Bourbon on the Rocks (The Barrel House Series Book 2) Page 17

  My heart feels as though it hasn’t been beating in at least thirty seconds. I’m dumbfounded, listening to his explanation. “I can’t prance in there with you and say: look who I found.”

  “No, I will tell him I just found out after running back into you. It’s the truth.”

  “What if he feels pain?” I ask Brody.

  I don’t know if Adam feels pain. I don’t know if he feels love. I don’t know if he feels anything at all.

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Brody turns for the DVD bin and shuffles through the stacks, pulling out movies I wouldn’t choose.

  “Brody, I don’t know how I feel about this.”

  “Why don’t I go alone?” he offers.

  I know that I can’t stop him from visiting Adam, assuming he finds out where he’s located, and I don’t have say in the matter, and it’s never been an issue before. Most people who were aware of the accident stopped visiting Adam years ago. It’s as if he’s just a memory now.

  “He doesn’t know you,” I tell him.

  I don’t know if he even remembers me. I convince myself there’s a look in his eye, saying he knows who I am, but I don’t know for sure.

  “I’ll introduce myself.”

  “Why are you insisting on this?”

  “I want to be a part of your life, and he’s part of your life. He needs to be a part of mine too.”

  “Can I think about it for the night?”

  “Of course. You can bring the DVDs if you decide against me tagging along.”

  I feel the need to stare at Brody for a long second as he continues to dig through the DVDs, wondering why he seems to give in to me so easily sometimes and other times won’t take no for an answer.

  “I don’t like this.”

  Brody straightens the pile of DVDs in his hand and peers into my eyes. “Which part?”

  “You see me as broken. That’s all you see now. It’s all you’ll ever see. It doesn’t feel good.”

  “What is it you need, Journey? I’m trying my hardest, and everything I do is pushing you farther away. Just tell me how to be around you?”

  “I don’t have an answer.”

  Which leads to silence until we make our way through check out. “If I pushed too hard today, I’m sorry,” Brody says as we walk toward the doors.

  “Stop apologizing. You’re not a weak person, and I know you’re not sorry.”

  “Fine,” he says. “I’m not sorry. I’m a go-getter. I don’t give up easily, and it might be the one thing to push you away.”

  “Maybe,” I agree.

  Standing before the sliding doors, I realize we lost track of time today, and it’s dark. Plus, the nice warmth from the sun I felt on the way indoors should have been a warning for imminent rain. It’s pouring. Awesome.

  “I didn’t think it was going to rain,” Brody says, tightening the knot on the bags, so the DVD’s don’t get wet. “How about I go get the car and pick you up, so you don’t get wet?”

  “It’s just water,” I tell him.

  He seems surprised by my response. “I didn’t think women enjoy running through downpours.”

  “You keep grouping me in with a stereotype, and it’s the very place you keep taking a wrong turn.”

  I don’t know if something clicks in Brody’s head after hearing my explanation, but his eyes light up as if he suddenly understands me. I think.

  With a step toward the sliding door, I walk out first, feeling the cold drops pummel over me. Brody begins a slow jog, moving past me before realizing I’m still holding steady at a walking pace. It doesn’t matter how fast we get to the Jeep; we’ll still be soaked. Therefore, running will not make a difference.

  “Come on; we’re getting soaked,” he shouts.

  “We’re already soaked,” I inform him.

  Brody tosses his head back, possibly annoyed, maybe frustrated, but he stops and waits for me to catch up. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

  Maybe. “I like the rain.”

  “No, you don’t,” he argues.

  “How do you know?”

  “You like to be cold and wet?”

  I shrug. “It makes me feel alive. It’s like adrenaline mixed with an electric shock running through my blood. I like it.” I might exaggerate a little, but I do like to end my hot showers with a burst of cold water for a boost of energy.

  “You’re crazy. You know that?”

  “I’m well aware,” I respond.

  It takes a good five minutes to make it to the Jeep, and I don’t think either of us could be wetter if we took a dip in a pool. “We’re going to get your seats wet,” Brody says.

  “They’ll dry.”

  Brody reaches for the door, but I haven’t unlocked the Jeep. “Get the locks,” he says, trying to open the trunk gate.

  I reach into my pocket, slowly searching for the key, watching as he wipes away the water cascading down his face. His hair is soaking wet and his eyelashes have drops falling from the tips. I unlock the doors, and Brody tosses the bag of DVDs into the trunk. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, heading toward the driver’s seat.

  He follows me.

  “I can make it to my door, Brody.”

  “Good,” he says, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. “I don’t think you’re going to make it there for a long minute, though.”

  His hands press against my cheeks with force, and his body shoves mine up against the side of the Jeep. He lowers his head and crashes his lips against mine. I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his wet lips, the water falls from his hair onto my face, his grip tightening with need, and his body constricting air from my lungs. He takes a breath, only parting his lips to do so. “Is this what you wanted?”

  I press up on my toes to reclaim his lips to offer an answer. I wanted him to see me for me, not for what’s wrong with me or what happened in the past. I want to be desired—it’s all I need. I loop my hands around his back, clenching the soaked material of his fleece, holding him against me, telling him not to let me go. His nose sweeps against the side of mine, and the tip of his tongue dances around the inside of my lips. The currents running through my body erase the rain and the cold sensation.

