Country Kisses (3:AM Kisses #8) Read online

  “All right, I get it.” Caila gives a hard knock over the table until my eyes steady back on hers. “You’re a smart ass, but that’s why I like you.” She rises just as our good friend, Scarlett, jumps her from behind with a tackle hug. We’ve known Scarlett for ages. The three of us were best friends until she moved away in eighth grade—so the fact we’ve reunited right here at Whitney Briggs makes this scholastic adventure that much more special.

  “You’re not leaving already, are you?” Scarlett tries her best to pull Caila back to the table.

  “I’ve gotta run. But before I forget—” She reaches into her oversized Louis Vuitton handbag and flings a curved pieced of bright blue rubber at me the length of a remote control. It’s in the shape of a thick spoon with rose gold metallic accents curling around the tip of it.

  “What the hell is this? And should I be holding it or dropping it and trying to kill it with my heel?”

  “Try killing it with fire,” Scarlett quips and swiftly jumps back as I try to spear her with it like a sword.

  “Considering it’s your new boyfriend, I’d suggest cuddling.” That self-satisfied grin takes over my sister’s glossy pink lips. “And don’t kill him just yet. Let him kill you, softly in all the right places, if you know what I mean.” She blows a kiss from over her shoulder as she jets for the exit.

  “Wow,” Scarlett muses while inspecting my new little blue man in copious detail. “That’s some high-tech dildo. If I were you, I’d strap myself down before using it just to be safe.”

  “Very funny.” I drop it to the table, and it gives a threatening leap back in my direction. “On second thought. The sooner my little blue Valentine meets with an open flame the better.”

  The music amps up, and my gaze drifts for a moment, snagging on a dark-haired boy staring at me from over his beer. Familiar scene. Only this one darts his gaze away as if caught with his hand in the proverbial “nookie” jar. What’s this? No nerve? I bet once he gets to the bottom of that liquid courage he’s sucking face with, he’ll be back for seconds. I go to look away myself, and my eyes catch over his all-too-familiar features.

  A slap of heat takes over my body, and my heart tries to rocket out of my throat. Something about him looks eerily familiar, and I can’t for the life of me pinpoint why. His gaze steers back in my direction, and now I’m the one quick to look away. But instead of implementing my go-to maneuver—turning my head to the right, thus exposing him to what could have been the end of our funfest—I simply jump my seat closer to my pretty redheaded bestie.

  “Too bad she had to leave. I miss me some Caila.” Scarlett picks up the dick-on-a-stick and makes it dance a little jig for us. “I was hoping she’d finally get to meet Piper and Daisy.”

  “Oh no—not like this. They’re not getting off that easy. I’m having a little fun with those girls first.” No thanks to the fact destiny introduced my face to a pack of ravenous mutts, Caila and I have missed out on a lifetime of messing with the general population at large. Since that fateful day, I’ve itemized the things we could have done, switching places in class, the tricks we could have played on our friends and family—heck, Caila could have aced both of our driver’s tests. I had to take mine twice. And the fun with boys we could have had! Caila would have dumped my exes in far more dramatic style than I could have ever dreamed of. She’s just a whole lot better at doing me than I’ll ever be.

  “So, what are you thinking?” Scarlett bounces that long dark-red hair of hers over her shoulder as if it were a cat. “Girls night at the club? I’ll tell them you’re working a shift?”

  “Exactly that.” I bite down on a mischievous smile. I can just see Piper’s and Daisy’s sure-as-heck shocked faces once I—Caila Jace—strip down to tits and tails. “I’ll simply tell them I’m headed for the restroom and watch from a distance as they lose their collective minds.”

  “And the big reveal?” Her brows rise up over her field green eyes. St. Patrick himself couldn’t be prouder of that sacred color. There’s no denying the fact Scarlett is an Irish stunner.

  I glance back up at my new quasi-stalker at the bar to see if he’s shifted his attention to the iconic beauty in front of me, but his eyes meet up with my mine, and, as if on cue, my stomach explodes in a fireball.

  My body shifts over my seat as I turn my full attention back to my friend and the dildo still warming in her hand.

