Chapter 7
CLAY
An hour later, Clay was about to pot the black and win for the first time tonight when through the arch walked Stevie.
Stevie, her caramel-blonde tresses tumbling around her shoulders and down her back, in some kind of knit dress with a muted red and grey Aztec pattern that finished in a fringed hem which hit about mid-thigh and swung with every step.
What was it with this woman and fringes?
Not to mention a pair of red cowgirl boots that came to mid-calf. And in between? A whole lotta leg. A whole lotta flesh. Tanned, smooth, golden flesh.
Startled by her presence and the damn sway of that fringe, Clay screwed up the shot, hitting the white just off the mark and a triumphant Dev whooped.
‘Well lookie here,’ Ivan said quietly as he bent in close to Clay’s ear, relieving him of the stick.
Dev’s face lit up. ‘Hey, it’s Stevie.’
His friend’s easy familiarity with this woman was like needles being shoved into Clay’s eyeballs.
Mags followed closely behind in her standard jeans and T-shirt with a tractor logo on the front, and Dev’s smile faded as he muttered, ‘Aaand your sister,’ less enthusiastically. ‘Hey, brat.’
‘Nice to see you too, Devlin,’ Mags said, her lips twisted into a sarcastic smile.
Dev and Mags had known and been giving each other shit for the entire twelve years Dev had been working the ranch. Ever since he’d called her brat that first day they’d met after she’d whopped his ass at roping and hadn’t let Dev forget it. So, it was like water off a duck’s back to Clay.
He was pretty sure it was water off a duck’s back to everyone by now including themselves – a familiar patter neither knew how to shake.
Given Mags gave him – her only sibling – shit most of the time, too, it was practically his sister’s love language. Hell, it was almost her entire personality. ‘What are you guys doing here?’ Clay asked when he was finally able to form words.
‘Cookout was done and Stevie and I, being hot and single, decided to hit the town.’
Clay was pretty sure hitting the town had not been Stevie’s idea.
But there was no part of him that objected to her being here with his sister even though the wisest course of action would be to leave.
He was excruciatingly aware he had a bad case of the hots for her and that dress was not helping the situation.
Not even the slim silver band on her hand was counteracting the effect of that dress.
Beau appeared with two Buds, handing them to the women. Mags immediately downed half of hers and burped loudly, her eyes daring Dev to comment.
He, wisely, did not.
‘Rack ’em up?’ Mags asked. ‘Gals versus guys?’ She smiled sweetly at Ivan. ‘You don’t mind sitting out, do you, so we can hand both these bozos their asses?’
Ivan grunted his consent as he passed her his cue.
Ignoring his sister, Clay clocked the awkward way Stevie held the beer bottle and realised she was probably a non-drinker as well. Not that he gave a shit, it was just another reminder that they had nothing in common, so why the fuck had his brain set its sights on her?
He quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Can you even play?’
A flicker of something burned like white flame in Stevie’s eyes as she jutted her chin. ‘They have pool tables in Boston.’ And then, raising the bottle to her mouth, she pressed her lips to the glass and took several long swallows as she eyed him over the rim.
Had she yanked down his zipper and shoved her hands in his pants, Clay doubted the speed with which his cock reacted could be swifter.
Fucking hell. She was turning him fifteen again.
Unfortunately there was no erection-killing burp, either. Just her mouth glistening temptingly in the fluorescent light after she’d drunk her fill.
Thankfully Mags interrupted the moment by striding forward and pulling a ten-dollar note out of the front pocket of her jeans and laying it on the table. ‘Too chicken?’ she challenged, but Clay was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at him.
Dev half snorted as he grabbed the triangle from the wall rack and reset the table.
Clay played terribly. Yes, sure, Dev – whose father had been a professional pool hustler before he’d hustled the wrong person in a Texan bar one night, leading to his demise – was far better, but Clay was no slouch.
Unfortunately, he’d been far too aware of where Stevie was every single second of the three games they’d played, completely ruining his concentration.
Aware of the little mou of concentration that pursed her lips and puckered her brow as she lined up her shot.
Aware that when she bent over the table to pot a ball, that dress rode up, outlining her ass to perfection and causing the fringe to caress the backs of her thighs.
Aware of her long hair brushing against the felt.
Aware that his dick was stubbornly, painfully erect.
‘Jesus, dude, with partners like you I don’t need enemies,’ Dev muttered as Clay missed another shot he’d usually be able to make blindfolded.
