Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,27
few years, and I can’t say I like the way it fits very much.
“Can we do a shot of Southern Comfort?” she asks.
“Baby, we can drink any damn thing you want,” I say. I take her by the hand and pull her to the bar, pushing her in front of me so I can keep an eye on her.
Why the fuck did I decide to take her to such a shady shithole?
I give some asshole a look that communicates I’ll kick his ass in when I catch him licking his lips at Harlow. Meanwhile, the douchebag bartender catches sight of her and rushes over.
“What can I get for you, angel?” he asks.
Before she can say a word, I growl out, “Two shots of Southern Comfort and make it quick.”
The guy glares at me and gets the drinks ready. Harlow turns to me, her eyes perfect wide circles. “That was really rude, Gunner.”
“He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, kitten,” I said, my mouth close to her ears. “And there isn’t a man I wouldn’t beat the piss out of for looking at you like that. You’re mine to eat, and I plan to do it tonight until you come in my mouth.”
She presses her lips together and her delicate hand shakes when she lifts the glass. I slap a bill on the bar and stare down the bartender, who stalks away.
Harlow holds the glass out to me. “To our mamas. Two of the best damn women who walked the earth, gone too soon.”
My throat goes tight, but I clear it and clink glasses. “To our mamas.”
It’s a strange toast, but it makes sense for the two of us. The first time we met, Harlow told me about her mother and how much she missed her. I remember thinking that this loved, petted, perfect rich girl and my lowly, stinkin,’ wrong-side-of-the-tracks self had one thing in common at least. Once I got to know her, I found out we were actually more alike than I thought possible.
It’s a damn shame that with all the things we had in common, a few differences destroyed any chance for us to be together. But that’s life. It sure as hell isn’t fair, and Harlow and I both learned that when we buried our mamas as kids. Sometimes life kicks you when you’re down just for the fun of it. That’s why you gotta get tough or get your ass handed to you.
“C’mon, gorgeous.” I tip her chin up with my finger and kiss her, the sweet of her mouth even sweeter against the bite of the liquor. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed, the lashes so long, they brush her cheeks. “I promised you a dance. Don’t make a liar out of me.”
The music picked up since Harlow fed the jukebox and started the place hopping, so we get to do our fair share of quick two stepping before the tempo slows down. As soon as it does, Harlow nestles close, her head leaned on my shoulder, her arms around my neck. If I dip my head, I can smell the amber and pomegranate.
Snooping around her room years back, I found the little bottle of perfume she wore. A few months after I walked away from her, I had a moment of weakness and bought myself a bottle of it, just to try catch the smell of her.
Didn’t fucking work. Straight out of the bottle, it smelled cold and heavy. I realized it was the smell of the stuff on Harlow’s skin that drove me nuts. To this day, it’s the one and only smell that can make me instantly turned-on.
“I don’t remember the last time I felt so damn good,” I tell her, stroking her soft hair.
She glances up at me, her smile so wide and happy, it sets off every alarm bell in my head. I shouldn’t be leading her on. One shot of Southern Comfort sure as hell isn’t enough to get my tongue stupid-loose like it’s being.
“It’s dancing,” she says, pointing down at our feet. “It releases endorphins and they make you happy.”
“I don’t know about endorphins,” I say. “But I know a little bit about being happy. And I think I’m feeling it because I finally have you in my arms again.”
She stops again, mid-dance and her lips tremble. “I have never felt so right, Gunner, as I have these last few days. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath,