Drunk on You Read online

  “Huh,” he said, keeping his response noncommittal, but something around his diaphragm gave a thump. Jessica continued, “Any-hoo, she didn’t let that stop her from sampling every guy on campus.”

  He handed Jessica a cocktail. Maybe filling her mouth with Rainbow Dog would keep her from spewing so much crap. He really didn’t need to hear about Allie sleeping with anyone else. Errr…anyone at all, that was, because she wasn’t going to be sleeping with him, either.

  “Will you join me?” she held up her glass.

  “No, it’s a little early for me. Someone’s got to remember to herd everyone toward the racetrack after a bit.”

  “Are you going to let me choose a horse for you?”

  Jesus. This woman didn’t stop. Allie shot them a glance as though she knew Jessica was talking about her, and then turned away. Jessica the Dancer-Not-a-Stripper was a friend, at least of the guest of honor, and everyone was a potential Blue Mountain customer—that had been ingrained in the Morgan boys from the time they could talk. You’re representing the family business every time you leave this house, his father would say. But this potential customer seemed to have it in for his partner, and he was going to keep her from getting in any more digs at Allie. He supposed his mission to look out for her by helping her get Rainbow Dog off the ground should involve distracting mean girls.

  Which meant he was going to have to keep Jessica busy. Grabbing a bag of lemons from the cooler, he said, “Hey, how are you with a knife and a cutting board?” He wasn’t too sure that giving this piece of work a knife was a good idea, but he had to try.

  …

  By the time Allie got the bridal party to the front gate of the track, she was ready to quit.

  Justin and Jessica were in front of her, their heads bent together over the racing form.

  She couldn’t believe it. He was picking up a…stripper…client…bitchface frenemy right in front of her! Granted, she didn’t have any dibs on him. But it was unprofessional. That’s what it was. She’d talk to him about it later. In a professional manner.

  Thank God, the bugle signaling the start of the first race sounded.

  “Oh, no!” Jessica pouted. The Bitch. “I wanted to bet on Justinory’s Pride. I bet he’s quite the stallion.”

  “You know it, babe,” Justin said, winking at her.

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Well, you can put it all on Bimbo’s Humiliation, instead.”

  Justin shot her a look that said, “Take it down a notch,” but she ignored him.

  “I didn’t see that one. Which race is that in?” Jessica scanned the racing form.

  He started to laugh, but quickly recovered when the bimbo in question—who had been born and raised in Lexington, Kentucky, and therefore should have learned to understand betting on horses in first grade—turned back to him, asking something inane about odds and reading the racing form.

  “Allie, I really want to thank you for putting this together,” Gabrielle said. “Are you sure you won’t stay and play the ponies with us? We’re getting a limo to drive us to dinner and clubbing afterward.”

  “No, thanks, G. I appreciate the invite, but I’ve got to get ready to head out on a business trip.”

  “Oh, right,” Gabrielle said, winking. She leaned forward to whisper in Allie’s ear, “He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

  Allie laughed, hoping it sounded realistic. “Like you’d keep your eye on the mean dog next door, ready to run as soon as it makes a move!”

  “I’m serious!” Gabrielle protested.

  After exacting a promise to send photos from the destination wedding being held in Saint Lucia, Allie waved her off.

  “I’m sorry you’re not coming in with us,” Jessica was saying to Justin. She left her hand on his arm until he pulled it away. She handed Justin a business card that he looked at, then tucked into his back pocket. “Thanks, babe,” he said.

  Allie felt a little sick.

  Turning to her, Jessica said, “I sure hope you find someone who suits you soon.” She made a fake sympathetic face. “It’s nice that your old crush steps up to be your escort when you need it, though.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “Baby, we’ve got to get going,” he said, moving toward Allie for the first time that day. He put his arm around her and tugged her close to his side.

  If he’d dropped on one knee and whipped out a ring she couldn’t have been more surprised. The kiss he pressed to her temple nearly dropped her.