Consequently they lost all three games, Dev’s skills no match for Clay’s current ineptitude with the stick. And Mags was gleeful, whooping as she scooped up the prize pool and fluffed it not far from Dev’s face.
‘Drinks on us,’ she said swiftly before looping her arm through Stevie’s and marching them in the direction of the bar.
Ivan glanced at Clay. ‘Those two are trouble.’
Clay couldn’t agree more but they followed them into the bar anyway, finding them at a booth with Beau about to take their order.
Clay slid in opposite Stevie, who gave him a small, uncertain smile, which slithered right between his ribs.
Ivan sat next to him because although the red vinyl seats sat three aside, Ivan took up a lot of space.
Which left Dev to squeeze in next to Mags.
‘I hear you guys got an ass kicking,’ Beau said, a big grin splitting his face.
‘Yeah,’ Dev agreed. ‘But I had a handicap.’
Clay shot him a withering look. ‘Bite me, dickhead.’
‘Beers all round,’ Mags said, smiling at Beau. ‘And’ – she made a show of handing over all the cash they’d won right in front of Dev’s nose – ‘get one for yourself.’ She winked. ‘Keep the change.’
Beau honked out a laugh as he took the cash and Dev rolled his eyes. Ignoring his nemesis, he glanced past her to Stevie. ‘You play pretty good.’
Pretty good from Dev was high praise indeed.
Another small smile was directed at Dev this time. ‘We have a pool table at home, Yolly—’
She cut off abruptly and Clay watched as her throat worked, like she was trying really hard to choke back emotion. The lighting was more subtle out here with the warm red glow from the lanterns, but Clay was at the right angle to see the glassy sheen in her eyes before she blinked it away.
‘My sister and I played a lot.’
There was a pregnant pause at the table, nobody sure whether they should ask about her sister or just go on. The car crash a couple of years back was no secret but out here, celebrity or not, people didn’t pry.
Thankfully, after an awkward few moments, Stevie moved the conversation on. ‘You’re very good,’ she murmured.
Dev shrugged. ‘Misspent youth.’
‘Really?’ She grinned. ‘Sounds like you have stories.’
‘Oh please,’ Mags interrupted. ‘Do not encourage the man.’
There was general laughter then as Mags begged Ivan to tell Stevie the story about the Clydesdale that had given him a love bite a couple of years back which he did in that way of his – unembellished – and the conversation ebbed and flowed from there until Beau kicked them out two hours later.
‘You don’t close for another hour,’ Mags protested.
‘Yeah but you lot are the only ones left and I own the place so watcha gonna do?’
‘Fine,’ she huffed. ‘But that’s a terrible way to do business.’
Beau shrugged again. ‘You’re welcome to go drink at Joe’s.’
Clay laughed as his sister mumbled under her breath. Very few people from Redemption went to Joe’s. It was five miles out on the highway and a total dive.
‘Fine,’ Mags huffed as she glanced at Stevie. ‘You ready to hit the road?’
‘You can’t drive,’ Dev said, frowning at Mags.
She rolled her eyes at him. ‘I have no intention of getting behind a wheel. Dad dropped us in. I told him we’d get a lift back with Clay.’
‘And what if Clay had picked up?’ Dev asked.
All eyes turned to him then – including Stevie, who watched him closely. Then everybody, bar Stevie, laughed. Even Ivan.
‘Good one,’ Mags said, slapping the table with her palm like it was the most hysterical thing she’d ever heard.
Clay shook his head. ‘You’re all comedians.’
A puzzled expression flitted across Stevie’s face as if she was trying to decipher the implications of the inside joke, but Mags had moved on. ‘Shotgun the window seat,’ she said.
Oh, crap…
Clay’s classic, old, fully restored FJ pickup that he’d brought with some of his first winnings on the circuit was his pride and joy but there was a single bench seat and nowhere near the room of a modern vehicle. Fine for two but a real squash with three.
Which meant he and Stevie would be sitting real close. Her arm, pressed against his arm. Her leg and its accompanying fringes pressed against his leg.
His erection would be back for sure.
Digging Dev in the ribs, Mags muttered, ‘Move, dude, Beau needs his beauty sleep.’
‘And where am I supposed to sit?’ he demanded.
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Ivan volunteered. ‘Clay can take the ladies.’
The RVR was in the opposite direction to Ivan’s ranch, but Clay would have expected no less. People helped each other out here. That shit was just ingrained.
‘Ooh. Did you hear that, Stevie?’ Mags’s eyebrows raised. ‘We’re ladies.’
‘At least one of you is,’ Dev quipped as he slid out of the booth and they all headed for the door.