SMITH (The Beckett Boys, Book One) Page 8

  “We’ve got an unfortunate reputation and some people are afraid to even try us out.”

  “It probably doesn’t help that you send new customers to the competition,” I reply, watching to see if he gets it.

  His face is momentarily blank and then he breaks into a grin. “You’re never going to let me live down the fact that I was rude to you that first night, are you?”

  “Definitely not,” I say, trying not to smile too widely. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I hate the fact that I’m enjoying this time with him so much.

  Aunt Sylvia arrives with two slices of key lime pie, golden and delicious on top of a thick graham cracker crust.

  I didn’t think I was really hungry, but my mouth waters upon the sight. “Oh wow, these look so good,” I tell her.

  “Duh. Just wait until you eat it.” She saunters away.

  “I see where you get your confidence from,” I say.

  That makes Smith laugh. The earlier tension from his eyes vanishes, and he gives her an affectionate look. “She’s nuts, but we love her.”

  I dig into my pie and take my first bite. And die of pleasure. Holy hell, it’s creamy and tart and exquisite. I can’t help but moan as I lick the last bits off the fork. I close my eyes for a second and just taste, savor. “Okay, she has a right to be arrogant. This is incredible. I would marry her just to have her make this pie…” As I open my eyes, my words drawl off, because Smith is looking at me like he wants to spread my thighs and eat me the same way.

  My pussy clenches in a tight spasm.

  “You have no idea how sexy you are with how you enjoy things,” he says in a low rumble. The intensity pouring from his eyes almost overwhelms me. A room full of people, but I almost get the feeling that if I told him I wanted to have sex, he’d brush everything off the table and prop me up there and fuck me. In front of everyone.

  Something about that thought makes my clit throb harder. I try to sit still in my seat and not shift, not give away my arousal. I’m not doing anything else sexual with this man, I chant to myself. I can’t risk him running off on me again like that. My pride won’t take it. Pie is fine. Pie is safe.

  Unless I have pie with him, it appears.

  I don’t respond to his statement. Instead, I make myself finish the pie. It’s so damn good that it isn’t a hardship. But Smith’s body heat beside me, the look I’m seeing in his eyes—because he still hasn’t taken them off me—it’s all making my body surge and my nipples harden and my pussy swell and dampen.

  This man makes me have dirty thoughts.

  I can’t cave. I cannot cave.

  Smith’s hand slips down to stroke my jean-clad thigh, and I fight the instinctive urge to arch under his touch and purr like a fucking cat. One night of sex, and he already figured out how I like to be touched. The man is a sex genius, that’s for sure.

  I can’t cave.

  I drop the fork on the plate and declare with as much casual attitude as I can muster, “That was so good. Thank you.” I force a lightness in my tone. “But you haven’t finished your piece yet.”

  “Why are you here in Rock Bridge?” he asks me out of nowhere, his fingers dancing along my kneecap.

  My stomach tightens, and I have dual feelings of discomfort and arousal at the same time. I don’t want to talk about Roger. Don’t want to think about him. But Smith opened up to me a little and shared something difficult with me. I should do the same. I select my words carefully so as not to give everything away. “Well, I got this job opportunity, and I took it. I had some stuff happening in my personal life, so coming to a new town was a good way for me to start over.”

  “Who was he?” That incessant hand keeps touching me, sliding up my thigh to caress my hip, nudge under the band of flesh exposed above my jeans and touch my back.

  “You just assume there’s a guy involved,” I lob back at him. I mean, he’s right, but I don’t want to admit it like that.

  “So there isn’t?” His brow is quirked, his gaze heavy on mine. He already knows the answer; I can see it in his eyes. He’s just waiting for me to confirm it.

  “My ex,” I relent. “Things didn’t end well with us. I needed a new scene.”

  His hand pauses in caressing my back. “Did he hurt you?” The words are said quietly, but I can hear the concern in them.

  “Not…” My hand flutters to my throat as I’m suddenly inundated with mental images of the rocky, tumultuous relationship I escaped. “Not…in the way you think. It was just a bad thing for me.” I clear my throat. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore right now, if you don’t mind.”

