Five Ways to Fall (4 page)

“Travis, Kent, Murdock,” I toss out with a lazy gesture toward the guys, three of my roommates from Miami. They can take care of themselves. I’m on a mission. I waste no time seizing an empty lounge chair from the table next to us. Flashing a big smile at the cougar eyeing me, a redhead who is definitely hot enough to fuck should this thing with Jill go sideways, I swing the chair around and take a seat so close that my knee—the one that cost me a guaranteed NFL career and still throbs in damp weather—rests against Jill’s bare leg. She doesn’t shift away. “First night in Cancún?”

One of her perfectly shaped brows arches. “You’re persistent.”

“A persistent fool,” I correct her with a grin, earning the non-Korean girl’s laughter. “First night in Cancún?” I repeat.

“How can you tell?”

Finally. An open door for a conversation. I jump through it like a circus dog. “Because you’re way too tense, you’re downing those drinks like you’re on a mission to wake up naked on the beach, and you have no tan lines.”

“Huh . . .” She ponders that for a moment while I inhale her perfume. She smells like strawberries and cream. I wonder if she tastes like strawberries and cream. “What are you, a detective?”

“Bouncer at a strip club.”

Her head falls back and she starts laughing, a deep, throaty laugh that I want to record and play back again at a later date. “Of course you are.”

I shrug. “It pays the bills.” I could kill whatever assumptions she’s making about me by telling her why I’m really here in Cancún: to celebrate finishing law school and taking the bar exam.

But I don’t.

I simply watch her tongue curl around the salty rim of her glass. Dirty thoughts flash through my head and I’m forced to discreetly adjust myself. If she notices, she doesn’t comment. Hell, she probably knows exactly what she’s doing to me. There are no innocent vibes coming off this chick.

“And what do
you
do?” I ask.

She purses her lips. “I’m a marine biologist. From Seattle.”

“A Doogie Howser marine biologist?” The girl could pass for twenty-three. Twenty-four, tops.

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“Sure you are.” I jut my chin in her friend’s direction. “And she’s Korean, right?”

In response, her friend spews off a string of something that sounds a hell of a lot like Korean, followed by a smug smile, and I’m left with my mouth gaping wide.

Okay.
Still . . .
“Marine biologist? Really?”

She takes another long draw of her drink and licks her lips before she announces, “I love me some big fish.”
Yeah . . . lying
.
Fine. I’ll play along.
“How long are you here for?” she asks, feigning disinterest, as the guys find chairs and pull her friends’ attention away.

I let my eyes skate over her features again, silently counting seven piercings—two in her nose and five in her ear—and wondering how many more she has hidden under those tight little shorts and that tank top of hers. And I suddenly find myself wishing I were just starting my vacation today. “This is my last night.”

“Really . . .” An unreadable look passes through her eyes as they quickly flitter over my features, landing on my mouth. “The exorcism needs more time,” she mumbles under her breath.

What the fuck?
Wouldn’t that just be my luck to land a nut job for my last night. Not that that couldn’t be fun. I’m always up for something different. “Maybe we should start right away then?”

The heated look she shoots me with—like she’s deciding between jumping onto my lap and filleting me—makes me give this a moment’s pause. Maybe I
should
be more careful about who I bring back to my room. I take another look at her frame—she’s probably too small to cause any real damage without weapons—and notice the giant name inked into her arm. As much as I want to trace the letters, I keep my hands to myself. It’s like petting a strange dog; you don’t even reach out until you know it’s not going to lunge at you. So I point at the tattoo instead. “That would suck if it were an ex.”

“Yeah, it
would
.” The bite in her tone is suddenly back, and this time it comes with a sheen just barely glistening in her eyes. She quickly blinks it away, trying to keep the tough act going.
Dammit
. I groan inwardly as disappointment settles in. She’s not just scorned. She’s still
raw
. She’s going to be one of those drunk chicks who suddenly erupts in tears. Probably during sex.

Nothing worse than a girl crying halfway through sex. A definite limp dick maker.

She clears her throat. “I didn’t see any tattoos on
you
.”

Okay, at least she’s trying to steer the conversation away from her and her current situation. I can roll with that. “You haven’t seen all of me yet.” I know I sound like a cocky bastard, but it somehow works for me.

A tiny sly grin curves her mouth for just a moment before she stifles it, as if she didn’t mean to let it slip out. “Any hidden ones?”

“Nope. Hate needles,” I answer truthfully.

“Wuss.”

I shrug. “
You
obviously don’t mind them. Any tats or piercings besides the ones I see?”

All I get is a taunting smile in return.
Fuck
.

A sudden burst of Rihanna pumps out over the speakers as the regular lights dim down and the dance-floor lights kick in, indicating that the hotel lounge is turning into a club as it does every night at this time. Jill’s cringe tells me she’s not impressed.

“Not your kind of music?” My gaze immediately drops to her tank top, a faded Pearl Jam album cover printed on the front of it.

She shakes her head. “I’m more into classic rock and nineties alternative.”

Seriously?
“Were you even alive for that?”

“I can play every single Aerosmith song ever recorded on the guitar,” she says, as if that answers my question.

Sweet Jesus.
Stretching my legs out as I try to picture her rocking out with a guitar strung over her shoulder—naked—I offer, “You know, girls who play the guitar are fucking hot. You any good?”

Another cunning smile behind her drink answers me. Yeah, she’s good. And, damn it, so sexy. In a loose cannon kind of way. The only kind that snags me like a trout on a shark hook. Just like Kacey, one of my best friends, did. That girl had a self-destruct button affixed to her chest for the longest time. I saw it a mile away and I still fell for her hard.

