Dirty Trick (14 page)

Just when things were starting to get uncomfortable, Trick dug into his pocket and held up a dollar. “Want to play darts?”

She nodded eagerly. Darts were good. They were the perfect distraction. Maybe the light-hearted competition would stop her from thinking about Trick’s ass, broad shoulders and nice, strong-looking hands—which all seemed to be taking up major amounts of mental real estate tonight—every time she looked at him.

“Sounds good.”

She grabbed their glasses while he made change at the bar for the dart board. When he was done, they filed into the smaller game room at the back of the bar. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that they weren’t the only ones back there. A group of two guys and two girls were shooting pool on the big billiard table in the corner and their laughter and chatter along with the jukebox playing in the background was all good cover for her relative silence. One of the girls looked up when they walked by and did a double take at Trick. Hot jealousy flashed through Grace and she bit her lip. That was new, and of all the sparkly, new feelings she’d been having lately about Trick, that was her least favorite so far.

“Two out of three, loser buys the next drink?” Trick asked, either oblivious to the girl’s obvious stare or choosing to ignore it. Either way, it made her feel a little better.

She nodded. “Sounds good, but we don’t have Serena here to drive us home, so only one more each.”

He slid the quarters into the machine and grabbed six darts, three red, three blue. She set their glasses down and took the red darts from him. “You go first.”

She needed the time to regroup. And ogle his ass again, if she was being honest. She stared at him hungrily, mesmerized by the cords of muscle in his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves and lined up his throw. She took a long pull from her wineglass and then another.

“It’s been a few months, so,” he cocked his arm back and let loose, striking the board just a hair left of the bull’s eye. “Huh. Spoke too soon. Apparently, if you’re awesome at something, even if you take a few months off, when you come back to it again, you’re still awesome.”

He made his way around the table with an exaggerated swagger and raised a challenging brow her way. “What about you? You think you can do better?”

His eyes were so damned pretty. Full of fun and mischief, and something a little darker. His pupils dilated and the smile dimmed. “Gracie?”

Thirsty.
She swallowed hard, trying to work up some moisture in her mouth. Why was she so fricking thirsty?

“Yeah?”

He stepped closer, lips parted to speak, but a loud crack of laughter from the pool table area startled her, and she stepped back.

“Your turn,” he said softly.

She set her wine down and wiped a sweaty palm on the leg of her jeans. This was Trick. She needed to chill out. If something were ever going to happen between them, it wouldn’t be at the bar during a game of darts.
But later?
She decided with a newfound sense of purpose.
It was on.

Because she
wanted
this. What she had with Trick already, plus a little more. The laughter, the joy, the friendship…if she could have that plus the heat that had been sizzling between them lately? It would be perfect. Grappling with some anonymous guy in the dark, no matter how sexy, couldn’t compare. The decision was made. If Catman called again, she was going to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore. And then, if she could just hang onto the courage, she was going to see if Trick felt the same as she did. .

But first, she needed to whoop his fine ass at darts.

She stepped in front of the board, setting her foot up on the line, then took aim. With a silent prayer, she let it rip. The dart flew and landed with a thunk, protruding from the block of wood the machine sat on, about a foot off the floor.

Trick slow-clapped for her and let out a whoop. “Now that wasn’t something you see every day. You didn’t even hit the board.”

She wrinkled her nose and groaned. “I don’t know what happened. I lined it up, and it looked so perfect in my head.” She moved to yank the dart from the splintered wood, but he stopped her with a hand.

“Wait one second.” He pulled out his phone, and the flash lit up the room before he put it away again. “Okay, you can take it out now.”

She lunged at him to grab the phone and delete the picture he’d taken, but he was too quick for her. “If you post that on Facebook, I’ll post the one of you in my shower cap from last New Year’s Eve,” she threatened with what she hoped was a convincing scowl.

He chuckled and shrugged. “I already posted that one myself. But I’ll keep your dart on the DL. Promise. This will be for my own personal use on one of those days when I need a chuckle.”