  “Yes—the big reveal.” I clear my throat. “I’ll run out and stuff Caila’s G-string with a fistful of dollars, and a good time will be had by all. My sister included.”

  “Hilarious.” She averts her eyes as if she believes it’s anything but. “All right, Cassie the Comedian, I’m out of here. You hanging around?”

  Everything in me demands I glance back to the boy at the bar, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He’s pretty cute. I don’t mind when a douchebag looks offended by my features, but a boy that riles up my hormones like that sure knows how to deal a blow to my already fractured ego.

  “You know”—I offer up my best version of an indifferent shrug—“maybe I’ll hang out just for a bit.”

  “All righty ’kay. See you on the flip side!” Scarlett takes off early on this Friday night, if you can call eleven-thirty early, but she’s sporty and up early doing things of a sporty nature even on weekends, thus the real reason she prefers to retire early. I, on the other hand, nary enjoy a sport where I’m forced to break a sweat. Except for sports of the hot, naked, physical variety, which in my case always involves a worthy opponent from the opposite gender—which brings me to my oh-so little friend. I reach over and molest the hell out of my new blue rubber boy toy. Not that I’ve partaken of silicone pleasure before. Although, to my sister’s point, I haven’t had the real deal in quite some time, so I can’t really see how this is going to dampen my non-existent down-and-dirty parade. Come June, it’ll be a year. My last dildo—that of the flesh variety, that actually came attached to a douche full of hot air. That entire nightmare went down at my high school graduation party. I was a little too loaded—he even more so, being that he kept calling me Caila. Most boys did. Anyway, it was a quick and rather disappointing quickie. Nothing to write home about as odd as that concept would be.

  I swallow hard at the memory. Not sure why my poor, tired brain went there. I reach for my drink, only to find my glass empty of its fruity goodness, not even the cherry left to comfort me no thanks to my sister’s stem twisting tongue. Lord knows what else she’s able to contort with that thing.

  “Let me get you another,” a warm voice hums from above, and I glance up, horrified and more than slightly pleased, to find my barstool suitor has upped the ante and is now strutting his handsome stuff before me, offering to ply me with liquor no less.

  My mouth opens to flip back some saucy retort, dripping with the promise of Southern comfort, of course, when I take in those deep-end-of-the-night eyes, those features sculpted to perfection, thick lashes that look as if they’re growing as we speak, and my words bottleneck in my throat. Just the sight of him cuts a heated line across my stomach and sends my adrenaline pumping as if I’m about to jump on the ride of a lifetime. But, my God, this boy looks familiar... It’s as if I’ve seen him, woken up to him for the last few months straight… Then it hits me.

  Gah! That face! I know those ocean deep eyes, those well-deep dimples, those gorgeous traffic-stopping features. It’s Piper! This is a dude that can pass as my roommate’s…

  Oh my ever-loving God! I suck in a sharp breath.

  “Cade James.” He holds out a hand, and I stare at it as if it’s about to morph into another head—this time his sister’s.

  Cade James. Yes, of course, it is. Piper has mentioned Cade on more than one occasion. She worships the ground this boy walks on, and dear Lord up in Heaven, I can totally understand why.

  I, of all people, understand how eerily similar one can look to their sibling, but, for the life of me, I can’t get over how alarmingly attracted I suddenly am to m
y roommate’s big brother. There’s something boyish under that tough guy, albeit slightly perverse veneer, and I find it outright adorable.

  Piper is a sweetheart—with an iron will and the mouth of a sailor, but still, this is nothing short of dormitory incest brewing here.

  He begins to retract his hand, and I’m quick to clamp my fingers over his with a yet firmer grip—not the limp fish I usually relegate to such occasions, but I’m not letting him think there’s the promise of a wrestling match brewing here either.

  “Cassidy Clayton.” My voice swivels and swerves in sheer country delight, much to what would have been my sister’s chagrin. As much as she likes to denounce our free-range heritage, I like to wield it like a pitchforked weapon.

  He cocks his head a moment as his brows cinch up high with curiosity. “Is that a touch of Tennessee I hear? Of course, it could be just about anywhere in the South, but I’m afraid Tennessee is all I’m familiar with. ” He lands in the seat across from me, that warm smile of his spreading wide.