  Jessica’s mouth fell open. “I thought you said there was nothing between the two of you,” she said.

  Allie looked up at him, waiting, one eyebrow raised. The other one was paralyzed from the kiss he’d landed next to it.

  “Did I say that? You must have misinterpreted my words. There was nothing between us. You know, back then. There’s a whole lot between us now.” He gave her a squeeze that nearly popped Allie’s lungs. “Right, puddin’?”

  “Oh, there’s all kinds of stuff between us right now,” she agreed. And it was getting deeper and smellier by the moment.

  As the bachelorette crew made its way into the grandstand, Allie turned to Justin and said, “Puddin’?”

  He shrugged. “I was working on the fly. I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be.”

  “What the hell was that all about? I thought you were going to go in the camper with her and put the Do Not Disturb sign out, and then all of a sudden I’m Puddin’?”

  They had reached the camper, so she gently pushed Justin toward a chair to sit for a while so she could clean up. “Rest your leg and those ribs.”

  “She seems to have it in for you. I figured it was my job as vice president of schmoozing to keep her out of your hair.”

  Allie stopped with a handful of paper plates and stared at him.

  He leaned back in the folding chair, looking as relaxed as any other race fan, running a hand through his jumbled mess of hair, then stretching his massive shoulders. She appraised him, lounging with one long leg splayed, the other propped on a cooler. The golden brown hairs on his good leg glinted in the early-afternoon sun. The strong bones and muscles forming his knee invited her to move toward him, to trace his kneecap, to follow those thigh muscles under the leg of his baggy cargo shorts… God, he was beautiful. And she knew she could count on him. He actually believed in her—the one person besides her siblings who had ever thought she could do anything. And the only one who was here helping her now.

  “Thanks.”

  His blue eyes met hers, held. “You’re welcome.”

  …

  Justin’s voicemail message notification chimed just as he leaned back against the headrest in the copilot’s seat of the camper. Allie maneuvered the Suburban Assault Vehicle, as they’d dubbed the old motor home, out of the racetrack grounds and pointed it toward home.

  He ignored the message. He couldn’t think of anything that was important enough to distract him from watching Allie drive like the happy camper she was. Her eyes shone, and strands of that crazy red-blond hair flew around, sliding against her sun-kissed skin in the breeze from the open window. Her energy was infectious as she chattered about what people had said and new ideas she had.

  It had been a successful event, and several of the partygoers, as well as a few people who were tailgating nearby, had asked for information about Rainbow Dog.

  She’d graciously lied through her pearly white teeth and told everyone that it would be available at their local liquor stores within the next couple of months, and if they didn’t see it, to be sure and ask about it.

  Justin didn’t really register what she was saying, though. He was distracted by the slender muscles in her arms as she turned the steering wheel of the camper, the curve and slight bounce of breast when they hit a bump. Her loose, flowing skirt rose a few inches every now and then, exposing those amazing thighs. He clenched his hands on his armrests to avoid reaching over to trace the hemline over her nearest leg. Was she ticklish?

  Asshole. Touch her
while she’s driving so she can jerk her leg off the brake when she needs it, wreck the camper, and die. Since burning the damned rickhouse down around her didn’t work.

  Reason number nine thousand and six why he couldn’t touch Allie McGrath.

  He pulled out his phone and looked at the caller ID. Oh, shit. Merilee had returned his call and left a message. He pressed the phone against his right ear, hoping the music from the radio was loud enough to cover anything the message said. “Hi, Justin! Great to hear from you. I’m interested to hear what you have in mind. Call when you can.”

  He would. As soon as possible.

  Allie parked the camper in the lot behind the Blue Mountain offices, and Justin slowly straightened his leg. He could bend it enough to ride, but changing the angle was a slow process after he’d been sitting for a while.

  “Hey, how are your ribs?” Allie asked, opening the door to the camper to get to the cooler full of leftovers.

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Really.”

