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  A more screwed-up one than you realize.

  His expression is unreadable. Guarded. “Then we should take advantage of the time we have.”

  “I have a brother.” The words are out before I can stop them. As if telling him as much about me as possible will balance my guilt over lying. “That’s something you didn’t know.”

  Still can’t read him. “How old?”

  “Few years younger than me. We live together in Los Angeles.”

  There’s a subtle tick in his jaw. “How does he feel about your job?”

  “He doesn’t know.” I recall our phone conversation at the airport. “Not the specifics, anyway. Just that I’m not studying for film school at night, like I said.”

  A young man stops at the table and drops off a pair of waters, before beelining for Southpaw to join in the petting frenzy. There’s an uncomfortable weight on my lungs, probably because I’m talking about my brother, who I’m worried sick about. The orgasms probably only shook me up more, not to mention the orgasm donor radiating possessiveness across the table. His patience and quiet encouragement compel me to make him understand on some level that my choices are limited.

  “My brother didn’t hit a growth spurt until he was a senior in high school.” After we’d already moved across the country, thus making him the new kid on top of being five feet tall. “He wasn’t alienated or anything—he had friends. Tons of them.” My lips tug at one end. “You really can’t help but love him. He once got off with a warning after covering the high school principal’s car in honey and feathers for a senior prank. Getting mad at him is almost impossible because he treats everyone like they’re in on the joke, too. No one is…left out when he’s around.” I shrug. “But people who weren’t close to him always made fun of his height, before he grew. Older neighborhood kids, mostly. They called him Armrest. Sometimes it became too much for him and I’d…”

  “Step in and knock heads together?”

  “Yeah.” We trade a small smile, but I can’t maintain mine. “But I stepped in too many times, you know? I never let him fight his own battles. He needed to brawl with Henry Bamford behind the bleachers after school instead of me showing up with a ponytail and no jewelry to take his place.”

  “The black eye would have faded, but the lesson wouldn’t have?”

  “Exactly.”

  I’m the real reason Nicky is in this mess, aren’t I?

  Will crosses his arms. “You didn’t really fight Henry Bamford, did you?”

  My mouth forms an O. “You saying girls can’t fight?”

  “I’m saying if a man gave you a black eye, I won’t be able to eat.”

  “Then order big, because Henry went down like a sack of spuds.”

  A booming laugh from Will brings Southpaw clip-clopping for the table, but Will is still looking at me. He props his elbows on the table and leans closer. “So this brother of yours. He still depends on you?”

  I press my lips together to keep the truth from tumbling out. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  “He’s alone in Los Angeles now, no sister to take care of him. Might be late in the game, but maybe that’s what he needs.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” My nod is too vigorous, so I stop and pick up the menu, searching for a distraction. And holy hell, do I get one. In big, block letters at the top of the menu are the words BEAT PAULA IN AN ARM-WRESLTING CONTEST AND EAT FOR FREE. “Who’s Paula?”

  I’m in the process of asking the question when the waitress approaches. She winces, signaling me to lower my voice. “Paula is the owner’s sister,” she mutters, plucking a pad of paper from her apron and casting a quick look over her shoulder. “It’s not meant to be taken seriously.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, matching her tone. “It’s a pretty eye-catching font.”

  “That’s because Paula designed the menu,” she explains, leaning in closer. “If you flip it over, there’s also a list of her gator-wrestling championship wins.”

  Will coughs. “Gator wrestling?”

  “Damn right, gator wrestling.”

  The waitress’s slump tells me everything I need to know. That gravel-scraped, whiskey-drenched voice belongs to Paula. And those boot thunks on the floor mean she’s headed our way.

  Leaning sideways to see around the waitress, I wonder how I missed Paula on the way into the restaurant. She’s easily six foot three and wearing a miniature cattle skull bolo tie. A black, wide-brimmed hat sits low on her head, nearly covering her eyes, but as she gets closer, she flicks it up with her index finger, proceeding to dissect me and Will through narrowed eyes.