  The kiss continues for longer than a minute, both of us gripping each other as if we have no other choice. Brody’s lips pull away from mine, and he sweeps a wet strand of hair from my forehead as he holds his stare on my eyes. “Please, let me stay,” he whispers.

  I bite down on my bottom lip, left without words worthy of a response. He steps away, and I open the driver’s side door. “Come on, we’re getting wet,” I say, closing myself inside.

  He smiles before jogging around to the passenger side of the Jeep and hops inside. I turn the ignition on and blast the heat, feeling the cold seep into my bones.

  Without question, I drive us back to my apartment because it’s where his car is, but I don’t know what will happen next.

  Before stepping out into the rain, Brody drops his hand onto my thigh. “Hold it, stormy …”

  I glance over with a smirk. “Yes?”

  “I’m coming upstairs.”

  “What if I say no?” I tease.

  “No? Journey, trust me when I tell you, you’ll be saying, yes, faster than you can imagine.”

  “Is that a challenge?” I reply, raising a brow.

  Brody jumps out of the Jeep and runs around the front, opening my door and yanking me out. “I’m not standing in the rain any longer tonight,” he says, pulling me to walk faster and jog up the stairs until we reach the back exit.

  I press my hand against the door and turn around to face him. “I told you, I like the rain.”

  “It’s a good thing I like you,” he says, but we’ve had enough for now. Brody lifts me up, holding his arm beneath my butt as he opens the door and walks us inside. “Are you going to walk up the stairs, or should I continue carrying you?”

  I don’t
answer him. I take the opportunity of my position to nip at his earlobe, then trace my tongue along the same spot. “Jesus Christ, Journey.” Brody runs us up the stairs and tries to open my door. “You locked your damn door this time?”

  “I took your advice,” I say sweetly.

  He lowers me to my feet. “Open the door.”

  “What do you say?” I smirk.

  “Please, Journey, would you open your door before I take you right here in the hallway?”

  I unclench my hand, freeing the key. As fun as being arrested for indecent exposure sounds, the inside of my apartment sounds like a better idea.

  Brody twists the knob before I can get the key out, and he’s pushing me inside and kicks the door closed behind him. “You know what’s better than cold water?” He pulls me into the bathroom and tears the shower curtain across the rod, then twists the faucet to the left. It takes forever for the heat to turn on, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out quickly.

  His lips are against my neck as he peels my coat off my shoulders. The stubble on his chin scrapes against my collarbone, reminding me he shaved his beard per my request. However, feeling the stubble ignites the nerve endings in my body. It makes me wonder if the beard was a better accessory than I thought. Articles of clothing fall from our bodies, one by one, until Brody steps into the shower first.

  “Holy crap, why is this water so damn cold?” he shouts.

  I step in after him. “It takes two minutes to warm it up.”

  “You are something else,” he groans, pulling me in against him. His body presses against mine and fulfills my needs as if it was my dying wish. His hands cup my breasts, and he takes the time to taste every spot of my cold perkiness. I love the feeling of his hands roaming freely across my body, and by time his hand reaches between my legs, heat from the water ignites, steaming us into the closed space.

  Brody reaches out of the shower and bends over … without shame. Wondering what he’s doing, I get clarification when I hear the belt from his pants clang around on the bathroom floor, followed by the sound of a package tearing open. He returns and spins me around, running his hand back down my center. I place my hands on the shower wall, and he grips my hips before entering me, making it known our height difference is perfect for shower sex. Brody’s breaths are erratic as he moves heavily against me, and though my knees threaten to give out, I hold my body up by the wall, enjoying a moment of every thrust. He isn’t gentle or careful with me. The force is coming to a point where I won’t be able to hold myself up much longer. My hands begin to slip, and pulls out, then twists me around and lifts me up, resting me on his hips to re-enter from the front. I rest my head against the shower wall, enjoying the sensation of his tongue circling my nipples. I grab onto the wet strands of his hair for stability, and when the sensation of a small bite hits me, I scream, “Oh God!”

  “Oh, you like that?” He bites again, and his hands scoop around my back, slowly lowering, causing my body to buck against his.

  “Don’t stop,” I cry.

  “Like this?”

  “Yesssss!” I scream. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Beautiful,” he whispers.

  My body gives into the pressure, and I collapse against Brody’s body like a rag doll as he continues pumping into me until I feel his release. His lips are back against my neck, moving up slowly until he reaches my lips. “I love the way you say, yes,” he mutters into my mouth.

  I open my eyes, finding a proud smile stretching against his cheeks, and I can’t help but match the emotion, feeling the same way.

  “Who would have thought this was all it took to see you smile,” he says quietly. “I won this round, Journey.”

  “Fine, but the game isn’t over yet,” I respond.

  Brody frees himself and lowers me to my feet. “You know, I wondered if I’d ever find out whether the carpet matches the drapes, but apparently, it’s something I must keep wondering about.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t believe in covering hard-wood with any carpeting,” I reply.

  “Holy—wow. I think you might be perfect.”