Angelo chooses that moment to swoop in and place a drink in her hand and a shot of tequila on the table for everyone. Jill doesn’t even wait. She lifts the glass to her lips and downs it. No salt, no lime.

“Am I going to have to carry you home tonight?” I offer with a wide grin.

She smacks her lips as she drops the glass onto the table rather loudly. “I think I’m going to aim for waking up naked on the beach.”

“I have some experience with that. I can give you a few pointers.”

Her hawkish eyes roll over my body slowly before landing on my face, fixing a hard gaze on my mouth. “You’re not my type.”

I’ve heard this before and I don’t believe her. Hell, I’m everyone’s type! Eventually. “And what is it exactly about me that you don’t like?”

A wicked gleam in her eyes tells me she thinks I’m going to regret asking. Little does she know, I don’t give a shit. I have a thick skin and an easy sense of humor. This should actually be amusing.

“The womanizing mama’s-boy football-player part who spreads the charm on like peanut butter and has had a different girl in his hotel room every night this week.”

“Not
every
night.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, and you’re blond. I’m not into blonds.”

“You’re completely wrong about me.” She’s pretty much nailed it, actually.

“Really?” As if to prove her point, she taps the ring on my finger. The one I earned taking my team to the state championships.

“I don’t play anymore.”

“Not good enough?”

I chuckle. She’s good at the hits to the ego. “Too good, apparently, because some guy felt the need to wreck my knee.” Between the dislocated joint, the torn ligaments, and the nerve damage, I’m surprised I can even run anymore.

Those caramel eyes soften for just a flash, so fast I almost miss it. “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

“Well, I don’t know what
you
had planned, but I’m just here to hang out and make some new friends,” I offer, feigning innocence.

This one’s going to be a bit more challenging than I thought.

But she’ll change her tune eventually.

Chapter 3

REESE

“You know they rob you blind when you rent a room to yourself at these places,” I announce, as I stumble into Ben’s hotel room. It’s the cookie-cutter design—two queen-sized beds covered in tropical floral bedspreads and adorned with swan towel creations, the walls plastered with tacky mass-production artwork.

I hear the door lock click behind me. “Yeah, but it’s worth it on nights like this. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you, Don Juan.” I half-fall, half-lean against the wall to balance myself as I kick off my flip-flops. Once I got past the whole red shirt issue—I hold a special kind of grudge against that color—I realized that Nicki may have called forth the perfect exorcism candidate after all. As if his dazzling blue eyes and deep dimples weren’t enough to win me over, the second Ben pulled his shirt off in the middle of the lounge and stood there like an arrogant bastard, that incredibly ripped body of his on proud display, I knew there would be no pretenses with this guy. No confusion. No false promises of a life together. Or even a phone call.

But what makes Ben the most compelling candidate is the fact that he has effectively distracted me from all thoughts Jared. I mean, he’s about as opposite as you can get. Ben is rugged and blond, whereas Jared is “pretty” and dark. Jared’s chest and arms are covered in tats, while Ben’s body boasts a naked—and appealing—canvas. And where Jared is quiet and introverted, Ben is as outgoing and obnoxious as you can get.

An interesting bonus? He’s had me laughing all night long. Granted, I was usually laughing
at
him, but still.

Thanks to Ben, I’ve had several hours’ respite from excruciating thoughts of my ex-husband and his elaborate wedding to
her
in Savannah, Georgia, happening at this very moment. I only know about the wedding because I stalk Jared’s Facebook profile daily. While he has never been good at posting status updates, Caroline could join an Olympic Facebook team the way she plasters pictures and wedding plans and “I love you’s” on his wall like unsightly graffiti.

Unfortunately, even a guy like Ben couldn’t cure me of all thoughts completely and the second they crept out from the dark recesses—the moment I felt the drunk-girl tears about to erupt—I told Ben that he was bringing me to his hotel room.

Wandering farther in, I throw an arm toward the bed not covered in his clothing and suitcase. “You sleep in this one?”

Heavy footsteps approach behind me. “Yep.”

“Okay then.” I lean forward to shove everything from the unused bed.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks with a chuckle.

“I’m assuming you’ve had your other
conquests
over there,” I mutter, his suitcase making a loud thud as it hits the ground, the contents spilling out. “I want an untainted bed.”

“Hey, you’re the one who grabbed me by my belt and demanded that I bring you here. I was just as happy hanging out by the bar.”

I snort. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen as bad a case of eyeball static cling as tonight.” If his eyes weren’t on my boobs or my legs, they were glued to my face. I’ll admit, his undivided attention on me felt damn good. A real ego booster when I needed it most.

Strong hands grasp my hips and pull me back toward him. Even in my drunken state, it’s impossible not to notice Ben’s prominent erection digging into my ass. “How long have you had that problem?” I joke as heat rushes to my thighs. Am I actually going to go through with this? I’ve had only one other one-night stand before and I don’t even classify that as such because I knew the guy. I just didn’t particularly want to date him. He was arrogant. Just like this one.

He chuckles softly. “Since I watched you fall off your chair. And I don’t consider it a problem as long as it’s dealt with before the morning.” A large hand curls around to my abdomen and starts sliding up along my rib cage, guiding my body upright. “I don’t fly out until eleven, so we’ve got lots of time.” Spinning me around to face him, he lifts my arms to settle on his shoulders before his hands fall down the length of my arms and farther, his thumbs running over the contour of my breasts on their way to wrap around my waist. His eyes rest on my mouth. “So . . . invertebrate zoology? Biotechnology?”

“Your dirty talk is going to make me lose control.”
What the hell is he talking about?

“Why’d you lie, Miss
Marine Biologist
from Seattle?” I can tell by his smile that he’s not angry, or even annoyed. Amused, if anything.