  I glance over at Will and quickly realize I shouldn’t have. For two reasons. One, his casual amusement makes me like him even more. And two, it surprises a giggle out of me. The giggle is abruptly cut off, however, when Paula hip bumps our waitress out of the way and slaps both hands down on the table.

  “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a couple of city folk have never heard of God’s game.” Paula says, following up her statement with a long sniff. “I meant gator wrestling.”

  I nod. “Right. I got that.”

  Will nudges me under the table with his foot and I kick him back.

  Paula straightens and splits a look between Will and me. “Did I hear someone was interested in a little competition?”

  Discreetly as possible, I check the muscle definition in her arms. She could put The Rock in a chokehold. My spaghetti arms don’t stand a chance. “Oh no. No.” I fan my face with the menu. “I was just reading out loud.”

  “Size sixty Helvetica,” Paula says, jabbing a finger at the menu. “It’s a trap.”

  “I see that now.” Why couldn’t we have driven through a Wendy’s? “Having weighed the chance to eat free and getting my ass whooped, I’m going with paying.”

  Looking disappointed, Paula points at Will. “What about you, Big Sexy? You’re awfully quiet over there.”

  He does a double take at the nickname. “What do you get if you win, Paula?”

  “The only thing worth living for, slick. Bragging rights.”

  Southpaw lays his head on my thigh and I smooth a thumb between his solemn, curious brown eyes. For a second, I’m taken out of the conversation, because I swear the dog is asking me if everything is all right. “Shhh,” I murmur to him. “They’re friends.”

  At that, the dog lies down on the ground, covering both my feet, and I feel an odd sense of contentment. Right in the middle of being challenged to an arm wrestling match. A prickle on my neck compels me to look across the table and I find Will watching me with a strange expression.

  “How about this,” he says, still looking at me. “If Teresa can hang for five seconds, everyone in the bar eats and drinks for free.”

  Southpaw’s head comes up. I make a strangled noise, my stomach bottoming out and splattering on the floor. “Excuse me. What was that?”

  In seconds, everyone in the bar is gathered around the table, the possibility of free drinks and grub hanging in the balance. There’s a loud crack to my left and I realize with sickening clarity that it’s Paula’s knuckles.

  “Oh no.” I shake my head and pick the menu back up, pretending to read it. But all I can see is size sixty Helvetica. “You’re all crazy.”

  There’s a chorus of awwws.

  Will leans across the table, his expression cajoling. “Five seconds. You can do it.” His head tilts. “You’re the girl who beat up Henry Bamford.”

  Am I? Until this very moment, it never occurred to me that I haven’t felt like that girl in…kind of a while. That Teresa wouldn’t have turned in a secret application for film school and written off her chances before the mailman even arrived. She would have marched up to the admissions office and demanded to see who was in charge.

  I’ve been in a holding pattern, haven’t I? Working a job that isn’t safe and doesn’t have a damn thing to do with my hopes or dreams. I’ve been mothering Nicky, paying rent, falling into bed late at night, and I’ve
forgotten to be excited about things to come. Possibilities. Potential.

  There’s no way Will should be able to see past my confident surface. No way at all. I showed up in his room topless, for chrissakes. I sassed, I teased, I just performed a private striptease for him. But he does. His mouth is smiling, but his eyes are serious and I know he’s seeing things about me that I’m only beginning to decipher for myself. There’s more, too. As if he understands because he’s been here.

  Have I really set aside who I am? What I want?

  “City people, my ass.” I slap the menu down on the table. “It’s on.”

  The cheers are deafening. Will hoots and rises from his chair, moving into a spot behind mine. Paula takes his place across from me. Everyone crowds in on all sides. And suddenly my world has been narrowed down to an arm wrestling arena.

  “All right, baby.” Will’s voice smokes into my ear. “Here’s how we get to five seconds. You’re going to top-roll.”

  “We? And what is that?”

