Raging Heart On (Lucas Brothers #2)(19)

So much for claiming we’re not sexually attracted one another. Clearly that’s not an issue. At least not for me. Thankfully, Black comes back on the phone and saves me from my own thoughts.

“She’s at 1846 Carolina Avenue, downtown.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I had a buddy ping her phone. There’s a bar there called Dempsey’s. I’d say she’s there, brother.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“More like a hundred. Go get your woman.”

“She’s not mine,” I deny, but Black’s already hung up. His words are still echoing in my head when I start my truck and head downtown.

To get Kayla… who is not my woman. But who I definitely want to f*ck. There’s no denying that with my dick practically ripping through my jeans at the moment.





CHAPTER 13


KAYLA




My phone vibrates a couple of times after I hang up on White, but I ignore it and the guilt that tries to grab ahold of me. I don’t owe him or anyone an explanation. He ruined my perfect plan. Okay, it was perfect until he brought up the whole disease thing. Call me a freak, but I didn’t really think about that. I know it sounds crazy, and judge me if you want to, but it’s not like I have sex all the time with men I don’t know. Let’s be more honest: it’s not like I have sex that often. Period. The furthest thing from my mind was getting diseases. Now I can’t help but obsess about it.

I’ve been sitting here in this bar for two hours, nursing my second beer, and no matter who I look at, the end result is always the same: Does he have Crabs? Syphilis? Gonorrhea? Chlamydia or worse? To be honest I don’t even know what half of those are. I’ve just heard of them and know that I don’t want to ever experience them.

White did this. He ruined my plan. The bastard.

I came here tonight thinking if I pick out a man who looks clean, wears expensive clothes, and is well-spoken then I could chance it. I’ve met two of those and, yeah, I’m not willing to chance it.

All of this boils down to one thing: I need to find another plan. One that doesn’t involve putting my life in danger. Which is why I’m sitting at a table, in a crowded bar, on a Saturday night, writing in a notebook. Not just any notebook. No, this one is a pink glitter notebook with a matching glitter pen. Whenever I write on the paper, the ink is glittery too, and that makes me smile. This is needed since what I’m writing is a list of names. Names of men I know. Men who might want to donate some baby batter for the cause.

I realize that sounds pitiful. It, however, is not as pitiful as the fact that the list has a whopping four names on it. One of those is half crossed out because, well, it’s Tommy and only in pure desperation would I be able to lower my pride to go there. The other name is a coworker and I’m not even a hundred percent sure that he in fact has the correct parts. I’m not being mean or anything, but he has boobs that rival mine. They could be man boobs, but I’ve always wondered. The next name is Bobby Crenshaw, my ex who wasn’t a great catch for sure, but I know him, and he’s comfortable. It helps that I know he could do what was needed—even if it wouldn’t be very eventful.

The last name on the list is one I keep circling over and over and I hate myself for it. White. I need to get him out of my mind and definitely out of my heart. With that in mind I make a line through his name.

There’s only one other name that I can think of that might work. So, I write it down now. One other name: Green Lucas. White’s brother. I know him almost as well as I know White. He’s had horrible taste in women, especially since he’s been in love with Tommy’s ex Cynthia most of his life. That aside, he’s sweet, honest, a great father, and a good friend. He could work. He may have to work, if I go this route. I sigh, closing the notebook and sticking the pen in the coiled spine.

“Let’s go.”

My head jerks up to see White standing over me. His face is tight in anger, his tanned skin has a light blush, and his hair is rumpled. Frustration is coming off of him in waves. He’s wearing tight jeans and a long-sleeved blue button-up shirt. He looks good, unbelievably good, and that irritates me. Can’t the man have one night where he has a bad hair day? A wart on his nose? A mole on his neck shaped like a big toe with hair growing out of it? Something. Anything besides perfection.

“Can’t you ever look bad? Is that so much to ask?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” I sigh, taking a sip of my beer to discover that it’s stale. I suppose I’ve been nursing it for way too long. I hold up a hand, motioning for the waitress. White reaches over and grabs it, pushing it down.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

"Ordering a drink."

"I think you've had enough, Kayla."

"Actually, White, I've barely had anything. This is only my second beer and it's flat. I want another one."

"We need to leave."

"You should go ahead and do that then, but I'm not leaving."

"I'm not going to let you do this, Kayla. It's not happening!"

"Order a beer? Why the hell not?"

"No, not order a beer. You're not going to hook up with some * tonight. It's not happening," he repeats.