K. Bromberg - Slow Burn

And for a second, I softly exhale the breath I’ve been holding over my claimed possession of Becks because she’s missed it.

“Oh, and, Had?” she says as she rises from her chair and starts to walk toward her company outside. “Don’t think I didn’t catch that little slip of the tongue.” She throws the comment over her shoulder and just keeps on walking without looking back.

Chapter 18

BECKETT

“So, uh, you brown-bagging it or what?”

Colton is standing to my right but I keep my head turned so I can watch Haddie in the lounge chair across the deck. In her bikini, she’s sexy as hell all the way down to that diamond glistening in her navel, which I never knew she had because she’s never worn it. And damn, it’s just ridiculously hot in so many ways.

“Brown-bagging it?”

He plops himself down across from me, the cushion making a noise from the force before he leans back and props his feet up on the table catty-corner to mine. He angles his chin up to where I was just watching Haddie. “Yeah, taking her out of the bag to get a taste of her when no one’s looking and then slipping her away before someone catches sight of you.”

“Seriously, dude?” I sputter, turning to stare at him. Like I should be surprised at anything that comes out of his mouth. “Did you really just say that?”

“Oh, get over yourself, Daniels. It’s cool . You and I both know you’ve been sampling that dessert. We’ve known each other way too fucking long for you to lie to me over a piece of ass.”

And as much as he’s right—on all counts—something in me prefers lifting my bottle of beer to my mouth to take a swallow instead of answering the question. My eyes veer back over to her as her laughter drifts across the patio. She’s partially reclined on the chaise, her body covered in what any man would consider a dick-hardening bikini—ties and scraps of fabric—that makes one wonder if there are any tan lines it’s hiding.

And the answer is most definitely no.

Damn. The reality that I know that for a fact tightens my sack before I realize that Colton’s fixated on me and not elsewhere like I thought.

“Well, being the picky fucker that you are, you sure as fuck raised the bar with her…. There’s not much to pick apart there.”

“Dude, just because I bitched that one time about Sandy.” I shake my head and roll my eyes behind my glasses.

“That one time? Are you listening to yourself? How about every time?” he chortles. “Her voice is too annoying. She’s too superficial. She was—”

“C’mon, you have to admit she was …” I mock shiver at the memory of her and her nasty hygiene habits.

“I have not a clue what you’re talking about, you picky bastard.” He’s enjoying this immensely, that much I can tell, so I just blow out a breath and wash down the crow he’s handing me.

“Well, I guess I should just follow in your footsteps then Mr. No-pussy-is-good-enough-to-commit-to-for-life.” I repeat the words he used to use as a motto for years to him with a lift of my eyebrows and sarcasm rich in my voice.

He belts out a laugh. “You got me, dude. I’ve learned the error of my ways because, damn, Rylee’s is most definitely enough for a lifetime.” He shakes his head with a laugh as he tips the beer to his lips and takes a long swallow. “Speaking of …” He shifts his eyes to Haddie and then back to me. “She good?”

“How’s married life?” I ask the question, knowing he’s not going to fall for it but needing to attempt changing the topic nonetheless. Besides, how Haddie is in the sack is none of his goddamn business. A litany of curses flies through my head as I realize that my not wanting to talk about her skills is a sign in and of itself of how bad I have it for her. Colton and I have talked about everyone and everything we’ve done with them before.

All except for Rylee, whom he’s now married to.

And now Haddie.

If that’s the case, then what the fuck does that mean?

He throws his head back, the laughter drawing some looks from the crew playing volleyball in the pool and luckily distracting me from looking closer at my own revelation. “I do believe you asked about married life an hour ago. Your diversion tactics need a bit of help, brother. Nice try though. ‘A’ for effort and all that.”

“‘A’ is for asshole,” I mutter. In return, he flashes me a cocky grin, which has me laughing and shaking my head. “You and your alphabet.”

“Yup. My alphabet is doing just fine,” he says, referring to his nickname for his wife, his smile so damn big, it’s still a shock to the system to see as he looks across the patio at Rylee. “Married life is good, dude. It’s Ry, you know?” he says with a shrug as if that’s the only explanation he needs.

The contentment in his voice and his relaxed posture show me the truth in his words, and I can’t help but smile. He deserves to be happy after everything he’s gone through, from his abusive childhood to the nearly fatal crash he endured last year.

“So”—he draws out the word and tips the top of his beer toward Haddie—“what gives? You’ve got this slow-burn type of thing going with her or what?”

I grunt a laugh. Slow burn, my ass. More like fire in the goddamn hole.

I exhale in frustration at the multiple contradictions that are Haddie Montgomery. “Fuck if I know, dude.” I lift my cap from my head and run my other hand through my hair before I put it back on and adjust it. “I appreciate a good mind-fuck every now and again, but she just … Man, I don’t know how to explain the shit she’s doing to mess with my head.”

He smiles at me, fighting the laughter. “Welcome to the estrogen vortex, dude, where mindfucks are the norm and understanding them is as common as a fucking unicorn in your front yard.”

“Thanks.” I blow the word out in frustration before glancing over once again to the cause of it. I don’t get it. Where exactly does Dante fall into play in all of this? If it was the fact that she wanted to play the field, that’s one thing, but if that’s the case, then why not just say it? And if so, why was she jealous of what she assumed was going on with Deena?

Fuck if I can figure her out, but damn it to hell, I want to. I want to know every goddamn piece of her. She’s like that first taste of something you can’t have—that priceless sip of Macallan poured neat—and no matter how many times you’re lucky enough to get just a splash more, it’s never enough to get you drunk.

Just a buzz to keep you wanting more.

I lean forward and pull another beer from the bucket of ice in front me on the table and pop the top with the opener. I take a sip and sigh at its taste—fucking beer when all I want is that damn single-malt Scotch.

I just can’t get her pegged: The woman who’s come undone with me is a different person from the feisty-as-fuck one in the kitchen earlier. She’s hot and cold, but damn, when she’s hot, it’s scorching, and when she’s cold, it’s arctic.

“Haddie, huh?” he says. I look over at him as he’s studying her. “Could do a whole helluva lot worse.”

I snort at him. “Yeah, well …” So many things are on the tip of my tongue. But they’d make me sound more interested than I am. Or rather than I want to let on that I am because I’m not opening that door for him to walk his sarcastic ass through.

“So what gives?”

“Apparently me.”

“Fuck, dude. That’s your problem right there. Quit being such a pussy. She’s already got one between her legs, so why would she need another one there?”

“Are you seriously insulting my manhood?”

“Well, you’re kind of being a chick right now. If you like her, take her. Shit, Daniels, what the fuck happened to you while I was on my honeymoon? Your nuts shrivel up and fall off?”