Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,25

regret over being such an asshole when we were younger and I refused to dance. Because what would happen, every damn time, is she’d rush to the dance floor, and the sexy way she moved would have every guy from every corner of the place drooling until some dumb fuck who didn’t know she was mine tried to grind against her.

At which point my vision would go red and my fists would start swinging.

Back then I thought I was defending what was mine or whatever. Now I realize I was ruining, over and over again, her chance to freely do the thing she loved.

So maybe tonight is a way to repent for all the sins of my past. And, maybe, it’s a way to give her one last good memory of me that doesn’t include being naked and writhing around in the sheets before we say goodbye forever.

Harlow shimmies over to the old ass jukebox, taps some ornery looking bastard on the shoulder, and smiles with delight when he produces a few quarters in exchange for some dollars after she asks with her pouty bottom lip poking out. I keep my fists at my side as the old asshole ogles her up and down while she sways her hips and throws her change in. The whiny, sad music screeches to a stop and the drunks swaying on the dance floor perk up.

I didn’t know the song, but it’s sung by a girl with a voice like icy lemonade on a hot day. The voice coats a beat that has everyone’s feet tapping in time. Harlow takes my hand and laughs full-on when I twirl her to the floor. Barstools empty and pool games stop while people come to the floor to dance or crowd around to watch.

To watch Harlow.

Why the hell did I ever throw punches when people drew to her? It’s like hating a moth for flying at the light over and over. She seems to have a halo round her, but not one of those goody gold ones the angels have ringing their heads. This halo glows around her entire body, every sexy-as-sin curve and long, sweet line. I’m not the only one who can’t keep their eyes off of her, and I tug her tight to me.

“Shit, kitten, you sure as hell know your way around a dance floor, don’t you?” I say in her ear, loving the way the heat of the pool hall is making her neck slick with sweat. Her hair sticks to it a little, and it reminds me of the way it looks when we’re in bed, skin to skin, moaning and rubbing up each other.

“It’s my major,” she says. There’s a big proud smile on her face, and it’s a knife in my heart.

I never asked about her damn major.

I never asked what college she goes to, even though I listened to her chatter about how excited she was to go that whole summer. I never asked who she goes to put yellow roses on her mama’s grave with. Because, that summer, she went to do that at my mama’s gravesite with me, and I promised I’d be the one to it with her at her mama’s. I never asked if her friend Daisy got that tattoo of a fairy on her hip, though I know that if she did, Harlow didn’t get a matching one like her friend wanted. Harlow’s hips are smooth and sun-kissed and my lips and hands know every square inch.

There are thousands of questions I never bothered to ask her. Questions that make a difference. Questions that can’t be fucked away.

She’s got her back to me, and she slides down slightly as we move to the beat, letting her plump little ass nestle against the jut of my dick. She reaches her hands to both sides and links her fingers with mine, pulling my hands to those hips I was just thinking about.

I turn her around in my arms, and she tilts her neck back, those clear blue eyes looking to me like I have all the answers.

Too bad the truth is, I don’t have a single one.

I knew from the second she strolled into my bar that taking back up with her was going to be a world of trouble. I had no idea just how much trouble I was looking at.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” she asks.

I tighten my hands on her hips and am about to tell her that this is the wrong direction for