The Thing About Trouble (Crystal Lake 1)

“What the hell, Booker. You think you got dibs on every female in the place?” Mick clenched his fists and began to posture, just as Tiny, the huge bouncer and part-time bartender, appeared. “You boys okay?” he asked lightly. His bald head shone beneath the muted lighting as he looked them over, and his wide shoulders stretched his T-shirt menacingly.

“We’re good,” Cam said. “Mick’s just leaving, and I’m taking the lady home. She’s had enough for one night. Can you let Poppy and Brandon know?”

“Sure thing.” Tiny arched a brow toward Mick. “Time to drink up and leave.”

Cam slid his arm around Blue’s shoulder and began to head toward the exit, but she surprised him and grabbed his arm.

“Wait. I…” She licked her lips, and damned if something inside him didn’t get all twisted up. “I love this song.”

She tugged on his arm and pulled him back to the dance floor. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up at him. She just sort of melted into his body, and before he knew what he was doing, Cam wrapped one arm around her waist and drew her in as close as he could.

The aching and simple strains of the song washed over them as they moved in the crowd, their hips in sync, their feet in time to the sultry beat. The song talked about pain, betrayal, and a need so bad, it hurt. It talked about the pull and never letting go. Funny. Cam had never listened to the words before.

He moved, and Blue followed. Her scent and warmth enveloped him in a way he’d never experienced. Her cheek was against his chest, and her small hand folded into his. He could have stayed that way for another hour or so. Maybe all night.

When the song was over, a lot of folks kept moving, mouths fused, fingers trailing, bodies melted together. He felt Blue stiffen and let his hands fall away from her. For a moment, he just took her in. All that hair. A mouth that was overly plump, those breasts that strained against her T-shirt. She was dressed in jeans, and yet she was just as sexy as if she were standing in lingerie or…

Or what?

Fuck. Cam stood back and ran his hands through his hair, not liking where his mind was headed. Him and Blue weren’t a thing. Hell, they could never be a thing even if she actually liked him, which he wasn’t so sure she did. Cam Booker and Bluebell Barnes moved in two different worlds, and she was a lot more complicated than he’d ever imagined. At the moment, Cam had enough complications in his life.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t human. That didn’t mean he couldn’t see the sadness in her eyes. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, because something felt off. But he didn’t. Instead, he got his shit together and reached into his front pocket for his keys.

“I’ll take you home now.”

Blue nodded and let him lead her out to the parking lot, where she jumped into his truck and turned toward the window without a word. She stared out into space while he kept his eyes on the road. The drive out to the lake was silent. Hell, he didn’t even turn on the radio. He pulled up in front of her house. She reached for the door and opened it. He watched her, unsure of what had gone down, unsure of how to react, but knowing he should just keep his mouth shut. Blue saved him from making an ass out of himself with a small wave as she offered up a smile.

“Thank you.” She ran up the wide concrete steps and let herself into the darkened home. After a bit, a light came on upstairs, a soft glow that spilled outside.

He waited a few more seconds, and then Cam headed into the night.

8

Blue was feeling meh—she had a fuzzy head and no energy—just meh.

She guessed it had something to do with all the beer she’d ingested the night before. And that slow dance with Cam Booker hadn’t helped. The beer she could deal with but it was the dancing thing that had kept her up all night. She couldn’t stop thinking about how, in his arms, everything in her world had felt perfect and warm and safe.

She’d been fighting her whole life, it seemed—always a battle to deal with—and always alone. Her mother hadn’t been much help. In fact, most of the time, she’d been part of the problem. Her father had bailed exactly one week after her twelfth birthday, and her brother, Cash, left home two years later when he was eighteen. As much as she understood his reasons, his leaving had devastated her. She hadn’t seen him again until years later and then, well, there’d been Arizona.

She squeezed her eyes shut. God, she didn’t want to think about Arizona. That had been one of the darkest moments in her life, and she’d dragged Cash into it. She would never forgive herself for what had gone down, nor would she forget the guilt and shame and sorrow.

Bluebell Barnes was alone, and she liked it that way because no one got hurt. But, for just that moment, it had been nice to lean on someone, to let Cam’s energy slide over her and sink into her pores.

It had been nice to feel as if, for those few minutes at least, she mattered to someone.

And then it was gone and she was home, alone in this big space that felt more like a prison. She’d gotten up at the crack of dawn and downed two aspirins before jumping in the shower to wake up and hitting the gym for a vigorous workout. She was restless and bored and, well, in a funk. Why else would a person find themselves on a beautiful Sunday afternoon at the mall, wandering the stores aimlessly? She could have taken the boat onto the lake or done just about anything else other than shopping.

Instead, she was at the mall hoping some retail therapy would make her feel better. But nothing she looked at sparked interest. Not the crimson Prada bag or the pink Louboutin shoes with the pretty ribbon. The shoes alone would have brought a smile

to any woman’s face. And yet, she’d tried them on and eventually told the salesgirl she wasn’t interested.

Pink. Louboutin. Shoes.

Yep. She was in a full-on funk and had no idea how to crawl out of it.

With a sigh, she took the escalator to the bottom level, thinking a cold iced coffee from Starbucks would be good for the ride home. It was nearly two in the afternoon, and she’d been here long enough. Maybe she’d dig out a good book and at least salvage the afternoon. There was that one with the firefighter and the paramedic. She followed the signs to the food court—it was about a two-minute hike to the other end of the mall, and she hurried along, eyes ahead, sneakers squeaking on the polished tiles. She’d dressed casual for the trip, a simple light blue sundress and the squeaky white sneakers. She’d applied some light gloss and pulled her hair back into a messy knot.

There was a large group of teens in front of a store taking selfies and laughing. She had to alter her course a bit in order to get around them, but didn’t mind. When she did, she nearly collided with a man. And a little girl. The little girl had a very serious look on her face as she pulled on the man’s arm. While the man held on to several bags with his other hand—all of them pink and girlie and so feminine, they looked sort of ridiculous in his possession. Because his arms were impressive. And his muscles.