When I Fall (Alabama Summer #3)

“Wow. She was something else.”

He looks over at me, dropping his elbows to the table, his hands clasped together inches from his face.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks gruffly.

“What was what?”

“The kissing. The girlfriend bullshit.” His head shakes ever so slightly. “What was that?”

“I did you a favor,” I answer defensively, my voice tight with emotion. “I saw the way you reacted to her. I knew she was someone who hurt you, and . . .” I almost don’t say it, but I’ve already made this pretty clear to everyone in this bar. My voice softens. “And I like you, okay? I didn’t want to see you look like that.”

“So you kiss me? What good did that do?”

I suddenly want to slide under this booth and either curl up into a ball or punch this guy right in the nuts. He was clearly hitting on me. I’m sure we would’ve kissed eventually with or without the audience. So what’s the big deal?

Instead of bombarding him with questions, I settle on giving him the same glare he’s giving me as I hide the rejection slow burning beneath my surface.

“You know the best way to get back at someone who hurt you? Without risking jail time? Show them how happy you are with someone else. Even if you’re over the other person, it can still sting. Not always. It was a risk I was willing to take, and it worked. She clearly got uncomfortable seeing you and me together.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t do that,” he hisses. “I don’t . . .” His eyes pinch shut. He turns his head away from me, digging the heel of his hands into his eyes. “What the fuck?” he whispers harshly before raking both hands down his face. He looks over at me. “And roping me into that engagement party? Are you out of your mind? Why the fuck would I want to go to that?”

I reach for the card and hold it out for him to see. “This was a challenge. She’s not convinced we’re together. I bet she doesn’t think we’ll show up to this.”

“We won’t.”

“Maybe you won’t,” I counter. “I can play your girlfriend with or without you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Of course, it’ll be a lot more convincing if you’re there, which I think you should be. This is the perfect opportunity to stick it to that snobby bitch.”

He stares at me in silence, searching my face for reasoning as his taste continues to saturate my mouth.

Watermelon, I think. Maybe the gum he was chewing earlier. It’s sweet, and tangy, and him. I’d go for seconds, but I honestly don’t know what he would do if I attacked him again. I can’t handle him pushing me away, so I keep my lips to myself and savor what he’s already given me.

“Look,” I begin, dropping my hands to my lap. “It might be uncomfortable being around your ex and her fiancé, but it’ll be worth seeing that look on her face again when I kiss you. That was priceless.”

“Why are you doing this? What’s in this for you?” he asks, concern flooding his voice.

I set the card down, grab my Kindle off the table, and settle back against the booth. My eyes stay on the screen as it slowly powers on. “I already told you. I didn’t like seeing you look like that. I’m not doing this for me.”

I like you. I want to spend time with you. How obvious do you want me to be?

“I want to do this for you, so I am. It’s that simple.”

He stands from the booth, running a rough hand though his hair before looking down at me. Our eyes lock, and I see that my explanation of my actions isn’t settling him at all. He’s either not buying it, or he’s not okay with it, but I made my decision. I’m going to this thing. Maybe I can convince her on my own that we’re together.

“I’m not going,” he states, his words conclusive. “If you want to go by yourself and pretend we’re something we’re not, go ahead. Have at it.”

His words sting my ears, and something else in my body.

More central, and slightly moronic due to it’s tendency to fall for the wrong guy.

Why is he so different with me now? What the hell did I do besides continue what he started?

“You kissed me back,” I say, halting his first step as he tries to leave the table. He slowly turns his head to look at me, and I swallow hard before I elaborate. “I didn’t imagine that. You could’ve pushed me off, but you didn’t. You really kissed me, and I think you liked it.”

You wanted me. I think you still want me.

His lips part to speak, but he says nothing. That lost look is back in his eyes, and that’s the only thing he gives me before he disappears through the crowd and walks out the door.

I fall back against the booth, clutching my Kindle to my chest.

Reed

THREE DAYS.

Three fucking days, and I still can’t shake that damn kiss.

It doesn’t help that it’s rained every day since Sunday, shutting down the job site and the distraction I desperately need. Work is a really good thing to keep your mind busy, but I don’t have it. I have my cock instead, which is reminding me every time I think I’m over that fucking mouth of hers how wrong I am. I’ve ignored it. I’m not jerking off to a goddamn kiss. Her sexy little body and the image of it tied to my bed while I pound into her, that I have jerked off to. But not that kiss.

I won’t break over something I didn’t even want.

My hand isn’t on my cock because she gave me a wild unlike I’ve ever had.

I’m not stroking myself because she took my mouth and fucking owned it like it never even belonged to me.

And I’m definitely not moaning her name because I liked that kiss.

No, that’s not what’s happening. Not even close.

I fucking loved that kiss. Loved. It.

Me, a guy who goes out of his way to avoid kissing the women he brings home because I don’t give a damn about anything but sex, is ruined from thirty seconds of one chick’s mouth. That perfect fucking mouth. Full, soft lips, the bottom slightly bigger than the top. That wicked little tongue and the way it sought after mine.

She was right. I could’ve pushed her off. I could’ve gotten the hell out of there before completely screwing myself. But I didn’t. I wanted her, and that mouth, and I fucking took it. Or she took mine. Or we both just took what we wanted and didn’t give a damn about the other person because that’s how it felt.

I was greedy and envious of every other man who tasted that mouth before me.

And she was . . . fuck, she was vulgar. Grinding against me, moaning around my lips. Biting and sucking and owning.

Motherfucker. That mouth.

My cock goes limp in my hand the second my thoughts shift to Molly. She had to walk into that fucking bar. It’s like the bitch knew I’d be in there, and she couldn’t wait to shove that fucking invitation in my face. I gave her everything. Every-fucking-thing. I showed her how fucking serious I was about us before she left. Maybe I was a little desperate. But I would’ve waited for her. I could’ve handled four years. I was fucking handling it.

So why . . . fuck, why wasn’t I enough?

The cell phone ringing down the hall pulls me out of bed. I toss the covers aside and stretch my back, flexing my right hand so it doesn’t hold the grip I’ve had all morning. I actually feel the loss of fluids as I toss the handful of tissues into the trash bin and attempt to sprint down the hallway in the direction of my ringtone. My body fatigues quickly, slowing my movements.