Brendon (2 page)

He wasn’t, but his family certainly didn’t know that. Not with the way he’d been acting for the last year.

“She’s beautiful,” Jessie said softly.

Brendon glanced over at Jessie and frowned.

She simply laughed at him. “
What?
She is.” Jessie leaned closer, her shoulder bumping his. “And you, of all people, should know that, considering you’ve been starin’ at her for the last half hour.”

Sipping his beer, he pretended she wasn’t talking, but once more, he found his eyes homing in on the beautiful, dark-haired woman who was standing toe to toe with Brendon’s brother-in-law Beau, their arms linked together as they each took a shot and then laughed. Brendon smiled. Their arms twined together like that reminded him of a twig wrapped around a ninety-year-old oak tree.

Lord have mercy, the woman’s laugh made his balls tingle. His overzealous reaction to the petite beauty was fucking absurd was what it was, but for the life of him he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

The problem was, Cheyenne Montgomery didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

Not like that anyway.

When it came to Cheyenne, Brendon’s idea of getting to know her consisted of having her small, curvy body spread out on his bed, naked and writhing while he gripped her slim hips and pounded his dick into her sweet, wet pussy.

She, on the other hand, was thinking he could take a long walk off a very short pier.

Not that he blamed her. He’d earned the title of World-Class Dickhead for how he had reacted to her in the past and he would be the first to admit it. The way he’d treated her—calling her names and making unsubstantiated accusations—was the equivalent of him taking that title belt and flaunting it like he was a fucking prizefighter, holding it high in the air and shouting to the world, “I’m a giant fucking dickhead and I’m proud of it!”

But he wasn’t. Proud, that is.

He hated himself for the way he’d handled his attraction to her and that had only added to the depression that had consumed him for longer than he could remember. He’d been on an emotional roller coaster ride for the last few months, ever since the Sunday dinner when Cheyenne showed up to at his mother’s request. They’d sat together that night to eat, but it hadn’t been until Cheyenne asked him to talk to her that he’d realized how much he had to atone for with her.

“Are you really okay with me
bein’ here?” Cheyenne asked when they stepped outside.

“Why should that matter?” he countered, instantly going on the defensive, as he always did with Cheyenne.

“Because it does. You have to understand, I’m not here to piss you off, I promise. Travis is my friend and your mother invited me. I can’t seem to tell her no.”

“And you shouldn’t,” he replied, sighing as he did. “Look, I get that I’ve been an asshole and I understand that you don’t like me, but I’m doin’ my best to stay out of the way.”

Cheyenne’s eyes narrowed as she studied his face, and the words that followed might’ve changed the course of his life. “I don’t want you to stay out of the way,” Cheyenne informed him. “In fact, I’d kinda like it if we could find a way to be friends.”

Friends. That was what Cheyenne had proposed that night. As much as he’d wanted to tell her that the last thing he wanted was to be her friend, he hadn’t. Brendon had merely nodded his head and promised to make an effort to do exactly that. In his head, he’d made a bigger promise, although that one had been to himself. Even if it killed him, he was going to do his best to prove to Cheyenne that he wasn’t the world’s biggest dickhead.

Between that vow and his father’s heart-to-heart, Brendon hadn’t had much choice but to figure out a way to move on and stop bringing everyone around him down.

He wasn’t quite sure how well he was doing on that front, but he had to give himself props for trying. After all, he’d once heard that admitting you had a problem was the first step.

And he certainly had a fucking problem.

And she was five feet one inches of sexy, breathtaking female.

Yep, his attraction to Cheyenne Montgomery was his only damn problem these days.

chapter
TWO

T
he room was spinning and Cheyenne knew she needed to lie down. Either that or she was going to
fall
down. Face first and with as little grace as was physically possible.

Doing shots of Cuervo with Ethan’s husband, Beau—the bear of a man who likely outweighed her by a good hundred and forty pounds—shouldn’t have been on her list of things to do tonight, yet that was exactly what she’d done for the last two hours.

Okay, in her defense, she hadn’t been doing shots for two hours straight, although she kind of felt like she had. However, she’d ingested far more than she should have, especially since she’d had very little to eat.

Even in her intoxicated state, Cheyenne had to admit that she’d done relatively well holding her own against the big man. Granted, he wasn’t stumbling around the living room with a huge-ass grin plastered across his face the way she was. The smile appeared to be stuck, the muscles locked up to the point that even her lips hurt.

It had been a good night, despite the fact she was probably going to be sick in the very near future.

“You okay?”

Holy cannoli!

That concerned voice, the one that reminded her of hot, dirty sex, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up in warning. Not that she had the first clue about hot, dirty sex, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Great,” she slurred, unable to turn around and face him. “You?” Cheyenne touched her lips, trying to see if they were still there, because they’d suddenly gone numb.

