SMITH (The Beckett Boys, Book One) (2 page)

Rock Bridge is my new town. I’m not going to be scared anymore.

No one else around the bar talks to me while I drink—either my body language tells them to leave me alone or, more likely, seeing Smith punch the shit out of Dan warned them off. The beer is room temperature at this point, but I don’t care. Over the next twenty minutes, I stubbornly finish the entire thing. And the whole time, Smith ignores me. Either he’s completely forgotten I even exist or he’s trying to prove something to me.

That I don’t belong.

When my mug is empty, I just sit there with a slight buzz, debating what to do. Pride keeps me seated on the stool for longer than I probably need to be.

“Can I get you another?” a purring male voice says. I glance up to see a dirty-blond guy who looks like Smith, but a couple of years younger and with a smooth-shaven face, eyeing me from behind the bar. He cocks a crooked grin my way, a practiced smile that I bet probably dissolves a lot of girls’ panties.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I nod. Fuck it. I’m not letting anyone control me, not ex-boyfriends or rude bar owners. “Yes, thank you.” I shove the mug in his direction.

He rinses it and refills it, handing it to me. With a wink, he says, “Hi, I’m Jax. Welcome to Rock Bridge. Quite the welcoming committee we’ve gathered for you tonight, huh?”

I can’t help it. I laugh. This guy knows he’s hot, is a ridiculous flirt, and I needed the release of tension right now. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

Jax’s mouth quirks. “Outlaws is a rough place. Can take a while to get used to.” With that, he gives me a nod then swaggers away to serve other customers.

He’s cute, of course. But he doesn’t have the same effect on me as Smith, who is probably his brother or cousin. Something about Smith makes my whole body feel alive. Damn him, because I don’t want to be attracted to him. He’s a jerk.

I can see what Jax means about Outlaws. This whole night has been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—scary, yet also kind of exciting, if I’m honest. Maybe I need a little excitement in my life. Something to shake me up and remind me I’m alive.

I stubbornly refuse to look at Smith as I work on my new beer. I can sense him behind the bar, moving around, waiting on customers. Knowing this is his bar makes him seem even bigger and more powerful than he was before.

Powerful and intriguing.

Damn him.

When I drain the last of my beer mug, I toss a twenty on the bar—I’m sure it’s more than enough to cover the two beers and a tip—and hop off the barstool. I can feel Smith’s eyes on me, and my skin vibrates. I make myself turn and stare boldly at him. Tension crackles in the air between us.

He wants to challenge me? I’ll take that challenge.

I’m going to come back and prove to him, and to me, that I can handle this.

“
S
mith
,” Maria says to me in her high, breathy voice. She leans over the bar and parts her lips in a seductive manner, one finger sliding along her lower lip. “I’m soooo thirsty. Can you give me something to fill my mouth?”

That’s the thing with Maria. I never have to guess what she wants. And what she usually wants is a hard fuck. Still, she’s loaded right now, more so than usual, so I grab a glass of water and push it toward her. “Drink this.”

She pouts and thrusts her pert breasts in the air. “But I don’t want water. I want something else, thick and creamy.”

I admit, it’s tempting. The girl can suck a dick like she was born to do the job, and it’s been a while since I’ve indulged. Probably her mini stint in the amateur porn industry gives her an edge. But she’s been clingy lately, not just wanting sex. Hinting that she’d like more. As in a real date—dinner, movies.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” I murmur to her then move away from that end of the bar before she can say anything else.

Maria shrugs and turns her attention to the guy on the stool beside her.

I focus on cleaning the glassware. The crowd is unusually small for a Friday night, but it’s because there’s a home football game at the local high school. The town goes nuts for the Warriors. Not me, of course. Fuck that place.

Nothing but bad memories there.

I’m in the middle of pouring a fresh beer for Sam, one of the locals who practically lives in the same stool he frequents every night, when she walks in.

Miss Innocent.

My chest tightens a fraction. The fuck? I thought last Friday would have scared her enough to keep her away. Fresh meat like her shouldn’t frequent a bar like Outlaws. She’ll be torn apart.

Yet here she is, strolling toward the bar, a stubborn set to her face. Her soft brown shoulder-length hair sways, and even in the dim light I can see it’s glossy. I bet it feels good, clenched in my fist as I jerk her head back and lick— Oh, fuck no. Not going there.

But it’s hard not to when I see her long expanse of curvy bare legs in a tiny fucking black skirt with a little flare. Her tank top is hot pink and her breasts spill over the top. Definitely different than last week’s outfit.

Is she trying to pick someone up here?

She sits down at the same spot she was in last week and just gives me a look. Her eyes don’t have the same skittishness they had before. There’s a stubbornness in her, that’s for sure.

So she wants to hang with the bad boys, does she? Maybe she’s some pampered, spoiled new girl who’s looking to slum a bit. Wouldn’t the first time we’ve had them walk in here, spending Daddy’s money to buy a bunch of shots, then hooking up with one of the Beckett brothers.

Normally it doesn’t bother me. Hell, I end up winning both ways—the bar makes money
and
I get laid. But something about this girl makes me feel uneasy, a little off center. I can’t quite figure out what it is. And I don’t like it.