  “My God—how did you know?” That little touch of Tennessee grows like a foot fungus as the country-fried version of myself happily takes over. Something about the arresting way he’s looking at me makes my panties disintegrate beneath me. Without putting any thought into it, I’m flaunting my good side, baring my cleavage, touching my knee to his. God knows I can hold an entire conversation with my head turned to the left if need be. Try me, Mr. James. Just you go ahead and try me.

  That smile of his evaporates as he flexes a tired grin. “Dated a girl from Tennessee once.”

  The muscles in his jaw tense a moment and make him ten times more comely than I ever thought possible.

  Something about that non-essential piece of information makes it feel as if we’ve just swerved into the friend zone, and my stomach plummets right along with any romantic prospect. And really? With Piper’s brother? What the hell was I thinking anyway?

  A cute sandy-haired blonde bops on over to take our orders, and Cade is quick to ask for a beer.

  “I mean it about the drink.” He thumps a finger over my empty glass. “Feel free to switch it up if you like.”

  I glance up at the girl whose nametag reads BAYA. I’ve seen her here a ton of times. She’s sweet as sugar and always ready with a smile.

  “What’s tonight’s special?” Something tells me I might need a strong one before I hit the lonely highway back to my dorm with the battery-operated creature from the blue lagoon.

  “Sex on the Beach!” She jumps onto her tiptoes when she says it, a maneuver I’ll have to remember since I’m hoping to score a part-time job here in the summer.

  I give a slight shake of the head. I’d hate to steer this conversation sexually sideways with my roommate’s brother of all people, drop-dead gorgeous as he might be. Damn those perfect genes to hell for clawing at my trembling thighs.

  “Another one of these will do fine,” I say it so fast it comes out as one word. God knows another one of these, and I’ll be under the table, clawing at whatever it is Mr. Cade James has packing between his thighs—and judging by his overall marble sculpture perfection, I’m betting it’s something jaw-dropping, mouthwateringly magnificent that should be displayed for all to see in a museum. Lord knows I’d buy the first round of tickets to witness that sizable spectacle.

  Baya zips to the bar, leaving a gardenia perfumed wake in her tracks, and my gaze reconnects with the handsome devil hooking me in with those lust-driven eyes. I wonder what would happen if I turned my head ever so slightly and he saw the real me, how fast he might hit the exit. Would he even bother to wait for his beer? I wonder what excuses he might dream up, and if I would remind him of them whenever Piper gives us a proper introduction.

  “No Sex on the Beach tonight, huh?” His brows arch in amusement. “That’s too bad.” He loses that dirty grin, but those mean blue eyes remain steadfast on mine as if pleading with me to reconsider. Cade leans in and relaxes onto his elbows. It’s as if that single party concoction, with its lewd and crude name, had the power to break the ice. There’s something about him that makes me feel at home, comfortable, far more so than I am around other guys—especially the frat brats that descend on the Black Bear like sexed-up flies—and as much as I want to blame it on his lookalike sister, a part of me understands this instant level of comfort I’m having is something unique to him.

  “Sex on the beach?” There goes that country drawl again, slow and steady, pulling him between my legs like rope braided from hay. “Not ever if I can help it. Sounds perfectly painful to me. Honest to God, my pretty pink bits and pieces don’t get along with grit in hard to reach places.”

  He barks out a laugh, and his perfect white teeth catch the light, glowing like an entire constellation of stars. Cade smiles with his whole face, leaving his eyes squinted into slits of cobalt. “It’s not as bad as it seems, I promise.” His smile glides off once again, and a slight look of regret takes over. I get it—Cade has most likely had girls in hard to reach places a time or two. In fact, an entire herd of girls cranes their necks in our direction as we speak, just waiting to pounce on his tall, dark, and handsome eminence once he ditches me. I should probably let him off the hook, introduce myself as Piper’s pooper-scooper—God knows that girl doesn’t believe in flushing the toilet—and let him get on with his sexual selection of the evening. I can practically see that boy’s boner reflecting in his eyes, and we both know I won’t be the one to quell it.