  “He’s why you have the baseball bat. Makes sense.” With that, Smith resumes stroking my back, inching his hand up to the middle of my spine. “When’s the last time you’ve gone skinny dipping?”

  I blink at the rapid conversation change. “What?”

  He gives me a wide-toothed grin that knocks me back in my seat. Smith’s smile at full wattage is devastating. Oh God, this man could really do me in. My brain is screaming danger, danger! “You’ve never been, have you.”

  “Swimming naked is not a requirement of graduating into adulthood,” I say defensively, trying to pretend I’m not fully absorbed in him. Smelling his scent, listening to the rough timbre of his voice, feeling his fingers swirl circles on my skin, now inching closer to my waistband. “Not everyone is as pervy as you.”

  His hand stills again, and he seems to pull back into himself.

  Aunt Sylvia chooses that moment to come over. “Now you tell those two hooligan heathen brothers of yours to get themselves in here soon. I don’t even have to tell you what I’m gonna do if they don’t.”

  Smith gives her a tight smile. He moves his hand to the table surface, and I suddenly feel bereft. What did I do? What did I say wrong? Somehow I fumbled things; all the talking we’d done seems to be over now. “I’ll be sure to tell them.” He goes to dig in his wallet, but Aunt Sylvia shoots him a glare so hard, he finally lifts his hands in the air. “Fine, but one day you have to let me pay you. This isn’t how you make money in a business.”

  “Trust me, I’m doing just fine.” She moves away.

  When she’s gone, he grabs a twenty out of his wallet anyway and leaves it on the table. I guess that’s our cue to go.

  I feel deflated when we rise from the table. I want to say something, but I don’t know what. We step outside into the mild night air, and before he mounts on the bike, I touch his shoulder. He shifts his head so I see his profile.

  “Hey. I…don’t know what happened back there.”

  His walls are up; I can’t read his face at all. “Nothing. Totally fine.”

  “Right. That’s why you just suddenly pulled away.” Frustration wells in me. My ex used to play these games—tell me nothing was wrong, nothing was wrong, then explode at me when I didn’t react the way he wanted me to, didn’t comfort him about whatever phantom injury I committed against him.

  I can’t do that again. Can’t spend my days walking on eggshells, afraid I’m going to set someone off.

  My chest tightens, and I turn from him, fighting back the emotion welling in me. “You know what? I’m going to get another ride home. Thanks for the pie.” I grab my phone and start walking in the direction we came from. I can find an Uber ride to take me, I’m sure.

  “Aubrey.” His hand wraps around my upper arm.

  I lift my chin and glare at him. “I’m not stupid. Don’t tell me nothing is wrong, because I know it is. And I’m not going through that anymore, so if that’s the bullshit you want to pull with me, I can’t do this.”

  “This?” Smith steps forward. There’s a dark menace in his eyes, but I’m too heated myself to care if I’m pissing him off. “What is this?”

  “How the hell should I know?” I swallow and try to ignore the feeling of his strong fingers on my bare skin. “Obviously ‘this’ is nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing, and you know it.” He leans down until our mouths a
re an inch apart. “I spent all week telling myself to stay away from you. That we’re better off this way. You not getting dragged down by someone like me. I can’t let you.”

  “You’re not dragging me down, Smith. I don’t know why you’d think that, either.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m such a perv,” he says, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

  It suddenly hits me that I’ve insulted him. “It was a joke,” I say. “I thought you’d laugh.”

  “But that’s the problem. It’s not a joke,” Smith says, and there’s real emotion in his voice now. “I like things dirty. Rough.”

  Something about that admission makes me throb, awakens all my nerve endings. “How dirty? How rough?”

  He sees my reaction, and his nostrils flare.

  Smith brushes his mouth on mine, a delicate touch that belies his next words. “I don’t think you could handle how rough I want it with you.”

  “Is that…is that related to why you left while I was sleeping?” I have to know. To know it wasn’t that I did something wrong. That maybe he’s struggling with this demon inside him.