  I sound like a hysterical cartoon character, but Will continues undaunted, his breath on my neck, his thumb massaging me between the shoulder blades. “If we make this a bicep game, she’s got you beat, so we’re going to make it about hands, fingers and wrists, to ease the disadvantage. You’re going to work your palm upwards, along hers, like you’re trying to wrap your hand around the top part of hers. Just hold firm and focus on coming over the top of her.”

  Paula is mean mugging me across the table, gum being mutilated between her teeth. “I thought you ran a hedge fund,” I mutter to Will.

  “I didn’t always,” he mutters, laying a kiss on my cheek. “Five seconds. You got this.”

  “I was wondering why you aren’t already married. Mystery solved. You get a lap dance and your date gets her arm torn off.”

  Another kiss and this time his lips linger on my temple. “You could look at it that way. Or you could look at it mine. Thank fuck I’m not married or I’d have missed the girl who gave me a lap dance, then took on the local gator-wrestling champ. All before lunchtime.” His fingers slide up into my hair and tug, firm and gentle all at once. “Thank fuck, right?”

  I don’t have a chance to respond, because Paula props her right elbow on the table, brandishing her baseball glove hand. There’s a tattoo on her wrist that says, “No Weakness, No Pain, No Mercy.”

  “That’s a quote from The Karate Kid, right?”

  Pleasure floods Paula’s expression. She’s actually quite pretty beneath the promise of terror. “Yes. It is. Thank you for noticing.”

  I swallow and take her hand, trying not to dwell on the size difference.

  Voices pipe up from all sides, some shouting for Paula to win, others praying out loud for free beer. But I do my best to tune them out and focus on Will’s steady presence at my back. Behind me, beneath me or on the other side of a wall, nothing seems to dull his potency.

  A man steps up to the table. “Are both parties ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” Paula pushes between her teeth. “I was born that way.”

  This woman really thinks I’m going to be an easy victory. Seems to me a pro would have done some warm-up stretches, if she was taking a match seriously, right? Especially Paula. It’s these thoughts that get my adrenaline pumping. I tighten my grip on my opponent’s hand—a lot—and only get to savor a split second of nerves flitting across her face, before the man yells, “Go!”

  It’s the longest five seconds of my life.

  Forget alligators. This woman could wrestle a fucking stegosaurus.

  I’m glad Will is behind me, because I’m pretty sure my face is the kind of mottled red only worn by women giving birth to watermelon-sized babies.

  But I win.

  Or at least, I last for six seconds, before my arm gives out and goes crashing down to the table, but I don’t even feel it. Don’t even hear the thunk above the cheers and back slapping and high fives. I don’t hear it above my heart.

  “I won. Ish.” I leap up from the table and stand there, dumbfounded, satisfaction wrapping around me like a bear hug. “Holy shit.”

  There’s eight tons of adrenaline coursing through my veins and I need an outlet, so I turn and walk straight into a proud-looking Will, pulling his mouth down to mine for a kiss. It’s only meant to last long enough to serve as an outlet, but Will’s tongue sinks into my mouth, owning it. He lifts me off the ground and kisses me like we’re at the bottom of the ocean and he’s passing on all the air left in his body so I can survive.

  I absorb every addicting second of it. While I still can.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Will

  There’s a first time for everything. Today was the first time an arm-wrestling contest gave me a hard-on. And the son of a bitch still hasn’t gone away.

  We stayed a lot longer than expected at Boney’s, mostly because Teresa couldn’t seem to stop charming the pants off everyone after her impromptu victory, posing for pictures and signing a copy of the menu to be stapled to the wall. Even Paula couldn’t keep the grudging smile off her face around a flushed and exhilarated Teresa. There was a change in Teresa that might have been subtle to anyone else. To a man who tries to interpret her every word and gesture, the change was bigger. I thought she was confident before, but I’m willing to bet there’s a bottomless well of it inside her, just waiting to come out.