I rarely lose my temper fast, but watching that idiot Dan pawing all over her last week, the tension and edge of fear in her eyes as she tried to get away…I fucking lost it. Broke his fucking nose for good measure. Luckily he slunk out of here and didn’t file charges—it was a stupid, impulsive move on my part.

Whatever. I’m not going to let her get under my skin.

I ignore her for a solid ten minutes, serving other customers, cleaning glassware, keeping busy, anything to pretend she isn’t sitting there quietly, waiting for me to acknowledge her and bring her a drink.

I guess she isn’t going to just slink away, despite me silently willing her to go away. I walk over to her. “So you’re back,” I say, and my voice isn’t any friendlier than last time.

She lifts her chin. “I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. I haven’t had shitty customer service in a whole week, and I’m way overdue.”

The smartass answer makes me chuckle unexpectedly. Okay, so she’s funny, I’ll give her that. “What do you want?”

“A beer. You guys do still serve those here, don’t you?” Her lips curl into a small smirk. “Whatever you gave me last time is fine, if you remember what it is.”

Oh, I remember, all right. I remember lots of things about her—what she drank, how she smelled, how she bit her lower lip. I thought about her randomly over the past week, wondering what made her come to the bar in the first place. Figuring I wouldn’t see her again. Wouldn’t hear her husky voice.

Thinking it was definitely for the best that way.

I let my gaze rake over her breasts, then raise then with deliberate slowness to her face. Her cheeks are a delicate blush of pink, but to her credit, she maintains eye contact with me, unwavering.

I grab a mug and fill it, then hand it to her. She gives me a nod and sips the brew, and I hear a small, happy sigh escape her lips. Something about the way she takes simple pleasure in a thing as unimportant as a beer makes me wonder how she’d react in other situations, like my face buried between her thighs.

My cock twitches at the thought.

I shake it off and make myself move away. Fuck no, I’m not going down that road with her. If she isn’t a virgin, she’s pretty damn close; innocence practically radiates from her. The dirty shit I’m into would probably shatter her already fragile psyche.

This bar is hell, and seems to me she’s an angel with a broken wing who wandered her way into the wrong place. Despite her bravado, there’s still an air around her that speaks of pain and sadness. But I’m not getting caught up in that.

Still, she’s fucking gorgeous. It’s no wonder I see several guys checking her out. I shoot a few warning glares out at the crowd. I can’t have her, but I’ll be damned if I let any of these other mutts pollute her, either.

Miss Innocent doesn’t take her time finishing her beer; she drinks it like she’s on a mission. When it’s empty, she sets the mug on the bar surface and doesn’t say anything, just eyes me quietly. Waiting to see what I’ll do. If I’ll continue to ignore her.

I tell myself I’d be a shitty bar owner if I didn’t try to serve my customers, and I go over to her. “Another?”

“I think I want a shot,” she declares.

“I see.” I fight back the smirk that threatens to erupt and say, “And what kind of shot are you looking for?”

“A blowjob.”

Hearing the word slide from her mouth makes my cock twitch again, and I imagine my dick pressing between her swollen lips, her on her knees in front of me, panting and licking and wet. I keep my breathing steady and pretend I’m not affected. “You got it.” I start to move away to make her shot.

“Do one with me,” she blurts out.

With this, I pause and turn back to her. “I don’t do blowjobs, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t give ‘em, but I bet you receive enough of them.” There’s a definite flirtiness in her tone, and she licks her lower lips. The angel is trying to tease the demon, is she? Get a response out of me?

I need to resist this, but I’m finding myself pulled to her. The fact is, last Friday was crazy, yet here she is again, pretending like it didn’t bother her. Maybe she’s trying to pick me up.

I can’t let it go that far—won’t let it. But I can’t resist flirting back. “Fine, but next we do a shot of my choice.”

She swallows a little, then nods. “Deal.”

I mix the blowjobs for us and hand her one. We clink the shot glasses on the counter, then raise them in the air. I give her a small nod, and we swig them back.

She gasps and rubs her chest. “Oh, that’s hot going down.”

“Pretty sure it’s suppose to be,” I lob right back.

She laughs, and her whole face lights up. The sudden shift in seeing her like this makes my pulse throb. Holy fuck, did I say earlier that she’s gorgeous? She’s ethereal when she’s smiling. “You make it good,” she says, and her compliment warms my chest in a way I find slightly disconcerting.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I find myself asking.

“Aubrey.” The word is a small breath, and she licks those sexy lips again.

“I’m Smith. Welcome to Rock Bridge.”

Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “That was actually polite, Smith. I hope you’re not losing your surly demeanor. I’ve so come to enjoy our encounters and I’d hate for you to change just for me.”

The half grin that had been working its way across my face grows bigger. Aubrey is…refreshing. She’s definitely flirting with me, that much is clear. But I like that she’s busting my balls too. Not afraid to throw it right back at me.

This one’s full of surprises, I decide.

