Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(11)

Rubbing my fingers across my jaw I remembered I was shirtless, shower-less, and unshaved whiskers scraped across my palm.

Shy wasn’t used to seeing me like this any more than I was used to seeing her as an adult.

A woman.

“I want to start my own brewery,” I stated.

“Compete with your folks’ company?”

“That’s bad, huh?”

“Well, beer and not bourbon, right?” She reached up and rasped her fingertips against the stubble on my neck. “Besides, I don’t think you’re bad at all.”

Something hard knocked in my chest. Something harder knocked in my groin.

Seriously?

How many times did I need to tell my dick this was never ever in this lifetime gonna happen?

I kept a flat expression on my face while I stalked into the garage bay, made my way to the sink. Pumping out water, I splashed it over my cheeks and neck and chest.

Spinning with my hands skimming the excess before it reached my abs, I was heart-stopped by Shy’s hungry look.

At me.

Oh God.

This wasn’t gonna end good.

I needed a T-shirt. Chains to lock me up. To tase myself, maybe, as she advanced.

My hands warded her off. “I could be bad, Shy.”

Her lips parted.

Her feet moved.

Her hips swung.

She came so goddamn close I clutched the lip of the sink, wishing I could dive down the drain hole instead of diving into her silver-shaded eyes.

I only relaxed, slumped back, remembered to breathe, when a playful smile tipped her lips. “Naughty, naughty Maxwell Rush.”

Her finger wagged beneath my nose.

She turned about-face with an ass-swinging hypnotic move.

“Thanks for fixing my car.”

I tried to talk. Nothing came out. I was still clinging to the fucking sink like it was a buoy.

What the shit?

I spied Brodie leaning just inside the doorway, taking it all in, keeping everyone else out.

“One more thing, Max?” Shy’s breathy voice coiled back.

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. “What?”

“I sure could use some help moving back into my condo on Saturday.” When she turned back—just before slipping into her car—she bit into her lip.

My brain is backfiring.

Brodie loped out of the shadows, shook her hand, and closed her door.

She started the engine, wound her arm behind the front seat, and started backing out like a fucking starlet.

I frowned the entire time.

Before Shy got too far, Brodie—number one nosy fucker—leaned into her window, loudly stating, “Hell yeah. We got enough manpower. Lazy bastards could do with something useful on their work schedules. And Handsome can be the boss in charge.”

Evil. Fucker.





Chapter Six


The Other Other One-Percenters





“WHAT IS THIS PLACE? A fucking museum or something?” Tail wrenched his neck back to stare up at the three-story mansion on The Battery.

I smacked him on the back of his head. “Could you try not to swear for one sentence?”

The moving crew to help Shy consisted of Tail, Brodie, Cole, and me. I’d thought about enlisting Bo—because the dude was a former Marine and built like a tank—but he had a session with his sexy Doc Ronnie. I hadn’t even considered enlisting Kinkaid—because the dude was an ex-stripper.

And I was already gonna blind both Tail and Cole with my bowie knife if they didn’t keep their eyes in their heads instead of planted on Shy’s ass when they saw her again.

I rang the doorbell and hoped like hell Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart weren’t home. Did not wanna see them again. Frig it. I hoped even more my parents weren’t home next door.

Shiloh swung the door open, and I had to smile.

There was just something so fresh about her. Another long flowy dress she’d somehow hiked—a little bit too high in my opinion—on the right side so a long length of healthy tanned leg showed.

And up above some healthy tanned cleavage showed.

I quickly snapped my eyes away—and considered taking the bowie knife to my own peepers.

“Cavalry’s here,” I said.

Considered giving her a fist bump just to keep things totally straightforward and platonic, but that wasn’t how we did things.

By we I meant the privileged of downtown Charleston.

Brushing against her as little as possible, I hugged her with one arm.

Her lips nudged against my cheek, just above the neat stubble, right where I was most sensitive, leaving a warm, damp echo.

“Thanks so much for this, Max.”

“More like mini. Mini dick.” Brodie snickered.

“Shove it, Broderick,” I cracked back.

“Broderick, is it?” Shy asked, and I enjoyed watching Brodie get flustered.

“Hey”—he rolled his shoulders back—“not as bad as Boomer’s real name.”

“Which is?” Shy prodded.

“Harold.” He snorted.

“Oh my. He doesn’t look like a Harold at all.”

“Nah. He looks like a one-man wrecking crew.” Cole joined the nonsense conversation.

Hoping to get this show on the road, I rubbed my hands together. “Right. Where do we start?”