The dark, rich chuckle that rumbled in her ear had her girl parts feeling the effects of the alcohol as well.

This was not good. Not good at all.

Slowly turning to face Brendon, Cheyenne tried to wipe the grin off her face. Ah, hell. She hadn’t meant to actually attempt to wipe the grin away . . . with her
freaking hands
.

Ugghh!

Too late. He noticed.

Brendon smiled and Cheyenne’s hands were no longer needed because her smirk fell away instantly without their help, although, they were . . . yep, still on her face. She dropped her arms to her side, trying not to fidget. She was awestruck as she stood less than a foot from the handsome man who made her body wish she sang hip-hop songs so it’d have a melody that went along with the dance it wanted to do.

That smile of his . . . It was likely the most incredible thing she’d seen in her entire life.

“I think everyone’s headin’ out,” Brendon told her.

“Awesome,” she responded quickly, unable to look away from him. “Wait. That’s not what I meant. It’s not awesome that they’re leavin’. It’s—”

“I get what you meant,” Brendon interrupted, his callused fingers resting against her lips to shut her up.

Good thing too because Cheyenne didn’t know if she would’ve stopped rambling on her own. But now she had a bigger problem. He was touching her and the numbness in her lips turned into a full-on blaze from the mere touch of his skin on hers. And worse, she wanted to lick him.

Great.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he suggested, his fingers disappearing from her mouth.

Cheyenne nodded, her head swimming. “Right now?”

Brendon’s chuckle was just as intoxicating as the liquor she’d had. In fact, her head was now spinning more than it had been before.

“I should sit down,” she told him, twisting in order to search for a chair, only to find herself stumbling as the room tilted.

“Whoa there.” Brendon’s muscular arms wrapped around her, keeping her from an ill-timed date with the floor.

Okay, maybe
she
was the one who tilted.

Whoops. And now her feet were . . .

“What’re you doin’?” Cheyenne slurred, her eyes locked on the face of the man she’d dreamed about for so freaking long.

“Carryin’ you to bed.”

“Oh. Well, there you have it.”

Unable to help herself, Cheyenne reached up and touched his mouth the way he’d done to her. She’d wanted another chance to feel his lips since that one and only kiss they’d shared so long ago at Moonshiners. Of their own accord, her fingers drifted over and she found herself pinching his cheek.

Heavens.
She was definitely drunk.

Brendon’s low, throaty laugh made Cheyenne’s nipples harden.

God, please don’t let him see that my nipples are hard. Please, please, please. I’ll never ever drink again if you’ll just spare me that embarrassment.

“I’m not sure he’s listenin’ right now,” Brendon muttered softly, his focus on where he was going and not on her.

Was that amusement in his voice?

Cheyenne’s eyes strayed upward to land on the sexiest, naughtiest shade of blue she’d ever seen in her life and his gaze shot down to meet hers. “What did you say?”

“God. I’m not sure he’s listenin’ to your plea at the moment.”

Oh, crap! She’d said that out loud?

“Yep, you did,” Brendon confirmed.

Cheyenne pressed her face against his neck, hoping to never have to make eye contact with this man again. And she was definitely giving up drinking. Forever.

Holy hell, he smelled good. Too good. Like . . . she didn’t know what he smelled like because her nose was suddenly numb, but she liked it. His smell. Not the numbness.

Crap, she was in bad shape.

She had no idea how much time passed before she felt the soft, cool sheets at her back, but she was grateful that she didn’t have to try to walk again. She doubted her feet would work and her knees were also numb.

“Sleep it off,” Brendon instructed, pulling the blanket up over her.

“You’re a nice guy, you know that?” Cheyenne muttered, her eyes defying her instruction to close and meeting his once again.

“You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

“Who?” she asked, confused.

“Who
what
?” Brendon questioned, his forehead wrinkling as he stared down at her.

“Who do I have you confused with?”

Another chuckle reverberated from Brendon. “You should stop talkin’ now,” he whispered.

“Are you gonna leave?” she asked him, her eyes drooping as she gave in to sleep, hoping when she came to the room wouldn’t be imitating one of those stupid Tilt-A-Whirls she’d never liked as a kid.

“No, I won’t leave,” he said softly. “Just go to sleep, Chey. I’ll watch over you tonight.”

Cheyenne nodded. Or at least she thought she did. “I don’t care what you say, you’re a nice guy.”

“I assure you I’m not,” he answered.

Hearing that last statement spoken in his rich, sexy tone, Cheyenne drifted off to sleep.

But not before she called him a liar. Only, she didn’t think the word actually made it past her lips.

BRENDON MADE HIS
way back downstairs after Cheyenne’s breaths evened out. He needed to put some serious distance between them. The woman was just too damn cute for her own good. The way she’d begged God not to let him notice her pebbled nipples and the way she’d inhaled him like she was in a bakery and he was the first batch of donuts . . . she was all the more appealing. And that, in no way, was a good thing.