  “Yes, really,” he lied. He hoped she didn’t feel the need to—

  “Let me see the bruise,” she said, ignoring the cooler and coming to him to lift his shirt.

  He batted at her hands—when he really would have preferred pulling them to him. “It’s fine.”

  “Then let me see.”

  “You just want to perv on my abs,” he said, trying to keep things light, to deflect how badly he craved her touch.

  “Well, yeah. And to check your manscaping.”

  “I don’t have any more or less chest hair than I had yesterday,” he told her.

  Her hands warmed his skin as she pressed against his side. The heat traveled along his abdomen, lower, making his shorts tight.

  “I guess you’re going to live.”

  He wasn’t so sure. “Is this your old-time ‘laying on of hands’ healing ceremony?” Her hair smelled of fresh grass and sunshine, and that damned perfume.

  “Only with whiskey instead of rum.” Her face was turned up to him, lips slightly parted. She’d gotten a little sun, and her freckles were popping.

  He wondered which flavor of Rainbow Dog she’d taste like today. He cleared his throat and stepped out of the danger zone. As much as he’d like to lose himself in her, he couldn’t.

  They came from the same world, but his had become so different when he’d gone to war. He had nothing in common with her friends, to whom everything was both so temporary and earth-shattering at the same time. He’d turned himself into someone who focused on getting from one day to the next, through each deployment intact.

  After Dave died, he found sanctuary in that single-minded survival plan. He hid in the Marine Corps until he couldn’t hide anymore. They said the war was over, so he got out when his enlistment was over. And now he was here, trying to relate to bridesmaids.

  “I was thinking. Maybe you could be the face—or rather, the body—of Rainbow Dog.”

  Justin groaned. “I don’t think so. I plan to gain fifty pounds in the next several months.”

  “Oh, come on! Why not?”

  “Why not? Because it’s— I’m just not going to do that.” He snorted, picturing himself romping across the pages of an ad in Men’s Fitness with polo ponies, carrying a jar of Rainbow Dog.

  “You’re the perfect spokesmodel. You’re young, attractive, affluent—”

  “Affluent in the ‘you haven’t a cent to your name’ way.” At least not without selling his soul to his father.

  She waved that off. “We’ll get rich with Rainbow Dog. You’ll see.” She hoisted one end of the cooler while he took the other with a crutch-free arm. They chucked it onto the back of the golf cart.

  “I’m not going to be a spokesmodel.”

  “You kinda already are,” she said.

  “I’m your bartender and can carry on a conversation with strangers.”

  “And keep strippers too busy to torment nice girls.” She lifted one eyebrow.

  “I have many, many skills that you haven’t seen.” Nor would she, he reminded himself.

  It was her turn to snort. “Fine. Let’s go take this leftover food to Caleb and Sherry at the distillery. See if they want to have dinner with us.”

  “Okay.” Good. Caleb and Sherry could be chaperones for a few hours, before Justin had to trot his willpower back out.

  Chapter Eleven

  As they made their way across the gravel parking area away from Caleb and Sherry’s little house, Allie noticed that Justin was actually moving faster on his crutches than she was in her sneakers.

  He called, “Hey! Get a move on, Sneezy. It’s been a long day and I’m still convalescing.”

  “I’m coming.” The nickname rankled her, as usual. The only time he called her Allie was when… When was the last time he’d called her by her name? The other day on the couch, maybe. Heat pooled low in her belly when she thought of how he’d felt over her, in her hand.

  Justin wouldn’t consider her for any kind of a relationship—she understood now that he wasn’t built for that. Why then did she still want him so fiercely—maybe even more so than when she was so much younger? It was probably because she knew what sex was all about now and could imagine what it would be like with him. Even if it were just a casual hookup, it would be mind-blowing.

  Except it wasn’t going to happen.

  She took a cleansing breath. Okay. Time to get over it. Move on. He was determined that she was “Sneezy,” kid sister of his best bud. Not someone he should have a sexual interest in. Stupid, honorable man.

