Getting Hot (Jail Bait Book 3) (4 page)

Her eyes flick up at me and they comb over my pecs as she unpacks her guitar. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

I shrug. “Thought we could have a beer, get to know each other. Whatever.”

She smirks. “And what exactly does ‘whatever’ entail?”

“Just about anything you’re up for.” And I just left that line I wasn’t going to cross in the dust. What the fuck am I doing?

I shove off the bar when a guy in the middle flags me down. When I’m done with his drink, Lilah’s already started playing.

I set her tip jar up on the end of the bar, then lean into the far corner to watch her. I wasn’t imagining it. That voice is pure sex.

“Got any requests?” she purrs when she wraps up her first song.

I bark out a laugh.

She tips her head and raises her eyebrows, challenging me.

I stalk closer and brace my hands on the bar across from her. “You wouldn’t know anything I’m into.”

“Try me.”

“Slipknot,” I say, confident that she’ll ask me if that’s a song or a band.

Instead, she gives me a cocky half smile and starts strumming the opening chords to “The Devil in I.”

It’s different, but good. She puts her own spin on it and, even though it’s the same song I’ve listened to a thousand times, it sounds totally fresh.

And fuck me if I don’t want her even more.

I know I told myself fucking Destiny’s sister was crossing a line, but the longer I watch her the more I hope “whatever” turns into my tongue on every inch of her body before my cock sinks balls deep inside her. It’s been a long time since I was this turned on by a woman. I know for fucking sure that this is one face that isn’t going to blend into the river. I’m going to fuck her raw and remember every second of it.

Chapter 4

Lilah

It’s nearly eleven thirty and the way Bran’s been looking at me for the last three hours, as if choosing which part of me to devour first, makes me ache in places I’ve never ached before.

No one has ever looked at me like that. Not even Tyrell. When we fucked, it was because we were stoned and horny and bored. But I’d bet everything in my tip jar that what Bran has in mind for me has nothing to do with being bored. That look is pure animal lust mixed with a healthy shot of testosterone. His hormones are speaking and mine are most definitely answering.

Hell, the way my nipples tighten every time he looks at me, my hormones may as well be yodeling off a mountaintop.

The crowd tonight is younger on average than they were last night, so my playlist has been more current. I’ve thrown in my best metalhead selections for Bran’s benefit. I strum the last chord of KoЯn’s “Hater” before reaching for the rum and Coke I’ve been nursing all night.

I should probably tell him that I’m not legal…for anything…but I like that he thinks of me as mature instead of the little girl that Destiny treats me like. After everything we’ve been through, you’d think she’d see that I can hold my own…that I don’t need to be protected. After all, it was me who noticed the fire first. You’d think that would count for something. But all she can see is me following in Mom and Dad’s footsteps. She won’t give me any credit for learning from my mistakes. Just the fact that I’m perfectly fine stopping at one drink is all the proof I need that I’m not them.

I finish the drink and set the glass down. Bran is fucking me with his eyes as he refills it with ice and Coke and my nipples bead against my shirt again. I don’t think there’s much doubt my body wants to follow through on that eye-fuck. He thrills me and intimidates me all at the same time and something about that combination makes me hornier than I’ve ever been.

His biceps ripple as he pushes off the bar, but he doesn’t back away. He stands there devouring me with his eyes. I want so badly to take him up on his offer and stay after closing, but if I’m not home on time, Destiny will come looking for me. If she finds me with Bran, we’ll be in another U-Haul tomorrow, on our way to another nowhere town.

At least this town has Bran.

So, instead, I slip off the stool and put my guitar away, then empty my tip jar into my bag. “I need to head out.”

Bran leans his hands on the bar across from me, his pecs flexing with the motion. “Why?”

“Someone’s waiting for me.”

His full red lips press into a line and he nods slowly. “You’ll be back next weekend?”

“If you want me.”

His eyes flash an inferno into mine. “I definitely want you.”

I gush into my panties as my breathing goes shaky. I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. “Then I’ll be here.”

I feel his eyes follow me to the door and when I pass through, the cool night air feels good on my scorched skin. I take my time walking home and feel the fire inside me begin to cool. I hope by the time I walk through the apartment door three minutes before curfew that my face isn’t still flaming.

Destiny’s on the couch with a tub of chocolate ice cream, watching one of the Jurassic Park movies. “How did it go?”

I pull the money from my bag and lay it on the table. “Probably around a hundred.”

“They’re too polite around here not to tip good.”

“Looks that way,” I say, sliding into the chair. I start sorting and count. One hundred and forty six tonight.

“Grab a spoon,” she says when I stand, unfolding her long legs from under her and sitting up straighter.

