Sugar's Twice as Sweet: Sugar, Georgia: Book 1 (16 page)

Un-fucking-believable. They were both still clothed—well, mostly—and he was pretty sure that she was two rocks away from—

Brett tore his mouth away, his ears struggling to hear over the pounding of his heart.

 “I’m almost there,” she moaned. And Brett wanted to be the guy to take her there. He really did.

But there it was again. The worst sound he could possibly hear. The distinct snap of boots on tile. Definitely not Joie’s and definitely coming closer.

“What was that,” she breathed.

Brett looked into those wide, worried eyes and swore he’d kill whoever walked through that door, and then himself, because he was about to become something that he never wanted to be—Joie’s regret.

“We’re about to have company.”

“What?” she stared in utter disbelief.

Brett gave her flushed face and well-kissed lips one last look and then shoved her backward, directly into the stall. She found herself plastered against the cold tile wall.

“My underwear!” she shrieked right as Brett shut the door in her face.

Through the crack in the stall, she eyed the scrap of lace on the floor. Too far to just grab and in a place that whoever was about to come through that door would have to step over. All she could think of was how she needed them back. It wasn’t as if she had sewn her initials into them, but that didn’t stop her from freaking out. From thinking that, if seen, a big scarlet S—followed by an L-U-T—would appear on her forehead.

She made a move for the door, but it was too late. The footsteps stopped, right outside the bathroom. Brett stepped into the stall as well, taking up all the space, and closed the door behind him, locking it. Shutting the lid, he grabbed a seat cover, draped it over the tank of the toilet, and unceremoniously plopped her on top of it.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Making sure those heels of yours, sexy as they are,” he set her feet on the toilet seat and worked on buttoning his shirt, “stay hidden from view. Doesn’t take much for people in this town to talk, and two sets of shoes in the men’s stall will be front-page news by breakfast. Especially a pair of city boots like those.”

He thought her shoes were sexy?

If the door hadn’t opened at that precise moment, Josephina might have started kissing him again. What was wrong with her? She’d almost had sex. With a man she barely knew. In the dirty bathroom of a honky-tonk.

Using the condom dispenser for leverage.

At the sound of a zipper lowering, Josephina slapped her hands over her eyes. Closing them wasn’t enough. Because the man Josephina saw through the crack in the stall, wearing tasseled loafers and starched slacks, sporting a very distinctive bald spot on the top of his head, was none other than Mr. Ryan, Sugar’s number-one loan officer—and the man who held the fate of Fairchild House in his hands.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered into her hands.

The sound of flushing told Josephina it was okay to look. The water and rustle of paper towels gave her hope that she might even get away without being seen. The sudden halt in his step had her eyes flying open.

She looked up at Brett. He glared through the crack in the door, his face going even harder when a tasseled toe nudged the pile of lace. She had been so busy trying to have her one wild night, she never stopped to think what her impulsive behavior could cost him. Brett had even tried to tell her earlier and she’d brushed it off.

No wonder she drove her family nuts.

She brushed the backs of her fingers against his knuckles. When he looked over she cupped his face and mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”

 If anything his jaw tightened. Before she could stop him he opened the door and closed it behind him. She couldn’t see beyond Brett’s back.

“Hey, Bill.”

“Brett.” Bill chuckled, as if he should have known all along. “Been a while.”

“Yeah.” Brett bent down and grabbed her panties, sliding them into his pocket.

“Looks like you’ve had a good homecoming.” It was meant as a compliment. Josephina listened for the high-five.

It never came. Just a half-chuckle and a “Well, you know me.”

To anyone else he’d come off as cocky. Josephina, though, could hear the strain in his voice, the way his chuckle came out more tired than bragging. If she wasn’t so ready to chalk him up as some dumb jock, she’d say he was sick of playing the PGA Playboy. But he was willing to play it if it meant saving her from embarrassment.

 “Hey, thanks for helping Lucas with his grip the other day. His coach swears it added twenty yards to his drive. He might even move him up to varsity if his game keeps improving like it has.”