  I go to drop my hand when he captures it and brings my fingertips to his mouth. He sucks them in, then licks them, and the desire that floods me from the tugging sensation is almost too much. God.

  “The things I want to do to you…” He stops and drops my hand, steps away. “But I can’t.”

  “Please, stop playing games with me,” I reply. I’m tired of the big, bad Smith acting like he’s the only one who wants dirty things in bed. Yeah, I’ve only been with two men—well, now three—but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a healthy sexual appetite. “I have a feeling I can handle whatever it is that you’re into.”

  Even as I say the words, I wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

  He narrows his eyes and when he speaks, there’s a warning in his tone. “That sounds distinctly like a challenge, Aubrey. One I’m not sure you’re ready to undertake.”

  Some boldness makes me assert, “Well, there’s only one way for us to find that out, isn’t there.”

  8

  Smith

  “My liver hurts,” Jax complains as he drinks another beer. He kicks his bare feet up on my coffee table.

  “Put your feet down,” I say to him, a complaint I’ve been lobbing at him for years. It’s a fruitless effort; I already know he isn’t going to. I take a swig of my own beer and settle back on my worn couch.

  From his spot on the other end of the couch, Asher shifts, swigging his dark beer. “So, you’ve been busy lately,” he says in a casual tone, shooting a side glance at me. He’s so wanting to question me but he’s too nervous to do so.

  Jax, however, has no fucks to give. “You and Aubrey are practically inseparable,” he murmurs, making sure to adjust his feet so they’re even sturdier on my coffee table. Dick. He gives me a careless smile. “You guys must be fucking like bunnies.”

  “It’s none of your business,” I tell him as I turn my attention back to the TV. There’s a soccer game on but we’re not paying much attention. I watch the men run up and down the field chasing the ball. Sip my beer. Hope that they’ll drop the subject of Aubrey.

  Because honestly, I don’t quite know what to think. After we went out for key lime pie a few nights ago, we’ve seen each other every day.

  But I’ve tried my best to keep my dark urges at bay.

  I don’t know why I’m not just banging the fuck out of her. I want to. Especially after she issued that challenge to me, her eyes glowing with fire. But Aubrey has no idea what she was asking me for. Because to fully release myself, to let her see the “perv” I really am, would destroy any chance we have together. She might think she wants to see what I’m all about, but she doesn’t.

  A girl as pristine and angelic as Aubrey would melt in my fire. I can’t do that to her. I won’t do it to her.

  I want more time with her, even if it means we aren’t fucking. Aubrey is quickly working her way under my skin.

  “So she must be a tiger in bed if you’re still hitting that.” Jax tosses the crude words at me with almost a leer.

  “Shut the fuck up about her,” I say.

  “You like her.” It’s thrown out as almost an accusation. Jax’s eyes narrow. “She’s not just a piece of ass for you, is she.”

  “I’m not having this conversation.” I turn away from him and drink my beer, trying to push down the irritation swelling in my chest. Fucking Jax and his fucking attitude. He’s the one who encouraged me to get out and go live a little instead of working so much. Now he’s giving me flack about it? No.

  “No, of course you’re not having this conversation with us,” he counters in a harsh tone. “And why am I surprised about this? You’re a fucking uptight as a virgin lately, and as closed off as one too.”

  “Where is all this coming from?” I ask him, turning to give him the full weight of my stare. “What’s your problem? Is hooking up with one or two different women a day not keeping you busy enough anymore?”

  “At least I’m still me. You’re just…” Jax waves a dismissive hand at me. “You’ve changed. And not even since she came to town. You’ve been a fucking dick to everyone lately. Look at how you talk to Asher. He’s too nice to tell you, but you need to chill your shit out with him.”

  I spin my head to glare at my youngest brother, who’s brow is furrowed, and he’s shooting deathly daggers from his eyes at Jax. “Don’t drag me into your fucking argument,” he says. “I already said my piece about all of this shit.”

  “And yet I get the feeling you haven’t said it all, since you and Jax seem to be talking about me behind my back.” Anger is a quiet pulse in my lower belly. I can feel the heavy frown line between my eyebrows. What the fuck is this all about?

