Chapter 17 To Hell with the Rules
TO HELL WITH THE RULES
MADISON
I slip in through the back door of Whiskey Cove, the soft blue fabric of my dress lifting around my thighs as a gust of wind sweeps in behind me.
My boots echo down the hall with each step I take.
A low hum of music drifts in from the front, and I pause, checking the storeroom, kitchen, and office. Where is everyone?
The only car I saw when I arrived was Hunter’s, but usually, the guys are still around at this hour. I push through the door to the front of the bar. Chairs are stacked on the tables, and a sharp lemon scent hangs in the air, masking a night of alcohol, fried food, and sweat.
Hunter sits at the bar, in the same stools we shared that first night we talked.
A whiskey in hand, a red wine waiting for me in front of him.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I take him in.
His thighs strain against his denim jeans, and the black fabric of his shirt hugs his chest and biceps.
His jawline is sharp enough to cut, and my fingers itch to brush against it.
He hears me approaching and turns his head. His eyes trace me from head to toe, heat and something raw flicker in his stare. His lips part slightly, and his shoulders tense, like he’s trying to stop himself from giving in to the pull between us.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, sliding onto the stool next to him.
“I sent them home,” he says, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“Didn’t want to share me?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
I glance away, heat flooding my cheeks. Where the hell did that come from? Being bold isn’t me anymore. That’s the old me. Hunter pushes the wine toward me, and I take it happily, lifting the glass in a long sip to calm my nerves.
“In case I haven’t made myself clear lately,” he murmurs, voice low, “I never want to share you.”
There goes my heart, punching, kicking, trying to beat its way out of my chest. Heat rushes up my throat, my fingers tightening around my wine glass.
“Oh…” I barely breathe.
“Yeah, oh.” He tips back the last of his whiskey in one smooth gulp, the muscles in his throat working as he sets the glass down.
I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t even think it’s a question.
I’ve never seen this side of him—the possessiveness.
Sure, I’ve had a little taste of it. The sharp glares he’d send across a room, the subtle touches, the way his jaw would tick when someone else made me laugh.
But he’s never claimed me in front of anyone, or stated so boldly that he doesn’t want to share me.
I know I don’t want to share him. I couldn’t watch someone else’s hands on him, couldn’t stomach the idea of him enjoying a touch that wasn’t mine.
“You don’t want to share me either, do you?” His voice pulls me from my thoughts.
My lips twitch as I fight back a smile. I’m not ready for that conversation.
“How are you going with organizing Halle’s birthday? Is everyone on board?”
His eyes narrow at me, a low chuckle leaving him. “Not so subtle with the conversation change there.”
I shrug, giving him my most innocent smile. I finish the last of my wine, letting the warmth settle throughout my body. Hunter reaches for the bottle, eyebrows raised in question, but I shake my head.
“One’s enough tonight,” I say.
Being this close to him already scrambles every coherent thought I have; my pulse is doing somersaults, my brain is melting by the second. The last thing I need is alcohol cheering it on.
“Halle’s birthday is all set. Asher and I sorted the arcade booking today. He’ll tell her they’re going to Ashfalls for a date. And the rest of us will carpool together.”
“She’s going to hate this,” I say, half laughing. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Asher keeps saying the same thing.” He lifts a shoulder, eyes softening.
“But it’s something I’ve wanted to do for her since we were kids.
Walking through the arcade was a highlight for her.
After everything she’s been through, I want one day where we can be kids again and have our crew with us. ”
“You’re a good brother,” I say.
“I’m really trying.” He taps his knuckles on the bar. “We’ve been doing family dinners once a week. It’s been nice.”
“You still haven’t given her the letters?”
His jaw tightens, shaking his head. “No. I swear I’m going to, I’m just waiting for the right time.”
“There’s never going to be a right time,” I say softly.
“I know.” His hand rakes through his hair.
He suddenly stands and reaches for my hand, pulling me up. “Can we forget all the serious stuff for one night?” he asks, eyes pleading. “Come play a game of pool with me. Have some fun.”
We walk over to one of the three pool tables on the left side of the bar, the low pendant lights catching on the green felt.
Hunter grabs two cues from the rack and hands me one, his fingers brushing mine before going back to the table.
He lifts the triangle off its hook at the end and sets it down carefully.
One by one, he drops the balls into place; the knock of each one echoes through the empty bar.
“Are you sure? You haven’t opened the next letter, have you?” I push.
He doesn’t look up, but shimmies the triangle a little harder than needed.
I know if I don’t ask, he’ll keep pretending the weight isn’t there.
He’ll fall into this new rhythm he’s built, pretending things are fine.
Those letters will sit in the back of his mind, and eventually, they’ll drag him under.
They’ll get heavier and heavier until he can’t take it anymore.
I don’t want that for him. He hasn’t come this far to give up now.
He straightens, pointing his cue at me with a spark in his eyes. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you win this game, we’ll do it your way. Call it a night, get serious, and open a letter.”
“And if you win?” I ask.
“If I win…”
He closes the gap between us, slow and deliberate, until I have to tilt my head to meet his stare. Heat rolls off him and straight down to my core.
“I get to taste you,” he rasps.
The air thickens. His fingers skim my shoulders, sliding under the two thin straps holding my dress in place. He gives them the slightest tug, barely anything, and my breath catches like he’s tugging on my lungs.
“Why?” I manage to whisper.
“Because I’ve been craving you since the last night I had you.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower. “Dying for a taste again.”
A burst of panic or desire—something sharp—courses through me.
“I’m sure you’ve had others since me.” My voice wobbles.
His brows knit, tongue slipping out to wet his lower lip. “Fuck no,” he says, voice thick and honest. “No one compares to you. There’s never going to be others.”
His words steal the air from my lungs. “Oh…”
Of course, he catches it; his smirk is slow and devastating. “I’m really good at making you speechless lately, aren’t I?”
“Shut up.”
“Do we have a deal, baby girl?” he asks, stepping back, giving me space that somehow feels like a challenge.
Do I want to do this?
God, I do. I really do.
I haven’t been touched in months, haven’t felt the desire to be touched by anyone until now.
The crazy thing is… even if I win, even if we end the night in letters and all the heavy things, a part of me knows I’ll still end up wanting his hands on me.
The serious stuff will still be there tomorrow.
The expectations, the carefulness. But this?
Living in the moment, having one night off from all the rules, sounds pretty amazing to me.
It’s something old me would have jumped at, something I would have pushed for.
To hell with the rules. A girl has needs, too.
I flash him a slow smile and saunter over to the table.
Leaning forward, I line up the white ball with the perfect amount of intention.
My eyes lift, catching his, holding… daring.
Then the cue cracks against the white. It shoots forward, scattering the others across the felt.
I let the smirk tug at my lips as I straighten.
“Deal.”