  He winces. “And there I go sounding like an ass. I promise, I’m only an asshole on days that end in Y.” His brows dip down into a sexy deep V, and that happy place between my thighs gives an approving quiver.

  I’ll be—I would bet my life that this boy is flirting with me—and, with that, all thoughts of a proper introduction vacate the premises.

  “I’m sure you’re not as bad as you make yourself sound. And don’t you worry, that self-abasing humor will get you everywhere.” My tongue does a swift revolution over my lips, and my head cocks to the left as I try my darndest to flirt right back.

  “Here’s to hoping.” He offers up a quick toast as he takes the beer from Baya, and she sets my ruby red daiquiri in front of me before disappearing in another perfumed whisper.

  “And as much as I do love the self-abasing humor, I find an equal distaste in the expletive-riddled, self-abasing tirade. I prefer all my expletive-riddled tirades stay locked behind closed doors—the bedroom door to be exact in the event you’re wondering.” I bite over my thumbnail and offer a little wink. For a brief second, I imagine a mini version of my sister sitting on my shoulder, fully equipped with horns and a tail—just cheering on the proposed bedroom expletive-riddled tirades.

  “Maybe I’m not that bad.” That lopsided grin of his, that heavy lust-filled look in his eyes begs to differ. It’s as if I’ve upped the ante, and the air between us charges electric.

  “Yes, you are,” I counter, lifting my drink to him in a mock toast right back. “You are just that bad and worse, I’d venture to guess.”

  Cade leans in hard, the heady scent of his musky cologne, expensive and thick as a wool coat, warms the space between us. “That I am.” His gaze lays heavy over mine, drugged and smugly secure in where this happy trail of seduction just might be leading. “I’m a very dirty, dirty boy when I’m locked behind bedroom doors.” His features smooth out with serious intent, but that current traveling from his gorgeous night sky eyes to mine demands my pretty pink bits and pieces quiver to attention. “Expletive-riddled tirades in the bedroom are my specialty.”

  I lean in. My finger swirls a clean circle over the rim of his beer. “And what exactly do you think I would do if I were to witness one of these tirades of yours?”

  “Shout with pleasure.” He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t miss a beat.

  The air stills around us, the music fades, and the voices in the room all warble into a ball of white noise. It’s just Cade and I locked in this strange place, where his determination to fin
d someone to sit on his very enthusiastic lap, and my inadvertent need to keep vital information away from him regarding my all too close connection to his sister takes over. I’m not sure what difference it would make if I spilled the dormitory beans, but I like the idea of keeping Piper off the table for now. For some strange reason, I want Cade all for myself a moment. Once he finds out I’m his little sister’s bestie, that might relegate me right back to the friend zone and cancel out any future lane changes that might inadvertently lead to his expletive-riddled bedroom.

  A group of girls knock against our table before scuttling off drunk, and we both catch our drinks before they offer up a spontaneous baptism.

  We share a warm laugh.

  “You’ve got quick reflexes, I’ll give you that.” He touches his glass to mine before sucking the foam off the top of his beer. “So, what’s your story?” He glances back at the dance floor where his sister fist pumps with the best of them. “You go to Briggs?”

  “Freshman.” Like your sister, I want to say but don’t. This isn’t some midnight confessional. He wasn’t Father Cade James last time I checked. As far as I’m concerned, Piper is persona non grata tonight. My gaze rides over the periphery of our tiny little table, only to affirm a number of short-skirted coeds still ready and willing to strip Cade bare with their teeth once the moment allows. Sorry, skanks. This one is with me.

  “Freshman,” he repeats with increasing concern, and I can practically see Piper James right there, dancing around in her brother’s eyes, vexing him to no end with our youthful connection. How much older did she say he was? He can’t be more than a couple of years. “My sister’s a freshman.” He gives a momentary frown into this offense. “I’m a junior—business major. How about you?” He’s back to grinning, and my heart skips a few fleeting beats because I do believe we just tap danced right around Little Miss Pouting Piper. If Piper knew she was just avoided on both ends of our conversation, her ego might combust. Piper, much like any little she-devil worth her salt, does appreciate her conversation-hoggin’ due.