I go to the drawer and grab one, then drop onto the couch next to Destiny.

She hooks her elbow around my neck and pulls me closer. “I think we’re going to be okay here.”

The raised crescent scar on her forehead rubs against mine and the image of blood floods my memory. I can barely remember a time when Dad didn’t hit Mom, but other than yelling at us any time we happened to cross his path, he mostly ignored Destiny and me. But that scar has something to do with Dad—and the fire. I just can’t remember what, exactly. Destiny and I don’t talk about that night. Ever. So, instead of asking any of the myriad questions that have haunted me for the last two years, I dip my spoon into the ice cream. “The waitressing is working out?”

“The money’s not great yet, but it will be better when I take over nights in a month or two. And I’ve got a longer-term plan in the works. I’m feeling pretty good about things, actually. You?”

I nod as I lick my spoon. “It’s way different from home. I miss Lo. But I think it will be good. Like I said, I can get a real job here and—”

“I thought we agreed you’re starting school next week,” she cuts in, all concerned mother.

I grab a handful of hair. “Why?”

“Because you’re sixteen, Delilah! It’s the law. We don’t need the local authorities deciding you’re truant and snooping into our business.”

I blow out a sigh. “Fine. But I’m still getting a job. I’ll find something after school.”

She nods, relieved. “As long as you still have time to study. School first.”

“Fine,” I repeat, even though the idea is about as appealing as vomit on toast.

“Have you met Vicky?” she asks me, settling deeper into the cushions and pulling her legs back up now that it’s settled.

“Who’s Vicky?”

“Bran’s mom. She owns the bar, but she’s probably gone by the time you get there.”

“Must be. I haven’t met her.”

“And Bran?” she asks.

I can tell she’s still looking at me and I keep my eyes on the TV, because at Bran’s name, I’m suddenly hot all over. “What about him?”

“He’s sort of intimidating, but he’s a really great guy.”

“He seems okay,” I say, working to keep my tone indifferent.

She gouges out a huge hunk of ice cream. “Hoping he’s also the jealous type.”

Something in my chest turns to stone and my eyes snap to hers. “Why?”

“Because I walked out tonight with another guy, so if he’s not, that long-term plan I’m working on may very well backfire.”

I can hardly breathe. “Bran is your long-term plan?”

She sets the ice cream down and turns her body to face me. “We need stability, Lilah. Bran’s family has run that bar forever. They make good money.”

I’m suddenly ice. “Do you love him?”

She huffs a laugh through her nose and shakes her head. “I’ve only known him for a week.”

“So…I’m not following.”

“I think it could become something, is all I’m saying.”

I can’t even think. “I’m going to bed,” I say, standing. I take my spoon to the kitchen and get ready for bed, but my heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that there’s no way I can sleep.

But what I know is, I can’t go back to Sam Hill next weekend.

Or ever.

Chapter 5

Bran

It’s Friday and I’m wound so fucking tight that I can’t stand still, because I haven’t seen Lilah anywhere but in my fantasies for the last six days. And those fantasies have been mind-blowing.

When she left last Saturday, she said someone was waiting for her, which probably means she’s got a boyfriend. That would be an obstacle, but not one I’m too worried about. I’ve seen the way she flushes when she looks at me, the way her nipples prick to tight pebbles under her shirt—the same way my cock responds to her.

So, there’s one thing I’m certain of: I am going to have Lilah.

The
when
is less certain.

I’m pacing behind the bar, trying to sort in my head how long I need to wait before I can fuck Destiny’s sister without being an asshole. At first, I thought a month, but now I’ve convinced myself maybe a week is good enough.

Because my undeniable truth is that she’s consumed my mind. I haven’t been able to think about anything else all week long. Every night, I’ve stretched out on my bed, pressed my earbuds in and listened to her sultry voice until the sun came up. I’m convinced if sex could sing, it would sound just like Lilah.

Eight comes and goes, but I don’t start flipping my shit until after nine when she’s still not here. I get so far as to go into the office and pull up Destiny’s file on Mom’s laptop to find her number. I could call her, but then what? Even with my moral compass spinning out of control, I know that asking Destiny why her sister didn’t show up for an unpaid gig is a little off.

It’s almost nine-thirty and I’m still watching the door like a hawk when Carol leans on the end of the bar and rubs her swollen belly. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought I wanted another kid. I’ve changed my mind.”

I tear my eyes away from the door and look at her. “A little late for that, do you think?”

She scowls. “Everything is so much worse this time. My feet are swollen, I can’t eat anything without heartburn, I have to pee all the time, and I can’t sleep. And if I survive all this, my reward is a screaming baby to go with my ornery one-year-old.”