She walked over to the table, drained the rest of her glass, and swiped her hand over her mouth. “This time, you’re in trouble. I can feel it.” She made a show of cracking her knuckles and shaking out her arms before she got into position to throw her second dart.

“Get out your camera now, pal,” she muttered, and loosed the dart. She squealed when it hit the board dead center. “What? Oh, dang. How ya like me now?” she crowed, strutting around him in a half-circle.

“Holy shit,” he said, whistling through his teeth when the board lit up, red and flashing. That was a bona-fide bullseye. To his credit, he clapped again for her and looked suitably impressed.

The tingles that had been on simmer all night cranked up to a boil and warmed her insides. Was there anything she enjoyed more than being with him like this, clowning around and laughing? Maybe the things she’d done with Catman had been a close second, but even they would be better with Trick. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she’d never been so sure of anything in her life.

Elation over her stellar shot mixed with wine drunk too fast, and her newfound revelation became more than she could stand. She stopped her posturing, threw her arms around him, and squeezed him tight.

“You’re my best friend. You know that, right?” she murmured, inexplicably on the verge of tears. Not because she was sad, but because everything was about to change. As soon as she worked up the courage, she was going to make her move, and no matter what, nothing would ever be the same. She only hoped that the risk paid off and she didn’t lose him altogether. That was the one thing she couldn’t bear. His strong arms folded around her, and she breathed in the spicy scent of his soap.

“Yeah, right back atcha, Gracie.” His voice sounded thick, and she pulled back to look at his face. It was clouded with uncertainty and even a little sadness. She wasn’t the only one feeling nervous and maybe a little melancholy.

“Is everything okay with us?” she asked. When the words left her lips, she wished she could take them back. Something was wrong, and she was fairly sure it was something bad. If it was, she didn’t want to know what. His blinding smile erased her fear-based paranoia, and he stepped back.

“I know you’re trying to distract me by being nice with the hug and all, but it’s not going to work. You’re going down.”

Funny he should mention that. Because if she had any say in the matter, by the end of the night, she’d make a prophet out of him.

Chapter Eleven

Two hours and one more drink later, Trick opened the truck door and slid out before making his way to her side. He got there right as Grace exited.

“Were you going to open my door for me?” she asked with a wobbly smile.

Was that some sort of tell? He guessed maybe it was. He’d always been the kind of guy to hold the door open for a date, but not so much the kind who would race around the front of the car to open the door for a friend. He laughed it off with an easy shrug. “You seemed a little buzzed, so I was going to help you down.”

She executed a neat little jig and gave him jazz-hands. “Tipsy or sober, I’m spry.” The words had barely left her mouth when she tripped up the curb and took a header into a miniature evergreen.

“Holy mother of—” she wailed, flailing to extricate herself from the shrub.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her out. “You okay?”

“Other than that tree trying to murder me? I’m great.” Her hair was sticking up and littered with tiny green needles, and he tried to brush them off.

“I’m just glad you had time to close your eyes. You could have scratched your cornea or something.”

“Yeah, good thing. Instead, I smell like a cab, and I killed my poor little bush.”

He chuckled, relieved she wasn’t hurt. “So, you were saying…something about spry?”

She glared at him and tossed her hair with an indignant sniff. “They don’t call me Grace for nothin’.” She turned on her heel and made her way up to the house without further incident.

That was one of the best things about his Gracie. Aside from her innate kindness, generous nature, and glorious ass. She had a great sense of humor and was as happy to be the butt of the joke as the one cracking it. Not often you found that many good qualities in one person. Hell, his father had spent a lifetime and most of his money trying to find one that had more than just the ass. He made a mental note to call and check on how things were going with stepmom number five.

“Come in. We can watch a scary movie or something,” she said, stepping inside.