  Today is supposed to be a chill-out afternoon, unwinding before the craziness of Thursday nights, our weekly ritual. Drink some beer, what whatever the fuck is on TV, bust each other’s balls, and so on.

  This feels like more than just busting my balls. This feels like I’m being ganged up on.

  Asher sighs and puts his beer on the side table. “Look, we’re just….You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “Maybe I’m too fucking tired from running the bar to act like myself.” The words fly out before I can stop them.

  Jax stills. “Complain much, tough guy? No one is asking you to carry the weight on your shoulders. But you act like we’re still little kids and you have to herd us into place. News flash, Smith—we don’t need you to be our parent anymore. Maybe we can, oh, I don’t know…try to be brothers or whatever.”

  The pulse is throbbing at the base of my throat, and I struggle with my words. “Maybe if you guys, oh, I don’t know…pulled your own weight with managing the bar, I wouldn’t have to parent you.”

  “Fuck you,” Jax says, standing and glaring down at me. The change in his attitude hits me hard. He’s not normally one to get this angry. He’s the jokester, the charmer, the guy to smooth things over. But apparently not today. No, Jax is letting me feel the brunt of his anger. “We’re trying to do our best if you’d chill the fuck out a little. And maybe if you weren’t distracted by Aubrey, you’d see how we’re keeping the bar running just as well as you are.”

  Asher sighs and holds up his hands. “Shit is getting too out of control right now. Let’s all relax and take a moment before things explode. Our Beckett tempers are raging.”

  Jax sits back down and drinks his beer with a purposeful casualness that irritates me. Fucking dick. It’s nice of him to throw out a bunch of shitty opinions then not have to answer for them.

  Aubrey isn’t a distraction. At least, not in a bad way. Spending time with her has become the bright spot of my day. She reminds me what it feels like it have a real life outside of parenting my brothers and running the bar. She reminds me what it feels like to be a man—not just hooking up, but more.

  With her, I feel like all my troubles slip away. Are
n’t as important. I get an absurd amount of joy just watching her be happy.

  Silent tension bubbles between the three of us for several minutes. The soccer game is still raging on in the background, the crowd cheering on the big-screen TV. We’re all staring blindly at the game but not really giving a fuck. Nursing our drinks and our injured feelings.

  Jax exhales hard and smooths a hand over his jaw. “Okay, this is fucking dumb. I don’t want to argue right now, especially when we have bigger shit to worry about.”

  “Like what?” Asher asks.

  “Like the fact that the town is ganging up on us,” he says.

  I ask, “What do you mean?”

  Jax hops off the chair and moves to my kitchen, whipping open the fridge door. I hear another beer crack open. “So, I was driving yesterday and got pulled over by the police.”

  I roll my eyes, and a little of the tension from earlier leaks from my shoulders. Jax getting pulled over for speeding is not an unusual occurrence. About as unusual as the sun rising in the east. That fucker loves the gas pedal a little too much. “Is this the part where we’re supposed to be shocked? You being pulled over for speeding isn’t some kind of town conspiracy.”

  Asher laughs. “Seriously.”

  “Very fucking funny,” he says, moving back to the living room. He swigs his drink and exhales. “I wasn’t even speeding when they pulled me over. The cop claimed I did a rolling stop when turning right on red. Total bullshit claim. He gave me a ticket and then told me that our bar is bad news and he has a few ‘friends’ working on driving us out of business. The cocksucker didn’t even try to be smooth about it.”

  I sigh and rake my free hand through my hair. “The guy was probably just talking shit,” I say, knowing somehow that it’s not the case. Our bad rep is getting worse every day and I’ve been aware of the rumors and whispers around town for awhile now.

  But this takes things to an entirely new level.

  “I guess they’re stepping up their game,” Asher comments.

  A couple of months ago, we had two police offers saunter into Outlaws, making a big show of looking around. They eyed all our customers to the point of making them nervous; several even left. It was easy to see what they were doing—trying to psych us out.