“I thought you said Wyatt always gets the second nine months,” I say, shoving away from the bar and drawing another Bud for the guy on the stool next to the one I’ve saved for Lilah.

“I’m hauling it around for the first nine,” she says, heading for the kitchen, “so you damn well better believe it!”

I set his beer in front of him and realize he’s watching the door almost as intently as me.

“Dude, what happened to the entertainment?” he asks, gesturing with a nudge of his head at the empty stool.

My stomach tightens. “Damned if I know.”

I snap the towel off my shoulder and start wiping down the bar for the thousandth time tonight. My eyes track back to the door when it opens and I hold my breath. When my sister Brenda comes through with a guy I don’t recognize, I crack a smile. Not who I was hoping for, but the next best thing.

I give the patrons at the bar a quick glance to be sure they’re set, then head to the booth in the corner, where the guy ushers Brenda. There’s no way I’m not checking this guy out. The last guy she dated, this fucktard Nate, didn’t understand the word “no” and Brenda had to fight him off one night. Now he’s in jail on multiple counts of rape. It started when my ex-roommate’s sister, Blaire, came forward with something that happened way before Brenda. But once Blaire made the accusation, the dominoes started falling and seven other women, including Brenda, ended up testifying at his trial.

I sidle up to the table as they get settled and size the guy up. He’s blond, blue-eyed, and older than me by a few years, maybe pushing thirty. But he’s in decent shape and looks like he spends a fair amount of time in the sun, based on his tan.

I squeeze my sister’s shoulder. “Everything good at the gym?”

She scowls at me, knowing exactly why I’m here. “It hasn’t burnt down since you were there six hours ago.”

“I’m Bran,” I say, holding out my hand to the guy and giving my arms and chest their best flex. “Brenda’s older brother.”

“Trevor,” he says, pumping my hand. “Good to meet you.”

He’s got a faint southern twang. Nothing that would knock you over, but noticeable.

I nod. “Haven’t seen you around here.”

“Just took a position up at Sierra State this fall,” he says, letting go of my hand, “so I’m new to the area.”

“What position?” I push.

“I’ll have a Blue Moon,” Brenda says, kicking me under the table. When I turn my gaze on her, she’s lighting me up with a glare that could cut steel.

“It’s okay, Brenda. He’s just looking out for you,” Trevor says, and instantly, he gains a few rungs on the ladder. “I’m the new head groundskeeper, so none of that fancy academic stuff. Don’t have the brains for that.”

I slide into the booth next to Brenda and she elbows me. I can still feel the heat of her glower. “What’s your accent? Sounds southern.”

“Alabama born and bred.”

“So how’d you end up here?”

He shrugs. “Got divorced at the beginning of the year. It was kind of complicated and made staying in our hometown hard, so I decided if I had to move, may as well make it count.”

I think about asking why the divorce, but I’m not getting a “domestic violence” vibe from this guy so I let it drop.

“Okay, then.” I stand and give my hands a clap. “What can I get you to drink?”

Trevor waits for Brenda to order her beer, and as he’s asking for a Seagram’s and Seven, the door opens again.

My heart hiccups when it’s who I’ve been waiting for all night.

The stripe in Lilah’s hair is purple tonight, and when she shucks off her hoodie, she’s in a tight pink tank top with a black bra underneath and a short black skirt. Miles of toned, tanned legs stretch down to a pair of short black boots.

I want to map every inch of those legs with my tongue.

Her eyes lock on mine and I’m suddenly electrocuted. My synapses overload and I stop dead in my tracks and just stare.

“Hey,” she says.

I force myself to breathe and start my feet moving. We walk to the bar together without looking at each other.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” I say as I round the corner and start on Brenda’s drinks.

I’m not totally successful keeping the frustrated undercurrent out of my voice, and I know she hears it when her eyes narrow as she sets her guitar on the stool.

“I wasn’t.”

“Why?”

She goes back to unpacking her guitar. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating my sister?”

“Because I’m not.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “That’s not what she says.”

I shake my head. “We hooked up a couple times, but we both agreed we’re not looking for anything exclusive.”

Her lips pucker and those silver eyes harden to steel. It looks like she’s got more to say on the subject, but instead, she lowers her guitar case to the floor and slips onto the stool. She looks right at me, holding my gaze as she starts to strum. And when she launches into Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats,” all my guts turn to lead.

So, it looks like a week is probably optimistic.

Carol comes by and I give her Brenda’s order, then mix Lilah’s rum and Coke and set it in front of her with a tip jar. She blasts through three more songs about dirtbag guys before she stops and chugs her drink.

“So, if you weren’t coming, what are you doing here?” I ask, refilling her glass with straight Coke.

“I need the money.” She messes with the tuning knobs at the end of her guitar and strums a few times.

