Bryson is the real prize.
I wonder if I can win his heart like he seems to be winning mine?
Bryson
Baya looks damn hot tonight in her barely-there jean shorts, her pink workout bra that annunciates two of her greatest assets. She’s strutting her stuff at the Sky Lab, walking over the lunar-inspired flooring as if she owned the place. Lucky for her, one of the waitresses on duty had to go home early, and now she has twice the tables she had last week.
“This is fantastic.” She waves a ten-dollar bill in my face. She’s so damn beautiful, I can actually feel my balls weeping in her presence. “Those guys weren’t even here five minutes after their food arrived. I keep scoring the big bills like this, and I might trade in U.S. History for my new—might I add lucrative career—as a waitress.”
“I’d hang onto the books if I were you,” I say, passing a group of shots off to the drink waitress. She doesn’t looks so thrilled with the fact Baya is here, but I didn’t take an opinion pole, so it really doesn’t matter. “You can always wait tables once you’re through with school, but you won’t get these years back, and, who knows? You might regret not going.” Holt runs through my mind. “My brother decided to chase his tail after high school and now laments the fact I’m getting ready to graduate. But, if you did quit, you could always go back. At least that’s what I tell my brother.” I give a sober nod. “He didn’t bother showing up, and now wishes I kicked him in the balls until he did.”
“You’re pretty encouraging, you know that?” Her doe eyes blink up at me a smooth lime green, and I want to lose myself just staring in them. “Usually I hear the opposite from Cole and Mom. You know—do as you’re told, not as you wish. Not that I want to quit school or anything. I just got here, and I really like it so far.” Her face lights up pink as cotton candy, and I swallow hard at how fucking gorgeous she is—how preciously sweet. I wish she wasn’t. I wish she was hell on heels, wearing the bitch suit of armor twenty-four seven—that she was just some girl in a sea of Whitney women. I might have done her by now if she was either of those things, but she’s not. Baya has the face and body of an angel. She has me shaking every time she’s around, and yet she’s off limits. Not because of anything Cole said, but because I say so.
“I’m glad you’re sticking around.” I take a breath. I can tell by the way she’s been looking at me all day she’s feeling something. I should probably end this right now before things get too out of hand. Baya deserves someone as gentle as she is—someone who’ll tell her he loves her and mean it before ever thinking about taking her to the bedroom. A part of me would die to be that person, but deep down I know I can’t.
A barfly pops up at the counter—a plastic girl with a spray on tan, hair bleached of all its natural color, leaving a dry straw-like mess in its wake. That’s who I should be pining for tonight. For sure I shouldn’t be entertaining Baya with her wonderstruck lust for me. I’m not the person she thinks I am. I’m not even close.
I head over to the blonde who’s already trying to impress me and my dick by showing off the cherry stem she’s tied in a knot with her tongue.
“It takes a talent.” I lean in and smolder into her, letting her know with every nonverbal cue, she’s about to get lucky tonight. I glance back at Baya and catch the viral look of grief sweeping across her face.
Crap. I can’t do this.
“If you need something, just ask Jim.” I call the backup from the other end of the bar and head over to Baya. “Now where were we?” I press out a sad smile. “Oh, that’s right, we’re both really glad you came.”
The rest of the night Baya glows and shines as she swindles customers out of their hard-earned dough with nothing more than that million-dollar smile. I watch her tight little bottom in those barely-there shorts as if I were her personal security team. Each passing minute I try to picture what it would be like to hold her, to twirl my tongue in her ear just to hear her moan and giggle. I watch as her lips curve and imagine she were doing it for me while lying beneath me without any clothes on—how soft her perfect body might be.
The clock strikes three, and we do the world’s fastest close before I whisk her into the cool night air.
The lamp from the parking lot illuminates her like an angel. The lot has cleared out, leaving just my truck for as far as the eye can see. It’s just Baya and me. And no matter how hard I want to resist it, I like it like this, a whole hell of a lot.
“So what’s the haul?” I nod into her overstuffed shorts.
“I think it’s over a hundred, but I’m afraid half of it will blow away if I try to empty my pockets.” She rubs her bare arms, and her teeth clatter like castanets.
“Here.” I pull off my sweatshirt and glide it over her so fast, she can’t protest.
“It’s sowarm.” She yanks it down past her knees, and it springs back up to her bottom.
Baya looks up and gives a shy smile, her sweet perfume pulls me in, and I can’t help but get caught up in the moment. It takes everything I’ve got not to bury my face in her hair, pull my lips over her neck. Earlier today she wanted a kiss. I’ve been to the rodeo enough to know what’s about to go down, and she outright begged for one while we were on that boulder. Every part of me wanted to give it, but I held strong. I’m not feeling too strong right about now. My mouth wants to cover hers. My body wants nothing more than to wrap itself around her like a blanket.
She hedges in and folds her arms around my waist.
“Baya,” I whisper with an unspoken agony I hope to never relive. It’s coming—all those feelings I had so long ago. I swore I’d never go there again. I need to stave them off—deny them. It’s the only way I know to keep my heart safe—hell, keepBaya’sheart safe.
“Is something wrong? Is it me?” Her eyes round out in horror as if maybe I’m repulsed by her.
“No.” My hands float up to her waist, and I brush over her hips with my fingers. Baya is soft, her hair smooth as silk. I lean in and inhale her scent while touching down over the top of her head with my cheek. God she smells nice—like vanilla and cinnamon and suddenly I’m very fucking hungry for vanilla and cinnamon. “You’re perfect, I promise.” A little too much.
“Is it Cole?” she whispers. She knows I’m stalling and demands to know why.
Cole is the easy out. I should take it and run with it all the way back to Whitney Briggs. A part of me wants to evict Jeanie from her dorm just to keep Baya a safe distance from me for the rest of the night—hell, the rest of the year. But I’m right there, I’m about to cave and when I do I’ll take everything she’s willing to give me.
“No, it’s not Cole.” I shake my head in defeat. The last thing I want to do is lie to her.
Tears well up in her eyes and she blinks them back. Crap. Now I’m humiliating her. That’s the last thing on the planet I want to do.
“Bryson”—her voice breaks—“do you think maybe we could share just one kiss?” The desperation, the outright pleading in her voice kills me on a primal level and my body starts to shake because I want that kiss just as bad as she does. Probably more.