  She’s young—a little younger than I originally thought—and she’s got time to be exactly what she wants to be. I can’t go back and resume the life I dreamed of before my father rearranged my priorities. Watching Teresa, though? It makes me wonder if going back is even necessary. These moments with her feel fresh. Part of something new that has nothing to do with before. Or after. Just…right now.

  I glance at Teresa where she sits in the passenger seat, giggling at Southpaw’s big panting mouth where it hangs over her shoulder. Damn, I’m hungry for her again. If she wasn’t giving me sex eyes every thirty seconds back in the restaurant, I might have carried her out of there over my shoulder, just to get her undivided attention for a few minutes. But all afternoon, she had this…way about her. A way of making it clear she was with me. Whether she swayed over and twined her arms behind my neck or tugged on the hem of my T-shirt and winked, it felt like…a relationship.

  I fucking loved it.

  Every time someone walked into Boney’s, Southpaw danced around and yipped until the newcomers greeted Teresa. Whether he was introducing Teresa or wanted her to make introductions, I couldn’t figure out, but hell if my damn heart didn’t climb up into my throat every time.

  Distractions. I needed them. From the question mark that still hangs over Teresa’s head. From the truth of what’s coming with Southpaw. So while the locals commandeered her in the bar, I ducked outside and made a hotel reservation. We’re about halfway to Nashville and close enough to Ouachita National Forest to stop for the night. But no way am I checking her into another shithole motel where I have to be concerned about her safety if she leaves to get ice.

  Since leaving New York, I’ve been existing in a different kind of world. Money is available, but it’s no longer something to flaunt to keep my financial heavyweight image solid. Most of the time, I have no predetermined persona among strangers, which has left the door open to just be myself. It costs money to stay in a place like this one, though. A good chunk. Teresa knows I’m well off, but she hasn’t seen proof of it yet and I’m not exactly anxious to make the transition from before to after. Falling back on my pile of resources takes me a little further away from my own before…and the quest to find out if that part of me still exists.

  My hands flex and tighten on the steering wheel. Up ahead, the trees are clearing to reveal a sweeping ranch-style hotel, an opulent fountain bubbling in the covered, circular driveway. An army of bellhops stand at attention, prepared to retrieve our luggage and speed us through the check-in process, knowing there’ll be a fat tip on the other end.

  Based on the way Teresa has been si
tting forward in the passenger seat since we checked in at the front security gate, it’s not what she was expecting. “Oh no. I can’t afford this.”

  “You’re my guest.”

  There’s a slice of panic in the look she cuts me. “Aren’t you taking this whole call girl fantasy a little too far now?”

  Acid boils in my stomach. Is that what she thinks? “That’s not what this is, Teresa. Jesus.”

  Some of the tension leaks from her shoulders, but a lot of it remains. “What is it then?”

  We stop in front of the bell hop podium and I pop the trunk, ignoring the flurry of activity taking place around the car to focus on Teresa. “I want you to be safe. You were already staying at the motel when I showed up. But if I take you somewhere, everyone better damn well call you ma’am. And not that I don’t enjoy putting assholes in their place for commenting on your appearance, but I’m still pissed from the last time. Having it happening again so soon wouldn’t be pretty. All right, baby? We’re going to a place with fountains.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “I would call you arrogant, but you’ve probably been called worse.”

  “It’s part of my charm.” Maybe it’s the way she looks at me like I’m see-through, but once again I’m compelled to reveal more to this woman. “I want us to be on equal terms like we were in that shit-bag motel, but I don’t know how to do that. Not without denying you the things you deserve.”

  “Damn,” she murmurs, rolling her soft-looking lips together. “Stop switching lanes, Will. I can’t keep up.”

  Christ, I want to be inside her so bad. Want to test out this live wire connection between us while I’m so deep she can’t hide a single thing. She thinks she can’t keep up with me? I’ve never been so fascinated by a woman in my life and ready to do what it takes to earn her secrets. “I think we’re about even right now.”