“What did you do before you moved here?”

“Nothing but this,” she says with a wiggle of her guitar. “Me and a friend made bank in the BART stations.” She pulls her guitar into position, but her gaze stays on me. “What about you? Have you always tended bar?”

“Got out of the Marines two years ago.”

I watch her silver eyes flit over my arms and I feel them as if she was brushing her fingers over my tattooed skin. When they find mine again there’s something in them I can’t read. “How long were you in the Marines?”

“Six years.”

“Six years,” she repeats, her eyes widening.

“Two tours in Afghanistan.”

She nods slowly as her gaze combs over my face. “Glad you made it home safely.”

I blow out a laugh. “Me too.”

“Do you miss it?”

But before I can answer, the guy on the stool next to hers, who I’m now realizing I should have cut off two beers ago, starts unbuttoning his shirt and says, “Army. Got this in Iraq.”

He pulls open his shirt to reveal a scar on his stomach, and behind him, his two buddies elbow each other and stifle a laugh.

I look the guy over. There’s no way he’s older than me. Probably younger. “Where were you stationed?”

“Baghdad,” he says, still showing us his beer gut.

“Which camp?”

His eyes pull away from Lilah and he squints as he tries to focus his beer goggles on me. “Why do you care?”

“Because Army forces pulled out of Iraq in 2011. I don’t see how you’re old enough to have been there before that.”

His blurry eyes widen and then track back to Lilah as he stumbles off his stool. “He’s a fucking liar.” He lurches toward her as his buddies snicker under their breath.

I leap over the bar and pin him against it. “Don’t you lay a fucking hand on her.”

I grab him by the back of the neck and escort him to the door as he hurls a string of protests my direction. He resists when I haul him outside and pin him against the wall with a forearm across his throat.

“There’s nothing I hate more than lowlife posers. Good men died over there so you can jerk off in your own fucking bed every night. You stay the fuck out of my bar or next time you’ll leave bloody.”

His buddies stumble through the door just as I shove him out of my grasp and one of them grabs him by the arm to keep him from toppling. “C’mon, Mike.”

He grumbles something that I don’t bother to listen to as I slam back through the door.

Lilah is mid-song when I come back in and she gives me a look as I step around her to the tap to draw myself a beer. When she finishes, she says, “He was my best tipper.”

“He was dick,” I say, grabbing a fistful of green from my tip jar and shoving it into hers.

Carol slaps a drink order on the bar and I get to work on it. When I’m finished, I look up and my already boiling blood heats for a whole different reason with the way Lilah’s gaze rakes over my chest and abs. When it pauses at my belt buckle and she licks her lower lip, my cock predictably responds. So maybe a week isn’t out of the question after all.

She plays and I listen, feeling every fantasy I’ve had about her taking root in my dick. My T-shirt is a little too snug and short to hide the growing bulge in my jeans, so I don’t even try. I want her and I want her to know. No clearer way to demonstrate the point than to give my hard-on free rein.

A couple comes in and takes the stools Poser and his buddies where occupying. I set them up with a Greyhound and a Midori Sour. When I glance at Lilah, her eyes lift from my package to my eyes and there’s an unmistakable spark in them. She noticed. She shifts in her seat and her voice roughens even more on the refrain of “Take Your Time.” Don’t know who sings it, but it’s all over the radio the last few months. And the message in the song and all over her face tightens my cock even more.

I refill my beer and let the cocky smile spread. I take a quick sweep of the bar, clearing off a place that a guy has vacated and shoving his tip in Lilah’s jar.

“That was yours,” she says when she finishes her song.

I arch an eyebrow at her. “What? I’m not allowed to tip you?”

“You did already,” she says, fishing the bills out and sliding them across the bar to me.

“That was for Poser.” I shove the money back at her. “This is for me.”

She looks at me for a few long heartbeats before taking it.

“Another rum and Coke?” I ask, holding up her empty highball.

She contemplates that for a second before saying, “Sure, but light on the rum.”

I mix her drink and set it down in front of her as she starts on her next set. Brenda’s man settles up with Carol and they come over to say bye on their way out. Little by little, the bar clears out.

Lilah starts packing up at around eleven thirty and my heart skids to a stop.

I lean on the bar and fix her in my gaze. “Stay till closing.”

For a long second, she just stares into my eyes and I feel the crackle of electricity at the connection. But then she shakes her head. “Can’t.”

I take a deep breath as she heads up the hall to the bathrooms and brace my hands on the bar to keep from following. I know it’s out of line, but I want just one minute alone with her.

Just as I push off the bar to follow, a girl from the middle booth up front pushes out of her seat and staggers toward the bar on four-inch fuck-me red heels.