13. Jake
THIRTEEN
JAKE
The bass from the jukebox vibrates through the soles of my boots, but my attention is locked entirely on the woman sitting across from me.
Campbell thinks she’s hiding it, but I see the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
I already won our little wager on the dance floor, and I spent the rest of the night capitalizing on it, dragging her back out there a handful of times.
She was a willing partner, and more than once, it was her idea that we stick around for the slow ones.
It’s that last dance that has my body still reacting to the feel of her. It was slow, dark, and entirely too close, one of those songs that preaches about giving in to urges and kissing your soul goodbye.
Done, and done.
The dining room at Earl’s is mostly empty, minus the few college students in town for summer classes. During the season, this place is patroned by three distinct groups—the players, the locals, and the tourists.
The clink of glassware being washed in the back cuts through the music still humming from the jukebox.
My mom always turns the volume down after eleven on weekdays, her subtle way to let folks know closing time is approaching.
We have an early start in the morning to prepare for the series against a tough squad from Tulsa, so the rest of the guys are clearing out.
I lean against the polished wood of the bar, swirling the remaining ice in my glass.
I took it easy tonight—one beer with dinner and the rest water or Diet Coke.
I noticed Campbell did the same, and I wonder whether that’s because she doesn’t want to relax her inhibitions or because she wants to stay alert and awake for the rest of the night.
To say my mind is buzzing from her mixed signals is an understatement.
I’m downright bewildered. But . . . I’m also hard as fuck, and I still feel the tickle of her fingernails against the back of my neck from our last turn on the dance floor.
Campbell is lingering a few feet away, pretending to check her phone, pretending she isn’t hyper-aware of exactly how close I am. She’s not making it obvious that she’s waiting for me, but I know her better than she thinks. She’s not done with me yet.
I brace myself for an opening or another lecture about how we can’t cross arbitrary lines.
“You know, McKinney,” she says, sliding a glance my way with a playful tug at the corner of her lips. “For a guy with a big series this weekend, you’re looking awfully relaxed.”
“I perform well under pressure, Hines,” I reply, using her last name to keep the playful banter rolling. I step closer until the heat radiating off her bare shoulders hits me. “Besides, I always get a good night’s sleep.”
Hunter and Renleigh, the girl he’s been chasing since he showed up in Sweetwater, holler goodbyes on their way out.
Normally, I’d scrutinize the fact that they’re leaving this place together and check in with my mom for the latest gossip.
But right now, the only person I’m interested in is the blonde leaning her weight against the bar near me, hoping to start a little thread of gossip of our own.
I turn my body fully toward her, locking my eyes onto hers. A long, lingering stare stretches between us. I let a slow smirk spread across my face, and it devolves into a raspy laugh. I rub my palm along my chin.
“Come home with me,” I say, my voice dropping an octave.
Campbell blinks, her chest rising and falling as she holds my gaze. “No way.”
The silence stretches, thick and heavy with a tension so sharp it practically cuts the air.
We just stare at each other, a silent battle of wills.
I don’t argue. I just keep my eyes fixed on hers as I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, and lay down enough cash to cover the tab for both of us plus a generous tip for the waitress. I toss the bills onto the bar.
“Suit yourself,” I say, stepping toward the exit. I pause at her side and lean in, adding, “But just know that’s an open invitation.”
I drop a soft kiss nobody sees on the soft curve of her shoulder, and it takes all of my will not to come back for more.
My mantra is one foot in front of the other until I’m in the parking lot alone, a welcome breeze helping me focus for a moment.
I hop into my truck and crane my neck, giving the heavy doors to Earl’s one more glance.
They remain shut, and I’m leaving alone.
I navigate my way onto the quiet, humid Sweetwater streets, and my eyes keep flicking to the rearview mirror.
I make it a full block away before spotting a familiar pair of headlights behind me.
It’s a good thing it’s after eleven at night, because my attention is locked on the car behind me rather than the stop sign I just blew through.
I hold my breath as we reach the intersection that leads to her place, and the sleek Mercedes doesn’t signal.
It keeps straight, trailing right behind my tailgate.
A dark, satisfied grin pulls at my mouth, and I shift in my seat as my cock swells in anticipation.
