a girl talk his ear off about barrel racing. She’s pretty enough. Prettier when she smiles, which is something that’s happening frequently. Almost as often, her fingers brush his forearm.
It totally doesn’t bother me.
“Earth to Sunday.” Logan nudges my knee with his. He uses the drink in his hand to gesture toward where some guys are playing beer pong on a folding plastic table. “Wanna play?”
I groan in response.
Holden’s brunette sweeps her long, messy braid over her shoulder to see what Logan’s pointing at. “Oh, I’m so good at beer pong. The four of us should play.”
Holden doesn’t take his eyes off the flickering fire. “No, thanks.”
“You two are fucking boring,” Logan says. “Bet both of you would rather be in bed right now.”
If I wasn’t constantly stealing glances at Holden, I’d probably miss the way his focus shifts to me at that comment. I know we’re both thinking about what happened the last time we were alone in our separate beds.
“Come play with me,” the brunette coos. Her nails rake over Holden’s bare forearm. Fuck her. Yeah, it’s not her fault I kind of want to throw a handful of hot coals at her, because he isn’t even mine to lay claim to. But fuck her all the same.
Except don’t fuck her, Holden. Please.
“I’ll play.” I stand, smoothing my hands over the wrinkled fabric of my summer dress. As expected, Logan’s quick to hop up beside me, and he gives my butt a light squeeze. Holden clocks it. Selfishly, I love that.
“I will, too,” he concedes.
We take our places on either end of the table, and the guys get to work setting up rows upon rows of plastic cups.
“I’m Raquel, by the way,” the bouncy cowgirl says.
I give her a thin smile. “I’m Sunday.”
“Like the day or like the dessert?”
“Like the day,” I cooly reply.
“Why Sunday?” Raquel asks. I can’t help but notice the way Holden’s ears perk up, too.
“The guy who’s probably my father was named Domingo, which means Sunday. God only knows why my mom thought she should name me after some guy she slept with one time, or why she didn’t go with any of the million feminine variations of his name.”
Logan throws an arm around me. “She’s as sweet as the dessert, though.”
Holden forcefully exhales through his nose. “Can we get this game over with?”
I reach for the sticky, plastic ball resting on the dirty table and line up my shot.
“You got this, babe.” Logan winks. “Don’t embarrass me.”
Holden’s jaw tightens as he grabs his drink and takes a long pull.
“Um, is the elbow rule a thing here? Like can I throw from”—I lean into the table—“here?”
“This isn’t the Olympics.” Logan shakes his head. “Just toss the ball into a cup.”
I throw. Miss spectacularly. The ball flies beyond the table, and Holden catches it right before it pegs him in the chest.
He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “And you were worried about the elbow rule? You might want to try standing about five feet back from where you are now.”
“That was a warm up,” I insist, rolling my shoulder.
“Okay, redemption shot, then.” He tosses the ball back.
To nobody’s surprise, I miss again. This time I’m way too short.
Logan sighs. “Making me regret asking you to be on my team.”
Well, same. And it’s only made worse when Raquel turns out not to be a liar—she really is good at beer pong. She nails every throw. I miss all of mine.
Eventually, Logan wanders off for a refill and doesn’t come back. After a few obnoxious minutes with Raquel incessantly bouncing the ball on the plastic tabletop, she suggests we bring in another teammate for me to continue the game.
“Nah. Better quit while I’m ahead.” I look down at my nearly empty drink and scrunch my nose. The vodka’s already humming sweetly through my veins, and I find myself staring at Holden even more. Caring even less who notices.
Holden gives me an amused look. “You haven’t landed a single shot. I’d hardly say you’re ahead.”
I shush him with a flimsy flap of my hand. “Semantics.”
Raquel tucks herself against Holden’s side and smiles up at him. “Want to get out of here?”
My stomach flips inside out. Holden’s a little too quiet for a little too long. I can’t believe what a fucking idiot I am. He told me we were a mistake, and now he’s going to prove how little he thinks of me by taking off with some woman he just met.
“Maybe later.” He shakes off her touch and points toward the fire pit. It’s mostly embers now, with only the occasional flicker of firelight. “I should grab some more wood. Sunday, you wanna help?”
“Sure,” I agree a little too quickly.
His stride’s fast, and my much shorter legs struggle to keep up as we head around the back of a nearby trailer.
“Raquel seems nice,” I note.
“Is that why you’ve been glaring at her like you’re contemplating setting her on fire?”
Guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.
“Glaring and plotting someone’s demise is your thing, remember? I was squinting because it’s dark out.”
We stop between two closely parked rigs, far enough from the fire that the music is dull background noise and the air is a couple degrees cooler.
“You’re jealous,” he states with the type of slow, knowing smile that gets under my skin.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind having a fraction of her beer pong talent,” I blather on. “Do you think she uses that to hustle cowboys at rodeos? That’s what I would do.”
He steps in, close enough I can smell the wood smoke and beer and soap on him. The tension between us grows so thick, I have to force myself to swallow.
“You’ve been watching me all night, angel.”
“I could say the same about you.” I tip my chin up to meet his eyes, my heart fluttering madly in my throat. “You sure didn’t miss Logan grabbing my ass.”
“That wasn’t my favorite moment,” he admits. Holden reaches for me but stops short. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
I take his hand, guiding it to my waist, and whisper, “But fuck it?”
His mouth captures mine, and all at once, we’re the only two people who exist. Our kiss is ravenous and reckless, and my back collides with the cool metal of a pickup truck. He has me caged with his big arms pressed to the truck on either side of my head.
His kisses move to my jaw. My ear. My neck. I quiver at the brush of his stubble on my skin. All I can do is curve my body to give him better access. What I really want is to grab his rough hands and direct them to the most intimate part of me.
“Fuck, I want you so bad.” He says the words like they’re paining him, his teeth scraping the side of my neck. “You’re sweeter than the dessert.”
Holden grabs my ass and pulls my pelvis roughly into him. Oh, God. He feels so big. My hips develop a mind of their own, rolling to feel the hard length of him pressing against me. My stomach hollows, a trapped whimper slipping through my clenched teeth when he bumps my clit.
His thumb drags along the low-cut neckline of my dress, and when he pulls the fabric down low enough for my pebbled nipple to slip out, every thought I’ve ever had scatters like beads from a broken necklace. He sucks the tender peak into his mouth, and I gasp, hands coming to his head.
I’m desperate to say his name, but afraid I’ll end up screaming it.
With a low groan, his lips come to find mine again.
We are totally fucked. This doesn’t feel like two horny adults who find one other attractive.
He doesn’t look at me as a means to an orgasmic end, and I’m afraid if we keep going, we’ll destroy ourselves.
But the cost of stopping this now is never knowing how it feels to come undone at the mercy of Holden Kearney.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to live with that.
My hips move fast against his hard cock now, tilting and grinding despite the layers of clothing between us. He’s hitting my clit so aggressively it borders on painful, but in a good, delicious way. In a way that has me writhing and arching against him, pushing myself to the brink. And then over.
I fall into the orgasm, trusting Holden entirely. He muffles my cry with a sweeping kiss, then straightens my dress and smooths his hands over my mussed-up hair.
“Sunday, I—”
“We should go.” I’m too fragile post-orgasm to hear him explain once again how we shouldn’t have done this.
I get it. I’m nothing but a mistake he can’t stop himself from making. And each time, he comes to his senses a little too late, stealing pieces of my heart in the process.