  Justin leaned on his crutches next to the tailgate of her truck, staring up at the new moon in the clear black night. He sighed.

  She came to a stop nearby and breathed in the familiar aromas of Blue Mountain—fermented corn, bourbon—and Justin. His big body gave off so much heat he was like a beacon to her on the chilly April night. She forced herself to stand her ground and not move any closer.

  “I wonder what the sky looks like out West,” he said, not looking at her.

  “Where you’re going? Probably pretty hazy with all that smoke.”

  He chuckled, the sound a low huff. “Hopefully not all the time.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do? Go out there and jump out of perfectly good airplanes into burning trees? It’s not like jumping out of perfectly good trees into burning bushes worked out so well for you.”

  He chuckled. “We were trying to swing over the bush. It’s not my fault the Tarzan vine wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Maybe you should have tried going one at a time,” she said, thinking about the time he and Dave started a fire in a dead bush, and then tried to swing over it, re-creating some comic-book-hero story. They failed. Fortunately, the burns were only second degree. The grounding and week spent cleaning out fireplaces at the nearby state park was more painful, if Allie remembered correctly.

  “Anyway,” she said, unwilling to let it go this time. “Why are you leaving?”

  “I don’t belong here. I never have.” He held up a hand to ward off her protest. “Not with our families. At the distillery. Maybe it’s because Brandon and Dave were such naturals. Tasting, marketing, logistics… My skill set is pretty limited to consumption.”

  “You don’t have to move all the way to Bum Fuck—where, Idaho? Montana? To get away from the distillery, if you hate it that much.”

  He didn’t answer for a long minute. But as he turned toward the passenger door of Allie’s pickup truck, she thought she heard him mutter something that sounded an awful lot like, “I’m worried that I don’t hate it as much as I thought, ’cause I’ve still got to go.”

  They rode up the hill to the log house silently. Allie unlocked the door and held it open for him. She said, “If you’re okay, I think I’ll stay at my house tonight. You seem to be getting around pretty well now.”

  He tilted his head at her, as though he didn’t understand the words, then said, “Actually, I’m pretty sore. Between the ribs and my l
eg, I was hoping to take a pain pill and soak in the tub for a while—I’m not sure…” He rubbed his side, the hem of his shirt riding up enough to display those abs she teased him about earlier.

  Maybe she could run home and get some lingerie to scrub on that washboard. What she said was, “You shouldn’t do that when you’re home alone.”

  He smiled at her, hopeful puppy, waiting for a treat, all over his face.

  Naturally, the moment she realized she needed to get some distance, he’d get needy.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. I just thought you’d, you know, like some privacy.” She’d actually been trying to let him go a little bit. But she was his friend. And she’d agreed to help him, right?

  Oh, who was she kidding? Deciding to stick to the “friend” flight plan hadn’t magically removed her desire to be around him as much as she could. She’d keep her hands to herself, but she was still going to be a little human satellite, orbiting planet Justin and his extra-gravity stomach muscles.

  He looked pleased at her acquiescence and smiled as he pushed the door shut behind her, using a crutch as an arm extension.

  “You know,” she said, “you can’t take those pills if you’ve been drinking. Maybe you should stick to Advil.”

  He hesitated for an instant, then said, “I’m sober.”

  He was right, as far as she knew. And she’d been with him pretty much constantly since Dave’s birthday. Even when they’d been at that alumni party last night, she didn’t think he’d had anything to drink.

  He may not have been drinking, but dark circles under his eyes showed long nights spent doing something other than sleeping.

  “Are you resting okay at night?” she finally asked.

  He shrugged. “I nap.” And that was all he had to say about that. He pushed past her and thunked down the hall, Allie trailing in his wake.

  Maybe if she was patient, and didn’t scare him to death with her lust vibes, he’d open up to her some more.

  The bourbon was being left on the shelf—because he was too distracted to drink? Maybe if she kept him busy enough, he’d be too exhausted to stay up all night thinking troubled thoughts.