Stepbrother Bastard Page 3

  The sudden address startles me, and I turn quickly around on my stool, guard raised. One of the biker guys has wandered over from the pool table to chat me up. His body looks solid as a tank, all bulging veins and flushed red skin. Thick dark hair covers his chest and arms, and I can’t help but picture a gorilla pickup artist as I take him in.

  “That’s right,” I inform him, trying to toe the line between ignoring and encouraging him. I pray that he’ll take the hint and back off…but instead he steps up to the bar beside me, popping my bubble of personal space like it’s his God-given right.

  “I can fix that for you,” he grins, booze thick on his breath as he leers at me, “Let me buy you a drink, Hun.”

  “Well, you know what they say,” I reply coolly, “If it ain’t broke…”

  “Damn, girl! You’ve got some mouth on you,” he laughs meanly, taking a long swig from his beer can. “I’d love to know what else that mouth is good for, ’sides backtalk.”

  “Children talk back,” I tell him, my face stony, “Women choose not to engage in conversation with men who make them uncomfortable.”

  “Is that what I’m doing? Making you uncomfortable?” the guy presses, leaning in close to my face. A cold spike of fear cuts through my annoyance with him. And that spike only drives in deeper as I see one of his buddies—a haggard, rangy guy—peel away from the group around the pool table and head our way. If they start something with me, I’m on my own to stop them. The owner, Jimmy, is down at the other end of the bar, eyes fixed on the hockey game. And who knows if I could even count on him, or any of the men in here, to stand up for a random woman over another local?

  “Look. I’m just trying to enjoy my drink in peace,” I inform the first man, as his buddy steps up to box me in. “Please respect that and leave me alone.”

  “Or what?” the hairy ape grins, crushing his beer can against the bar. “What the hell are you gonna do about it?”

  “You need to work on your manners, Missy,” the second man adds, cracking his yellowed teeth into a malicious grin. “Around here, it’s up to you ladies to show us men some respect… Or at least a good time, if you catch my drift.”

  My hand inches toward my back pocket as they go on. I’ve never had to use my pepper spray on anyone before, but these guys are pushing me way out of my comfort zone. My mind spins desperately through the options at hand. Should I bolt? Stand my ground? Mace the shit out of these assholes?

  “What do you say?” the first man grins, placing his hand dangerously low on the small of my back. “You gonna be a good girl and pay your respects?”

  Fight wins out over flight for control of my body. I leap up from my stool and whip around to face the man who’s harassing me, fingers closing around my canister of pepper spray. But the surge of adrenaline is shot through with baffled surprise as I watch a firm hand fall on the hairy man’s shoulder and yank him away from me.

  “The fuck do you think you’re doing, Vaughn?” snarls the dark-haired Adonis who blew me off not ten minutes ago. His eyes are bright with contempt for the man he’s pulled away from me, for reasons that still remain unclear.

  “I’m just having a word with this lady, here,” the man called Vaughn says defensively.

  “Really?” says my unexpected defender, “Cause it looked like you were being a damned idiot and giving her a hard time.”

  “What the hell do you care?” Vaughn whines, “She’s fair game.”

  “Fair game?” I echo, my voice dripping with ire, “What the hell is this, some kind of frat house? What grown man talks that way?”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” says my sudden ally, giving Vaughn a shove back in the direction of his biker buddies. I’m relieved to see that none of them rush to their friend’s defense. Maybe this is a familiar routine with this jerk.

  “You think you’re noble or some shit, Hawthorne?” my aggressor grumbles, retreating with his grimy pal in tow.

  “Not really,” the hazel-eyed stranger replies, “I’m just not the kind of guy who enjoys picking on little girls.”

  My relief at being saved from those assholes deflates slightly. Is that how this guy sees me, as a little girl? Is that why he stepped in to protect me—because I don’t look like someone who can stand up for myself? I’ll own the fact that I was scared shitless for a second there, but still, I would have come out swinging if I’d had to.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. I’m suddenly very aware that my black bra is showing slightly through my white tank. “I could have handled those guys myself.”