“He’s a great kid. Got a hell of a swing.” She could almost hear Brett shrugging off the compliment.

“Well, I owe you. Maybe this weekend we could play a few holes?” Bill’s voice was dripping with so much hero worship, Josephina wanted to tell him to just pucker up and kiss Brett’s ass directly. “My treat.”

“Why don’t you bring Lucas along?”

And that was why, she realized, everyone loved Brett. Everyone in town, it seemed, had some story to tell her about what a great guy he was, how he’d done something selfless, helped some citizen in need. He was superman to them. Through hard work he had managed to turn everyone into his friend, earning their respect while still keeping it casual.

What she was slowly starting to understand was that, while Brett was loyal and giving, he kept the vulnerable part of himself hidden. He wanted everyone to think he was this easygoing, no-problem kind of guy. Which he was. But he also had a really big heart that went way deeper than people gave him credit for. Always so busy making everyone else’s life easier, he didn’t take time for what he needed.

Josephina didn’t understand why he was like that, but she knew that she didn’t want to be just another in a long list of people in his life who stood by and let him take responsibility for their stuff. Not that she was
in
his life; no one was really
in
with Brett McGraw, but she was not going to hide in a stall and let him take the fall and ruin what he’d created with these people. She’d started this mess and she would fess up. Even if it meant losing her shot at a loan.

Josephina stood, her heels making a sound on the tile floor. The bathroom grew uneasily silent. She tried to open the door. Brett stood firmly against it. She pushed again. Not even an inch. She wanted to kill him. First, for being the kind of guy who’d want to protect her. And second, for blocking her view.

“Well then, I guess I’ll leave you to your, ah,” there was a punctuated pause and she felt the banker’s eyes trying to peer through the door, “night, then.”

Brett didn’t say good-bye. He didn’t move either, until the door shut and they were once again alone. She told her hands to open the door, only they didn’t listen very well, opting to engage the lock instead.

“Joie?” Brett was standing right on the other side. She caught a glint of his stretched-out shirt and mussed hair—with her fingerprints all over it—through the crack in the stall door. “You going to open up?”

Her legs gave way and she plopped down on the lid. She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if he could see. Moments ago it had been confidence and desire directing her life. Now it was humiliation.

After a silent moment, he knocked, the sound making her hand fly to her mouth. “Come on, sugar, open up.”

“Go away.”

“Not going to happen. Now open up so we can talk about this.” He sounded calm and safe, as if with one hug he could make everything okay.

Josephina stared down at her feet and contemplated sticking her head in the toilet. Knowing it would only make her a wet idiot, she closed her eyes and debated. Put on her big-girl panties and open the door to face the situation head-on. Or barricade herself in the stall and wait him out. Either way she needed panties.

She let out a frustrated groan and stomped her feet a few times. She’d come here to find herself. Okay, she’d come to
Sugar
to find herself. She’d come to the Saddle Rack to get laid. She’d failed at both, accomplishing nothing except to make an even bigger mess of things.

Run
,
her mind screamed
. Open the door and run like hell.
She could pack up Boo and be on her way home in twenty minutes. But she’d already done that, and Fairchild House had begun to feel like her home.

“I can stand out here all night until you decide to open that door. Or you get hungry.” Her stomach growled on cue. “Thing about golfers is we get paid a lot of money to stand still and be patient.”

The metal of the stalls groaned under his weight as Brett leaned against the door, making himself comfortable and letting her know he wasn’t going to leave.

“Yeah. Well in school they called me Job because I was gushing with patience.”

Brett didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They both knew she was lying. Josephina had the patience of a pigeon. Five minutes in that stall and she’d start weaving church hats out of toilet paper and used gum.

She eyed the roll of paper and wondered how many hats it would make. Her hand reached out to touch it, test its durability.

“I can hear you fidgeting.”

She let out a sigh, really hating that he already knew her so well. “Fine, but you have to promise not to look at me.”

