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“Thirty-two.”
That’s an easy one. Because thirty-two is how old I am. And why I definitely shouldn’t be flirting—or whatever this is we’re doing—with my best friend’s little brother. Who is six years younger than me.
“Why are you asking me twenty questions?”
“Because I’m not fucking you when you’re drunk, Lemon. But lucky for me, I don’t think you are. You only had three drinks tonight. Over nearly two hours. So, we’re all good.”
“We are not all good. And you’re not fucking me at all, kid.”
“We’ll see about that,” he whispers. “I’m taking you home tonight. Your place is what, twenty minutes from here?”
“Give or take.”
“Well, I’m taking you home. And that’s how long you’ve got to figure out whether I’m coming inside with you tonight.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
Jameson doesn’t know what he’s saying. Or what he’s playing at. But that’s all this is. A game. He’s bored, and he feels like pressing someone’s buttons tonight, and stirring up some shit. I’m just the unlucky woman who came across his path.
He nods. “Maybe. But you can keep calling me names and go to bed alone, or you can spend the night riding my face. Not sure I’m the idiot here.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“You can roll your eyes at me all you like, Lemon. But you should know, it’s only getting me hard.”
My eyes involuntarily drop to the crotch of his jeans before I force myself to look away. “Maybe I’m going to find my own ride home? I’m sure there’s at least one guy in this town who wouldn’t mind taking me home tonight. Maybe I’ll invite him in for a beer?”
Jameson makes a sound that’s either a grunt or a growl, or both. He presses his hand against the back of my neck and pulls my face an inch from his.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you walk out of here with another man. What happens when we get to your place is up to you. But you’re leaving this bar with me tonight, Lemon.”
“I’m going to tell Jacks about this,” I threaten.
He shakes his head and smiles down at me. “No, you’re not.”
Shit. Of course, I’m not telling my best friend and Jameson’s older brother about this. But he’s not supposed to know that, damnit.
“Finish your drink, Lemon. Because we’re leaving.”
I don’t know what comes over me. But I do as I’m told, throwing back the last few sips of my tequila soda in a gulp. With pineapple and lime. Why did he have to know that? And why does he have to look so freaking good in an old t-shirt and ripped jeans? Ripped from wear and tear working on his family farm, and not because he thinks it looks cool.
When I press my glass back down onto the table a little too hard, the ice ricochets around, making sharp clattering sounds. Then Jameson pulls me off the bar stool I’m perched on and wraps his arm around my waist, shuttling me towards the door and out into the street.
His dark blue pickup is parked across the street in the back of the parking lot for a little grocery store. The tires and lower half of the truck have a heavy coating of dust and mud on them.
When he opens the door for me to get in, I roll my eyes. But I climb in. At least the inside of his truck is cleaner than the outside.
The Waters boys are all so ridiculous about opening doors for me. Like I couldn’t open a door myself if my life depended on it. I refuse to thank him for it or say another word to him because he’s being so ridiculous tonight.
Of course, we can’t sleep together. What would Jacks say? What would Gunnar say? What would Mr. Waters say? I’d never be able to show my face in Western Springs ever again. I’d have to move away from the only place I’ve ever wanted to live. I’d have to leave the entire province, probably. I’ve heard the Yukon is lovely.
For twenty whole minutes, neither of us says a single word. The lights of Western Ridge fade into the distance, and then we’re driving on the dark highway back to Western Springs. It’s cloudy tonight, so the headlights from Jameson’s truck on the road ahead are the only light around us.
I keep peeking at him, but his eyes are on the road in front of us, so I can only see his profile. My anxious energy from tonight turns into something else the closer we get to Western Springs. Jameson turns off and takes the back roads through town, cutting through residential streets, to my house at the far end of town instead of driving down Grove Street, the main street in Western Springs. It’s not even ten yet, and someone could see us together on Grove Street. That would be very, very bad for a million different reasons.
When Jameson pulls his truck up in front of the little white rancher at the edge of town that my grandma left me, my hand hesitates on the door handle. Instead of jumping out and running for the door, I stay right where I am.
I can think of a million different reasons that this is a bad idea, and only one why it’s not. There’s what I should do. I should get out, walk into the house, and not give this insane idea a second thought. And then there’s what I want to do. I want to have a night of crazy hot sex with a hot as fuck man who really seems to want to make me come.