I turn into my apartment complex and pull into my usual covered parking spot.
In the reflection of my headlights against the concrete wall, I watch her Mercedes pull in right next to me.
Both engines cut out, leaving nothing but the tick of cooling metal and the muted music from my speakers.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just stare through our rolled-up windows at one another, the dashboard lights illuminating the hungry challenge passing between us.
I open my door and slide out, shutting it behind me.
I don’t head for the stairs, though. Instead, I lean casually against the side of my truck, crossing my ankles and arms as Campbell slowly opens her door and steps out into the sticky night air.
She walks around the trunk of her car, her eyes locking onto mine.
“Change your mind?” I tilt my head.
She stops a few feet away, her arms wrapped around her body, almost defensively. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Her voice is small but honest. “Just that . . . I couldn’t seem to not follow you home.”
An intense surge of possessiveness hits my chest, and I push off from the truck and move toward her. Campbell stands her ground, but a subtle shiver wracks her body as she fights her nerves.
When I reach her, I don’t hesitate. I reach out and wrap my fingers into her hair, pulling it back tightly into my fist just like I did at the bar. Her breath hitches, her chin lifting, and this time I don’t just taste her neck, I drop my mouth over hers.
Her soft whimper gets swallowed by the heat of the kiss.
The feel of her lips against mine hits my system like dopamine, and I’m unable to taste her enough.
My tongue tangles with hers, and rather than pulling away, she lifts up on her toes, her hands crawling up my chest and clinging to my shirt as she deepens our kiss.
A tiny cry escapes her mouth when our kiss breaks for a breath, and when my eyes land on hers, it’s nothing but molten heat between us.
In a breath, she leaps into my arms. I catch her easily, her thighs wrapping around my waist and her arms locking behind my neck.
I carry her weight effortlessly, keeping my lips glued to hers as I take the concrete steps to my crummy little apartment two at a time.
I kick the door open, step inside, and nudge it shut with my heel until the lock clicks. I set her feet back on the floor but keep her pinned against the wall for a fraction of a second, my gaze a warning of everything that’s yet to come. What I want to do to her. What I need.
I step away for a moment, dropping my keys and phone on the small entryway table, then walk to the far side of the room to turn on a low, bluesy track on the stereo, letting the bass fill the dimly lit space. I might live in a shithole, but it has everything we need right now.
My gaze snaps to hers, and I call her toward me with the curl of my finger. “Dance with me. Dance with the devil. And see just how dark I am.”
She walks forward, her eyes wide, completely captivated.
I take her hand, pulling her into my frame, spinning her out then clutching her close.
My mouth hovers over hers, our lips not quite touching as our bodies grind.
This dance isn’t like the ones at Earl’s.
It’s slow, agonizingly physical, and deeply sensual.
Our bodies rub together, matching the heavy rhythm of the music.
My hands slide down her back, learning the curves of her waist before gripping the edge of her breezy white top.
Slowly, deliberately, I lift her shirt off her body, dropping it to the floor after she raises her arms in consent. Her breasts sit up high in delicate lace cups, her nipples barely hidden behind intricate flower designs that I tickle with my fingertips.
“I like this. What’s it called?”
Her lips part with a silent gasp.
“Tatting, I think.”
“Tatting,” I repeat the word.
I swipe the delicate fabric out of the way with the pads of my thumbs, and she whimpers as I run my hands over the hard peaks of her breasts.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” My eyes bore into hers before dropping their focus to the milky skin that curves under the lace.
Campbell reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, giving me permission. When the garment falls to the floor, I sink my mouth over her right breast, sucking the sensitive pink skin into my mouth as my tongue swirls against the peak.
“Oh fuck,” she groans, and I grin against her tit.
“Okay,” I mutter.
A soft giggle leaves her lips, and she arches her back against my embrace, giving me more access to her soft, supple breasts.
I paint her with my tongue, teasing each nipple into a hard pebble as she moans loud enough that my nosy neighbor, an older woman named Bess, may come knocking to see if I’m all right.
I kind of hope she does so I can say, “Yeah, Bess. I’m fucking amazing! ”