  Perfect. The irony of the day ending on a perfect note.

  “You make me feel warm inside,” I tell him. “The feeling is foreign, but I like it.”

  “Whatever it is, I don’t want it to stop,” he says, combing his fingers through my hair.

  We take the next few minutes to rinse off and clean up before stepping out into the warm bathroom air. I hand Brody a towel and stare down at his clothes, remembering how wet they are.

  “I can make dinner, and you can hang out with a blanket and your towel,” I tell him.

  “Can I watch the Kardashians?”

  I playfully slap my hand against his bare chest. “I thought you were joking about your love for that show.”

  “Oh, no, I can’t stop watching. It’s a problem,” he says seriously.

  “Can I sit with you for a few minutes before I start dinner?”

  He seems surprised by my question. I guess it’s not something he should expect out of my mouth, but I’m craving more warmth. “Only if you stay in a towel too.”

  We curl up on the couch and pull a blanket over us, and I do something I haven’t done with anyone, ever. I curl my head into the nook between his neck and chest and take a deep breath.

  This spot. It feels right.

  I wish I had always known the definition of feeling right.

  19

  I hadn’t understood why Vegas was proclaimed the city that never sleeps, but I quickly learned the reason. They pumped fresh oxygen into the casinos, keeping people awake, and the lighting mimicked daytime. Once inside a building, there was no track of time.

  I had never been to a casino, but I was sure the ones in Vegas would ruin any smaller casino I would visit in New England someday. Each hotel was like a piece of art and themed by country. I could have spent months there, losing track of all my worries. I figured I would likely run out of money before a few months were up, but I thought maybe I could win some too. It was that first-time rush of hope. I hadn’t drunk much in the prior two years, but it was my big twenty-one, and I wasn’t driving anywhere. Plus, I had company, and Tucker and I were going on a three-hour streak of non-stop laughter. I wasn’t even sure what we were laughing about, but there was a lightness in my chest, and I felt happy and excited. It was overwhelming after feeling so low and in the dark for such a long time.

  “You have officially made me less miserable,” I told Tucker.

  “Whatever it takes, let’s keep the night going,” he replied while sliding another twenty-dollar bill into the slot machine. He rubbed his hands together as if warming up his luck and pressed a few buttons, bidding the whole twenty on the most amount of lines. I was sure he would lose in less than a second.

  However, the one spin he took won the jackpot, not just a few thousand dollars, but a three and a half million-dollar jackpot. I thought it was a scam or a joke, making us think he had won, but the sirens were going off, and lights were blaring. People were staring at us in shock.

  Us. There wasn’t an us. Tucker put the money in, and Tucker played the machine. We were just out for my birthday celebration, nothing more.

  The shock was an understatement. Tucker went pale and couldn’t seem to close his mouth or blink. He spun around in circles until an attendant came to confirm his winnings.

  “I’ve been struggling for money my entire life,” he said to me. “I won’t have to drive that damn truck anymore, and it’s all because of your birthday, Journey. Do you see how lucky you are?”

  I felt far from being lucky. I kept my happiness for Tucker to a phony smile. It wasn’t my luck. If it was, I would have won something, but I asked myself if money would fix my pain, and I knew the answer before thinking it through completely.

  After Tucker met with a financial representative of the casino and filled out the paperwork and tax forms, he was given a portion of the money by check and was told he’d receive the rest i
n increments on a schedule. The whole process took two hours, but they made us comfortable with more drinks and luxurious accommodations. It was quite a night, even though I’d walk away with nothing.

  “I don’t even know what I’ll do with all of this,” he said, sipping on a top-shelf mixed martini.

  “I’m sure you’ll find ways,” I told him, taking double the amount of sips he took.

  “We should travel the world together,” he suggested.

  I realized he was more than likely beyond drunk and speaking nonsense. “You don’t want to travel the world with me,” I told him.

  He twisted to face me, bringing his knee up onto the cushion. “Are you kidding? You’re like the coolest chick I’ve ever met. It would be thrilling to travel the world with you.”

  The idea didn’t sound horrible. It sounded like a bonus to my plan of running away. “I could be convinced easily,” I said.

  “We’re here because of you. I won this because of you. If you hadn’t stopped me on the highway, this wouldn’t have happened, Journey. I think this is some kind of weird fate, and we’re supposed to be together. It just makes sense.”

  His words startled me because none of what he said had crossed my mind. Fate? Were we meant to be together?

  Something in my head wondered if maybe he was right. Neither of us had a clear direction. He was a good-looking guy, sweet as could be, and easy to get along with. Could the new direction I was looking for in life truly come with fluorescent blinking arrows?

  “What are you saying?”

  “Let’s just go get married. The money will be ours. We’ll start over, build a life from scratch, and never look back.”

  Never look back. I could be free from the pain. It’s why I ran away. I wouldn’t have to rush home on the account of being broke. It could be fate. It seemed very possible.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s do it.” Adrenaline rushed through me, and I felt more alive than ever before.

  Tucker leaned forward and kissed me. It was just a kiss to seal the deal. It wasn’t a heart-stopping, breath-stealing kiss, but it was the precursor to a new future.