“You ready for your next shot?” I lean toward her and stare into her eyes. Fuck, her gaze is so intense as she looks back at me with increasing sexual interest, like she has no filter at all. I can see everything on her face, every nuanced emotion. How the hell has she made it through life exuding this level of innocence, of naivety, and not been utterly broken yet?

I can almost smell her heat; the thought of how expressive she probably would be in bed makes me bite back a groan. I’m sliding into dangerous territory here—this girl is so not for me. I’d do well to remember that before I get caught up in her.

She nods. “What’s our drink of choice?”

“Jameson.”

“Whiskey.” Aubrey gives a nervous laugh. “I…really haven’t had a lot of that.”

“Seems like a good time to try something new,” I tell her, knowing my words are loaded and that I shouldn’t be saying it.

“Smith!” Maria bellows. “My new friend here wants to buy me a drink.” There’s a sharpness in her voice that I don’t quite care for. Clearly she wants me to feel jealous over some other guy trying to bang her.

I walk over to them, flinging a dishtowel over my shoulder. I keep my face expressionless; best to start cooling shit with Maria so she doesn’t think it’s ever going to be more than casual hook-ups. I give the guy a nod. “She likes rum and Coke, if you’re trying to get anywhere with her.”

Maria gives a little shocked gasp and blinks. She huffs and swivels to the guy, plastering a smile on her face. “That’s what I used to drink. Now I really like Jim Beam and ginger ale.”

I can’t help but laugh a little—it’s what the guy is drinking. Maria gets over shit fast, I’ll give her that. I mix one up for her and slide it to her, and the guy hands me a few bills. Then Sam is ready for a refill, so I pour him another beer.

“Thanks, man,” he slurs. His mussed brown hair is flopped over his brow, and he squints at his watch, trying to read the time, moving it closer and further away.

“It’s ten thirty-five,” I tell him. Sam hasn’t told me much of his story—unlike most drunks, he doesn’t treat the bar like a personal confessional. But I can tell he’s avoiding going home. Of course I wonder why, but I’ll never pry. The man has a right to his privacy; in fact, most of our “clientele” frequent Outlaws because no one gives a fuck what you’re doing. We all just mind our own here.

Sam nods, and I sidle back to Aubrey. She’s quietly watching me, taking in everything going on.

“So.” She clears her throat, and the pink on her cheeks deepen. “Um, we’re doing a shot of Jameson?” She digs in her purse.

“This one’s on me,” I say, waving her off. With deft, practiced moves, I pour the shots and give her one.

Her thankful smile makes something in my chest tighten. How is it she can look so fucking appreciative over someone buying her a shot? The more I’m around her, the less I think she’s a princess. No, she doesn’t have that air of easy money about her. That demeanor that says she naturally expects to get things handed to her. This girl is different than that sort of bullshit.

“What should we toast to?” she asks me in that sweet tone that simultaneously makes me want to grab the back of her head and kiss her, but also run the fuck away.

This girl feels dangerous to me in all the worst ways.

“Let’s toast to more blowjobs,” I say in a distancing tone, then down the shot without looking at her. I hear her clink the glass on the counter, and I take it and walk off, rinsing them out and putting them back.

My brother Jax slides behind me and slugs me in the shoulder. “Hey, you almost look fucking happy for once in your life. What gives?”

“Shut up and go pour something,” I tell him.

He pauses and eyes Aubrey. “Oh, she’s back. Mmmm, she’s looking mighty nice tonight.”

I shoot him a glare. “No. Just no.”

Jax quirks a brow at me and says in an overly innocent tone, “I’m merely being friendly with the customers. And you left her without a drink. Tsk-tsk. That’s lost money, isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” Jax smirks; he knows how to push my buttons better than anyone else. “I’m going to go help her, because she looks like a little lost lamb in a den of wolves.”

“More like an angel in a den of demons,” I mutter. Maybe it’s better if Jax serves her though. I’m finding her too charming anyway.

Jax goes over to her, and within two minutes, she’s giving that sparkling laugh again, the one that lights up everything around her. And I kind of hate that Jax is the one making her laugh this time. Because a stupid part of me wants it aimed all at me.

My gaze is drawn over to the pool table, where I see a couple of guys standing in front of each other, posturing with each other, trying to be overly macho. I give a heavy sigh and head over there to talk them down before shit explodes.

The joys of co-owning a bar—guys get drunk and fucking stupid, and they start having dick-measuring contests. Jax, my middle brother, and Asher, our youngest brother, leave most of the business operations to me, so I have to admit, the bar feels more like “mine” than “ours.”

I walk up to the two men. “Is there a problem? If so, take it the fuck outside.” I don’t care if people are rowdy in here. I just don’t want them breaking my shit. It costs money to replace tables and glasses, and we’re not quite flush with cash.

One of the guys, a regular at Outlaws named Shep, huffs. “No problem, except that this guy is a total pussy.”

“Your mom didn’t think I was a pussy last night when I was banging the fuck out of her,” the guy tosses back.

Shep lunges toward him, and I hold him back and roll my eyes. “Grow up and stop being idiots. Come on.” I grip their shoulders and make them look at me. “Chill the fuck out and have a beer.”