  “Oh, is that so?” he grins back, peering down at me with those dazzling hazel eyes. “What exactly was your plan of action, huh?” I produce my canister of pepper spray for his appraisal, which only makes his patronizing grin grow wider. “Got a sidearm, huh? You’re tougher than you look.”

  “And how tough do I look to you, exactly?” I reply heatedly.

  “Not tough enough to be in a place like this on your own,” he says frankly.

  “Well, maybe I should get out of here then,” I say, reaching for my whiskey and taking another big gulp that drains the glass. I have to say, I don’t totally hate that burn after all.

  “Why? You’re not on your own anymore,” he replies, settling onto the next barstool and giving mine a pat. “Now that you’ve got me for company.”

  “Did I say I wanted your company?” I shoot back, though of course I do.

  “No. But I want yours,” he replies evenly, taking my hand in his. Electricity shoots up my entire arm, shocking me into stillness. “And I’m in the habit of getting what I want. Remember?”

  If anyone else in the world tried a line like that on me, I’d laugh in his face and walk away. But coming from this guy, it doesn’t come off as bravado. Actually, it somehow has the ring of a promise to it. Maybe it’s because he stopped those guys from harassing me, maybe it’s his winning smile, maybe it’s just the bourbon, but I do want to stay here and get to know him. At least a little. Every cell in my body is screaming to be closer to him, even if it’s just as close as the next barstool.

  “What’s your name?” I ask him quietly, letting my hand rest in his.

  “Cash Hawthorne,” he replies, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around mine in something between a handshake and a caress.

  “I’m Madeleine. Maddie,” I tell him, pulling my hand away as the sensation finally becomes too much to bear.

  “Well Maddie,” Cash grins, “You just became my new drinking buddy for the night. I suggest you get comfortable. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

  He catches Jimmy’s eye and holds up a couple fingers. In a moment, two fresh glasses of bourbon have appeared on the bar before us. I settle down before my replenished glass, already very much feeling the buzz. I don’t usually take my liquor straight, and though I’m no light weight, I have no doubt that Cash here could drink three of me under the table. But I know full well that there’s no leaving now. Something about this guy has snagged my interest—and I intend to find out what that something is.

  “To new friends,” I say, lifting my glass to his.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Cash says, knocking the rim of his glass against mine as those hazel eyes bore into me.

  A new song comes on the jukebox as we sample our fresh drinks—it’s “A Boy Named Sue” by Johnny Cash. The coincidence isn’t lost on me.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, angling my body toward my sexy new companion. “You’re not named after—”

  “I am, as a matter of fact,” he says proudly, “My dad is a big fan. All me and my brothers listened to growing up was Johnny Cash, CCR, and The Stones. Could have been worse though, right? What if he’d been into Hootie and the Blowfish?”

  “That…would have been unfortunate,” I laugh, feeling my guard lowering with every passing second. This guy is dead sexy and has a sense of humor? He’s earning some checks in the plus column after a rather
unimpressive start, that’s for sure.

  “Damn right, it would have been unfortunate,” Cash says, his deep, changeable eyes lingering on me, “How in the hell would I get a pretty girl like you to have a drink with me with a name like Hootie?”

  So he thinks I’m pretty. That shouldn’t make me as giddy as it does. And yet…

  “That interception you ran with those assholes still would have done the trick,” I reply, “Thank you for that, by the way. I would have dealt with it somehow, but I appreciate you stepping in back there.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he shrugs, “Their bark is worse than their bite. Just a bunch of wannabe MC tough guys who watched a little too much Sons of Anarchy. Besides, they don’t fuck with guys like me.”

  “Guys like you?” I ask, taking another sip of whiskey.

  “Vets,” he replies, putting away some more bourbon of his own.

  “You’re in the Army?” I ask, surprised. “But you can’t be much older than me.”

  “I’m 26,” he tells me, a hint of hardness coming into his voice. “Plenty old enough to serve. Hell, I was right out of high school when I enlisted.”