But no matter what she thought, he wasn’t a good guy. If he was, he wouldn’t have considered taking advantage of her in her drunken state. Granted, she would’ve had to stay awake for that to happen because he might not be nice, but he wasn’t desperate. Or stupid.

“She asleep?” Jessie asked when Brendon came back downstairs and joined her and Braydon in the living room.

“Yeah. I’m gonna camp on the couch tonight,” he informed her, nodding his head toward the tiny, two-person sofa.

“I can stay if you want me to,” Jessie told him, glancing over at Braydon, who was standing by her side.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll just pass out there,” he told her as he pointed to the couch, clarifying exactly where he’d be more for his benefit than hers, “and leave when she’s up and movin’ around in the mornin’. I just wanna make sure she doesn’t need anything.”

Jessie nodded, leaning against Braydon when he put his arms around her. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”

Brendon frowned. “I think you’re as drunk as Cheyenne.”

Jessie giggled. “Think what you want.”

“If you need anything, just call,” Braydon said. “We’ll stop by and pick up Scrap. Take him back to Jessie’s for the night.”

Brendon nodded his agreement. His wire-haired mutt would be upset with him if he didn’t bother to come home tonight, but at least Scrap would have someone to keep an eye on him. Glancing around the room, Brendon asked, “Everyone else gone?”

“Yeah. Travis and them just left.”

“Okay. Do I need to clean up in there?” Brendon asked, nodding his head toward the kitchen.

“All taken care of,” Jessie replied.

Brendon turned back to face Braydon and Jessie. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Braydon answered with a smirk.

Brendon didn’t bother to respond. He knew how his family felt about Cheyenne. They cared about her and didn’t want to see her hurt. And that was the very reason Brendon had sworn to rid himself of the damn obsession he had with her. It wouldn’t do any of them a damn bit of good.

After walking Braydon and Jessie out and watching as they made their way over to Braydon’s truck, Brendon shut and locked the door before flipping the lights off on his way back to the couch. Staring down at the dark brown leather, he wondered how the hell he was going to fit on the damn thing. Squeezing his six-foot-four-inch frame on that four-foot couch was going to cause him some serious pain in the morning.

Not that he didn’t deserve that.

Giving up on hoping the miniature piece of furniture would double in size, Brendon plopped down on his ass. He considered toeing off his boots but decided he was better off leaving them on. That way, when Cheyenne did wake up in the morning, he could head out without making things awkward for her.

Or him.

BRENDON WASN’T SURE
how long he’d been asleep when he heard the sound of old pipes clanking and groaning. He checked the time on his cell phone.

Three thirty-eight.

Crap.

Pushing to his feet, he grumbled. He’d been asleep sitting up and his neck informed him instantly that he was a dumb-ass. Stretching it out as he moved to the stairs, Brendon looked up before he put his boot on the first step. Did he really want to go up there?

No.

Liar.

Fuck.

When he heard Cheyenne moan, he knew he had no choice. She hadn’t just gotten up to go pee, that was evident by the retching noises he heard following her initial sound of discomfort.

“Cheyenne?”

More groaning, more retching.

Shit.

Stepping into her bedroom, he noticed it was dark, but he heard the sounds coming from what he assumed was an adjoining bathroom, so he moved quietly.

“Aww, damn, baby,” he whispered when he saw her hugging the toilet, a sliver of moonlight coming through a narrow window the only light he had to see by.

She didn’t respond with words, but her head lifted and she turned toward the toilet she was currently holding on to for dear life.

“Close your eyes, Chey,” he instructed. “I need to turn on the light for just a second. I promise I’ll turn it right back off.” He wanted to find a washcloth but he had no idea what was what in her bathroom, so he needed some light to search.

Not waiting for her to answer him, Brendon flipped on the light, bathing the oversized room in a warm, yellow glow from the antiquated light fixture above the small mirrored medicine cabinet. As silently as possible, he began searching through cabinets until he found a stack of bright white washcloths. Retrieving two, he twisted the knob for the water and then flipped off the light. After wetting the cloths with cool water, he knelt down on the floor behind Cheyenne.

“Hey,” he whispered near her ear. “Take this.”

When she took one of the cloths, Brendon used the other to wipe the back of her neck after he pulled her hair out of the way and held it with his hand.

“Take slow, deep breaths.”

Cheyenne didn’t say anything, but he heard her do as he instructed. Not that he expected her to talk. Brendon was all too familiar with the pain associated with too much alcohol. He’d been there many times over the last year. Granted, he knew Cheyenne’s wasn’t intentional, while all of his drunken stupors had been. Brendon would drown himself in alcohol, working to banish all thoughts from his head.