“What?” He was smiling. She could hear it.

“Turn around or I won’t come out.”

When he pushed away from the door and turned to face the wall she slowly stood. Peeking through the crack, she made sure he wasn’t looking in the mirror and took a minute to appreciate his incredible butt. Good Lord, how could one man own all that hotness? There must have been a shortage on sexy genes for at least a year after he was born.

“Stop staring at my ass and open the door before someone else comes in here.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Joie.” His calm sounded a little thin.

“Fine.” Straightening her shoulders, she opened the door and faced her problems as any grown woman in her situation would do.

She walked up behind him and, praying his pants were still unbuttoned, yanked them as hard as she could, all the way to his ankles, and ran like hell.

“What the—?”

“Sorry,” she hollered over the slamming of the door as she made her way toward the bar and right into the arms of Mr. Ryan, loan officer and sole witness to her failed sexcapade.

His eyes widened with surprise, then even more with understanding. And Josephina Harrington did what she’d spent her life perfecting.

She ran.

Josephina drove fast, and always to the right, to avoid another rendition of Dixieland, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t shake Brett. Or the look on Mr. Ryan’s face when he put together just who was taking Sugar’s Redneck Romeo for a one-night rodeo in the men’s room.

This was what she got for letting her impulsive side roam. Which was why she’d texted Charlotte that she was leaving and run to her car.

She tore down the driveway, slammed the car in Park, and stormed up to Brett’s truck.

Ripping open his door, she demanded, “Stop following me!”

“Who said I was following you. Maybe I liked listening to your car’s horn. Dixieland, catchy.”

She crossed her arms across her chest. Not amused.

Sighing, Brett hopped out of his truck. “I wanted to make sure you got home intact.”

She stuck out her hand. “Then give me my panties back.”

“Go out with me.”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

She tried not to notice the way his face went a little slack at her rejection, and instead threw her hands in the air, released the mother of all grunts, and turned to make a punctuated exit.

“Hang on, sugar.” Brett’s arm, warm and strong, snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him. Every nerve ending hummed to life and she had to squeeze her thighs together to ease the building pressure. She was still a jumble of hormones, and feeling his heat seep into her only made things worse. Not to mention it made her heart warm and slowly turn over.

Never a good sign when she was already reminding herself that what he was offering was the exact opposite of what she needed.

Her earlier behavior might have already sealed her shot at making this inn a success. Allowing herself to fall for Brett would destroy her chance at happiness. She had come to Sugar to discover who she was, not to disappear into another relationship. And if she’d managed to get lost in a mundane guy like Wilson, her chance at maintaining her identity with Brett was a big fat zero.

“Just one date, Joie,” he said against her neck, his calloused hand sliding across the patch of bare skin between her skirt and shirt.

Goosebumps erupted everywhere he touched, and even the places he hadn’t. His goody bag pressed tight against the small of her back and was packed full of party favors. Apparently, all for her.

“It’s late, I’m tired, and I just want to go to bed,” she lied, not bothering to move when his little finger dipped beneath the edging of her skirt. Okay, she moved, but only to give him easier access.

“I already told you I wasn’t that kind of guy,” he whispered against her ear, his hands doing some whispering of their own. “And I know you’re not that kind of girl, Joie.”

And that was her cue to move. She stepped away, hating that her chest felt like it was pressing in—and not in a good way.

Hell, she didn’t know if she was capable of pulling off a one-night stand and walking away unharmed. But that’s what this time here in Sugar was for, to figure out who she was. So how the hell could he be so confident in his assessment of her?

That was the point, she admitted sadly, he couldn’t. And instead of letting her figure it out, he made the decision for her. “Good-bye, Brett.”

Of course, he didn’t budge.

Suddenly tired, she gave up and headed for the front door. He kept pace with her up the steps and across the porch. Under the moonlight, he relaxed against the railing, watching patiently as she dug through her purse for her house keys. “Go home, Brett.”

“Not until you agree to dinner. Or a movie. Maybe a ride.”