  “I guess so,” I reply. It’s so hard to think of guys that young fighting overseas. But then, there’s nothing easy about that kind of life. “But I thought you said you weren’t very good at taking orders?” I go on.

  “I’m not,” he replies bluntly, polishing off his drink. “There’s a reason I’m sitting here with you instead of coughing up sand in some fucking desert right now.”

  “Oh. You’re not, uh, serving anymore?” I ask haltingly, trying to keep up with the pace of his drinking out of nervousness. I’ve never actually known anyone in the armed forces, at least not well. Both sides of my family have always tended toward artistic and academic pursuits, not exactly compatible with military service.

  “No, I’m not,” Cash tells me, flagging Jimmy down again and signaling for another round. I hurry and drain my glass, wondering at the speed with which he changes the subject. Maybe his military record has something to do with that gravity in his gaze.

  “And what about you?” he asks as Jimmy refills our glasses, “What’s your story?”

  “Oh. I’m. Uh. In marketing,” I reply vaguely. It sounds pretty unimpressive, set next to active military service.

  “Sounds fucking boring,” he laughs, instantly dashing any tension between us… Negative tension, that is. There’s still plenty of another kind of tension buzzing in the air around our bodies. I have to laugh along with him. He’s not wrong.

  “I promise it’s cooler than it sounds,” I say, palming my new glass. “I basically just throw awesome parties for rich companies and get paid for it.”

  I notice that his body has edged a bit closer to mine. I can feel the heat coming off his skin, radiating against me. What would it be like to feel that warmth everywhere? To be encompassed by him. Swallowed up…

  “That does sound cooler. For a city girl like you, that is,” he grins, snapping my attention back to the present. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at it.”

  “City girl?!” I exclaim, giving him a playful shove…which may or may not just be an excuse to lay my hands on that rock hard bicep of his. My fingers come away practically aching for more.

  “Well, aren’t you?” he shoots back, letting his arm rest casually on the back of my bar stool. I can feel myself getting more intoxicated by the second with the closeness of him. That plus the whiskey has me feeling more awake, more engaged than I have in…years. With a man, at least. And that’s counting the months-long relationship I just got out of. I can barely even conjure up an image of Paul, with this guy sitting in front of me. He’s like an eclipse, blocking out everything but himself in my eyes.

  “I mean, I’m technically a city girl. Presently,” I smile at him, “I’ve been living in Seattle since I finished college. But I grew up with my family in Vermont.”

  “A city girl and a dirty hippie then,” Cash says, shaking his head, “Man, I sure know how to pick ‘em.”

  “You’ve picked me, huh?” I reply, my voice dipping low in my chest. “Picked me for what, exactly?”

  Cash’s eyes flick up to meet mine before traveling down along the length of my body. “From the way you’re talking,” he says, his own voice going ragged around the edges with something that sounds a whole lot like want, “It sounds like you’ve already got something in mind for us.”

  “What, me?” I say with a grin, “I thought I was just a sweet little girl.”

  “I thought so too,” he says, letting his fingers trail down my arm, “But I’m not afraid to admit when I get it wrong.”

  A long, charged moment unfolds between us, and my eyes flick down to his full lips. My head is swimming with wanting to taste him, but I can’t tell whether he’s going to kiss me or not. Finally, the pressure gets to me, and I break away to drain the rest of my glass.

  “How about a couple beers?” I suggest.

  “Sounds good to me,” Cash says, slipping an arm around my waist. “Real good.”

  Cash and I go on talking into the night, letting our conversation wander wherever it likes. He tells me about the motorcycle repair shop he owns nearby, the boxing gym he frequents in his free time, his love of MMA and UFC. I, in turn, tell him more about the outrageous events I’ve produced for work, my love of good coffee and literature, my inextinguishable hiking habit that’s only grown stronger since moving to the Pacific Northwest.

