Country Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book #8)(6)
“Here’s to hoping.” He offers up a quick toast as he takes the beer from Baya, and she sets my ruby red daiquiri in front of me before disappearing in another perfumed whisper.
“And as much as I do love the self-abasing humor, I find an equal distaste in the expletive-riddled, self-abasing tirade. I prefer all my expletive-riddled tirades stay locked behind closed doors—the bedroom door to be exact in the event you’re wondering.” I bite over my thumbnail and offer a little wink. For a brief second, I imagine a mini version of my sister sitting on my shoulder, fully equipped with horns and a tail—just cheering on the proposed bedroom expletive-riddled tirades.
“Maybe I’m not that bad.” That lopsided grin of his, that heavy lust-filled look in his eyes begs to differ. It’s as if I’ve upped the ante, and the air between us charges electric.
“Yes, you are,” I counter, lifting my drink to him in a mock toast right back. “You are just that bad and worse, I’d venture to guess.”
Cade leans in hard, the heady scent of his musky cologne, expensive and thick as a wool coat, warms the space between us. “That I am.” His gaze lays heavy over mine, drugged and smugly secure in where this happy trail of seduction just might be leading. “I’m a very dirty, dirty boy when I’m locked behind bedroom doors.” His features smooth out with serious intent, but that current traveling from his gorgeous night sky eyes to mine demands my pretty pink bits and pieces quiver to attention. “Expletive-riddled tirades in the bedroom are my specialty.”
I lean in. My finger swirls a clean circle over the rim of his beer. “And what exactly do you think I would do if I were to witness one of these tirades of yours?”
“Shout with pleasure.” He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t miss a beat.
The air stills around us, the music fades, and the voices in the room all warble into a ball of white noise. It’s just Cade and I locked in this strange place, where his determination to find someone to sit on his very enthusiastic lap, and my inadvertent need to keep vital information away from him regarding my all too close connection to his sister takes over. I’m not sure what difference it would make if I spilled the dormitory beans, but I like the idea of keeping Piper off the table for now. For some strange reason, I want Cade all for myself a moment. Once he finds out I’m his little sister’s bestie, that might relegate me right back to the friend zone and cancel out any future lane changes that might inadvertently lead to his expletive-riddled bedroom.
A group of girls knock against our table before scuttling off drunk, and we both catch our drinks before they offer up a spontaneous baptism.
We share a warm laugh.
“You’ve got quick reflexes, I’ll give you that.” He touches his glass to mine before sucking the foam off the top of his beer. “So, what’s your story?” He glances back at the dance floor where his sister fist pumps with the best of them. “You go to Briggs?”
“Freshman.” Like your sister, I want to say but don’t. This isn’t some midnight confessional. He wasn’t Father Cade James last time I checked. As far as I’m concerned, Piper is persona non grata tonight. My gaze rides over the periphery of our tiny little table, only to affirm a number of short-skirted coeds still ready and willing to strip Cade bare with their teeth once the moment allows. Sorry, skanks. This one is with me.
“Freshman,” he repeats with increasing concern, and I can practically see Piper James right there, dancing around in her brother’s eyes, vexing him to no end with our youthful connection. How much older did she say he was? He can’t be more than a couple of years. “My sister’s a freshman.” He gives a momentary frown into this offense. “I’m a junior—business major. How about you?” He’s back to grinning, and my heart skips a few fleeting beats because I do believe we just tap danced right around Little Miss Pouting Piper. If Piper knew she was just avoided on both ends of our conversation, her ego might combust. Piper, much like any little she-devil worth her salt, does appreciate her conversation-hoggin’ due.
“Undeclared, but I’m planning on switching to business.” It’s true. After seeing the haul Caila brings in and knowing that the club takes a hefty cut themselves, I figure I’d best start up my own franchise of something just as lucrative come graduation. If I can appreciate anything, it’s getting a hefty take. Lord knows I wouldn’t earn a dime rotating on that pole all night long. Another venture I’m looking to pursue is starting my own makeup line one day—Vixen Cosmetics. I figure I’ll get the business know-how first, then work with cosmetologists to develop something specialized that will work well on heavy scars and burns—mine included.
“Business? That’s great.” He scoots his chair in close to my left, and I all but tip backward trying to scoot the hell away in the opposite direction. “Sorry.” He slides his seat on back where it came from, and I no longer have to worry about the neck cramp that’s been steadily forming. Thanks to our impromptu rendition of musical chairs, my good side is naturally on display.
“Please don’t apologize.” That fruity glass of strawberry daiquiri courage calls to me, and I take an unordinarily long swig of my drink, draining half of the concoction in a single bound, and my head spins quick enough to spew just about anything from these lips. “Just to be upfront, I’m not gunning to get laid tonight.” Crap. So not what I was hoping would spew from my lips. Where the heck did that little tidbit of sanity come from? The mini Caila on my shoulder stabs me in the eye with her pitchfork, and I wince.