The mention of a movie almost made him wince. Serena had really put him on notice tonight, and it had scared the shit out of him. He wasn’t sure if she was just breaking his balls for the sheer joy of it or she hadn’t been satisfied with their earlier conversation, but she’d almost hung him out to dry. Still, he’d managed to recover, and now the night was turning out exactly how he’d wanted. He’d get some couch time with Grace and the chance to get close to her. She’d been giving off major signals at the bar, and it was time to see if that was just her newfound confidence making her flirty or if she’d actually started to see him as someone she could be with.

The dogs padded in, and she gave them both a quick rub before heading over to the living room and flipping on the TV. She kicked off her shoes with a sigh and turned to face him. “This is my favorite part of the day. Well, second to taking off my bra.”

Her casual admission stuck with him as she shuffled into the kitchen, presumably to make popcorn. She loved taking off her bra, he loved when she took off her bra. Seemed like a no brainer that she should go ahead and—

“Do you want some coffee or a beer or something?”

Now that he wasn’t the DD, he might as well. “I’ll take a brew. You want me to go ahead and pick something new we haven’t seen from the pay channels?”

It was still two days before actual Halloween, so there was an array of horror movies on. It should have been easier, but he knew Grace, and although she’d never admit it, she had a strict movie code. No sick kids, no kidnapped kids, no dogs that die in the end—even if the family gets a new puppy to take the sting out of it—nothing with clowns or dolls coming to life, and if there was even a hint of maggots, she was out of there. Not that she would havecalled them rules or even acknowledged that she didn’t like those kinds of movies. But he’d held her through enough body-wracking sobs at the end of dog movies to know that things wouldn’t end well if he didn’t stick to the status quo.

She breezed past him on the way to her bedroom and deposited a beer on the table in front of him.

“I’m getting into my PJ’s. Can you let the dogs out?”

He quickly made a selection, standard zombie fare laced with the black humor they both appreciated, and whistled for the dogs. How strange that he never realized how homey this all was. If someone was on the outside looking in, they would probably say the two of them seemed like a long-standing, happy couple. He’d never envisioned himself as being half of one of those, but he found himself liking the idea of it more than he ever could have imagined. So tonight, in the dark, when she stuck her cold feet under his butt the way she always did, he’d make his move. Something subtle that would get her mind turned in that direction, too. If she only took a second to think about it, she’d have to see that they were already pretty much a couple.

Without the sex.

“To her knowledge,” he muttered, his shoulders tensing at the reminder of his deceit. She’d nearly laid him low with guilt earlier at the bar when she’d thrown her arms around him and declared that he was her best friend. So much so that he’d almost come clean, and would have if he’d had any idea what he could have said to defend his actions. What had seemed such a clear and obvious path at the start was now nothing but a hot, muddy mess in his head, and he needed some time to figure out how to explain it in a way that would make her understand. He’d never meant to hurt her. He’d just wanted her to give him a chance to love her, and now, it seemed like he might actually have that chance. Just the two of them. The real Trick and the real Grace. Honestly.

He stood by the door and waited for the dogs to come back from their bathroom break when she entered the room dressed in her favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. He barely resisted the urge to ask her to turn around for him. She wasn’t the only one who appreciated those pants. They hugged her in all the right places, from her flat stomach and softly rounded hips to her juicy ass.

Skeeter streaked toward the door, and he opened it for the panting dog. A good thirty seconds later, Gandalf followed behind, panting as well, but at the pace of a cargo ship.

“I think he needs a diet.” He closed the door behind them. They wasted no time taking up residence on Gandalf’s giant bed, piling on top of one another in a heap.

Grace gasped in mock horror. “Don’t say the D-word in front of him. You’ll give him a complex.” She stretched over to scratch his muzzle. “Besides, he’s not fat. He’s just got a lot of extra skin.”

He did have that, but he also ate like a hippopotamus and would definitely benefit from some extra walks every week. He made a silent vow to work on that. If, after tonight, Grace ever let him back into her house again. Nerves kicked up again, and he strived for casual, sitting down next to her and setting his feet up on the coffee table. Before he’d even sat back against the cushions, Grace had assumed the position, burrowing her fuzzy-sock-clad feet under his left ass-cheek and tossing an orange throw over her lap.