  We’re like two old friends who haven’t seen each other in years. Well, two old friends who also would quite like to jump each others’ bones, that is. At least, that’s the vibe I’m getting from him. Could I be wrong? I’ve never been very good at telling whether a guy is interested in me or not. I usually need someone—i.e. Allie—to tell me when a dude is into me. I’m just in the middle of a story about me and Allie in college when my loose tongue gets the better of me.

  “We were actually just hanging out earlier, me and Allie,” I tell Cash, my knee brushing up against his as we commune over our beers, “I swear, she’s like the little devil sitting on my shoulder, except my angel always seems to be on a smoke break. She got me to agree to the most ridiculous bet…”

  “Oh yeah? What’s the bet?” Cash asks, a loose brown curl tumbling across his forehead.

  I clap both hands over my mouth, eyes going wide. “Oh nooo,” I laugh, “No, no, no. I’m not telling.”

  “Come on,” he presses, tugging me just a little closer, “Tell me what the bet is, Porter.”

  “No, no. I can’t,” I insist, busying myself with another gulp of beer, “You’ll think it’s absolutely pathetic.”

  “Well, now you have to tell me,” he grins. “I’ll be the judge whether or not it’s pathetic.”

  I throw up my hands, just tipsy enough to no longer give a shit. It’s not like I’m ever going to see this guy again after tonight, right?

  “Fine,” I say, looking him square in the eye, “Allie bet me that I couldn’t bring myself to have one random hookup before my vacation is over.”

  Cash stares at me. “That’s it?” he asks.

  “Well, yeah,” I tell him.

  A roar of laughter rises out of him, “How is that something you even have to bet on?” he crows, “I say it doesn’t count as a vacation until you have at least one random hookup!”

  “Well excuse me,” I shoot back, “Looks like one of us is a lot more prone to one night stands than the other.”

  “What’s wrong with one night stands?” Cash asks, setting his empty beer bottle down on the bar.

  “Nothing… in theory,” I mutter, suddenly bashful. I barely know this guy, but I already feel like there’s nothing I can hide from him.

  “Wait, wait,” Cash says, spinning my bar stool around to face his. “You have had a one night stand before, haven’t you?” His face is mere inches from mine now, our legs interlocked between us. Between my buzz and his proximity to me, I can barely put one word in fr
ont of another. But in the end, I don’t have to. He can read the answer on my face, plain as day.

  “You haven’t…” he goes on, an expression of amazement so overwhelming, that it looks painful coming across his face.

  “Got me,” I smile timidly. He leans back in his seat, just looking at me. Self-consciousness washes over me, forcing me to avert my gaze. “That doesn’t make me a zoo animal, so you can quit staring,” I mutter.

  “Sorry. My bad,” he says, “I just can’t quite believe it.”

  “No?” I reply, all stocked up on liquid courage. “Why’s that?”

  “Because you must have your pick of the litter, where guys are concerned,” he says simply, “I mean…look at you.”

  “Well, you would know what that’s like, huh?” I reply, so pleased by the compliment that I don’t even mind blowing my spot.

  “What, you like what you see?” he grins, pretending to strike a pose for me.

  “Obviously,” I laugh, resting my hand on his knee without thinking…but definitely not rushing to move it anytime soon.

  “So we agree about one thing,” he murmurs contemplatively, letting his hand fall on top of mine, “We each think the other is sexy as hell.”

  “Is that what I said?!” I laugh, blushing.

  “I may have embellished a little,” he replies, “But even though we’re both attracted to each other, one of us is a lot more prone to one night stands than the other, right? What to do…”

  I feel my pulse quicken as he rubs his thumb against my hand. Joking around about random hookups is one thing…but the fact remains that I’ve never done anything like that before. I don’t have anything against sleeping with someone outside of a relationship, but I also don’t know anything about this guy. Other than the fact that the mere pressure of his hand against mine is making me clench my thighs together, as pulses of desire ripple up through my body.

  “Wouldn’t that be something, if I knocked out my bet on the first night…” I say, trying to sound breezy. But the raging lust twisting my core rings out loud and clear through my voice.