Secret surrender, p.17
Secret Surrender, page 17
“And?”
“I like you.” Her gaze fell from him again, like she’d just spoken the most devastating words of her life. “I like you a lot.”
Her overwrought look had the corners of his lips twitching, but he held down any genuine smile, still too uncertain where this conversation was heading. “I can see why that would be a problem.”
She scowled at him, though the lopsided clench of her cheeks suggested humor. “The thing is, I like you way too much for this to be healthy. I’ve come to realize hiding you is becoming less about what people will say, and more that, just once, I want something that’s all mine.”
He took a hurried step forward, reaching to give in to his long-standing urge to touch her, but she stepped back, her hand held out in a gesture for him to stop. “Not yet. I’m not done. In realizing how I feel about you—that this is more than just friends with benefits and a fun trick to play on the local gossips—there’s something else that’s holding me back.”
Her attention worked over him, as if she appraised him and whether she should say more, the narrowing of her eyes confirming his theory. “As much as I consider you more than a friend, I know significantly less about you than any friend. You also know less about me than anyone else in this town. See how that could be a problem?”
“Sure.” He schooled his face, keeping his response minimal, despite his quickening pulse. She was about to ask him for the one thing he couldn’t give. “So, you want a heart-to-heart?”
She tucked her hands into her jeans pockets, the action an easing from her earlier defensive tact. “I guess. I can’t rightfully say I trust you if, when I get down to it, I don’t know much about you.”
“Right.” He nodded, more to himself than to her, his joy somehow fizzled to a dry and deathly reality.
Reality. Something he failed to escape, time and time again.
This was the bit where she asked questions he couldn’t answer. Not truthfully, anyway.
He didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to lose her either.
Once more, a good thing teetered on the edge of disappearing from his life completely, all because his past didn’t make such a pretty picture. In fact, his past was downright hideous.
He turned toward the alley’s entrance and slowly but surely trudged out.
Gravel crunched behind him, Sarah’s hurried footsteps. “Dean? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t give you what you want.” He tossed his voice so she could hear but kept on walking all the same.
“So, you’re leaving?” She grabbed his bicep and turned him around. “Just like that?”
Her glare held him, out on the pavement and just outside the alley. Now he was the one peering about the street, concerned about what others might see or hear. “Not ‘just like that’. I… I need a minute to think.”
She stepped back a little, her narrowed stare taking him in anew. “Well, that’s a bad sign if ever there was one. You know about Blaine. I’ve told you a bit about my family. It’s not too much that I want to know a little about your history and problems.”
The angry heat blooming in his chest dimmed a little, and he found it in him to reply. “You’ve never asked.”
Her expression remained unmoved. “I’m asking now.”
He spun away and ran his fingertips through his hair, his greatest wish being that he’d never have to tell anyone, much less her, the truth. So now he stood with his mouth clamped shut, his reasons for secrecy as strong as ever.
If she knew the truth, she would leave. If he said nothing, she would leave.
“Exactly.” She stepped around him and shook her head, confirming the impossibility of his predicament, the drop of her shoulders a show of familiar disappointment.
Even then, even as he’d been the one to walk away—walking away from Sarah wasn’t straightforward—and just like the night they met, he searched for a way to prolong his time with her.
“Let me start with this, then.” He held a hushed tone and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. “When I look at you, I remember what it’s like to be human. You give me things I haven’t had in years—dreams, desires—the things that made me stay in this town to begin with.”
Her lips parted, like she meant to say something, but abandoned that idea, her cheeks hollow and pupils wide.
He drew her in more, allowing himself the privilege of running his thumb over her cheek, despite the public setting, despite the selfishness of his move. “My past, it’s not a pretty story to tell.”
Her gaze held his, like she didn’t want to let go as much as he didn’t. “It’s still something I want to hear.”
“Why? Tell me, why?” His tone turned unintentionally rough, but as much as he didn’t deserve her, he wasn’t beneath trying to keep her. “So you can decide if I’m someone worth being with?”
She shook her head. “So I can trust you’ll be open with me about the not so pretty stuff. I deserve a chance to understand the man I’m dating.”
“Isn’t the man, himself, enough?”
“Do you know how unreasonable you sound right now?” She blinked at him, her expression still and not at all denoting humor.
He let go of her. Backed away. All the while, nodding to himself. He was being unreasonable, and just as she asked too much in wanting the truth, he asked too much expecting she could live without it.
“There’s not much between us that isn’t beyond reason. Starting with the way we met.” He held her gaze again, his small offering of honesty. “The stupid charade we’ve been playing around everyone…”
Her brow ticked upward, a small challenge of sorts. “You want to stop the charade?”
She tested his resolve. A test he deserved in light of his secrecy, a test he might just fail.
“The charade was fun at first”—he gave a fake, easy shrug—“but it’s not anymore. I know as the man here, I’m supposed to be the one chasing you. Just to break with tradition, what if I told you that I’m not ready yet? That I need a little more time?”
Hell. What a lie. If it were up to him, he and Sarah would be a done deal. As in, she’d be his forever. No ifs, no buts. But little was up to him here, even if she, and the future this town promised, did happen to be everything he’d ever wanted.
She lifted her chin and peered up at him with a dry and analytical stare. “I think that whole ‘chasing’ tradition extends to getting it on, which we’ve already done more than a few times. But yes, I can understand some things aren’t easy to talk about, and I’ll give you more time.”
“Thank you.” A sudden and fulfilling breath filled his lungs, her offer of more time an unexpected gift.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hinting she wasn’t done yet. “But someday soon, Dean, you’ll have to give me something to work with.”
Thirty
Sarah was only two hours into her shift and already this night dragged like no other. She handled each order with mechanical efficiency, gave a few mumbled words to appear somewhat social, her confidence meanwhile twisting in the wind.
To her mind, she’d reached a crossroads with Dean. Not so much that she wanted to step away, but that she had a decision to make on how close she could and should get to him.
He’d started out as someone meant to mend her battered ego, her breakup with Blaine still so raw and fresh, all while she decided whether to trust her judgment. She’d been wrong before, chased the wrong dream, and in this case, man.
For years, her life had been an immovable wall, except now she wanted to move. She wanted change. Small change. Not more than she could chew. She was open to being wrong. Not so much about Dean—she trusted him—but where her initial feelings for him lay, as well as the trajectory of this relationship.
Sure, that first meeting had been everything impulsive. She wasn’t a dreamer, had never been one to take a risk. But what if she tried? What if she gave in? Just once. And let there be more to that initial spark at the soiree.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, the whole dreamer thing so ill-fitting. If she wasn’t at work, if it wasn’t so late, she’d go for a run and let the confusion settle around her.
A thud sounded behind her and she opened her eyes, turning to three plates now waiting on the pass. Down a server, she welcomed the chance to move, grabbed the plates, and took a short trip through the dim bar, where two unfamiliar college boys sat at a table with Ally nestled beside them.
Sarah paused, something about this scene instantly off. Something about the way Ally shifted her gaze to the tall, blond, football-player type next to her, or that he used Ally’s shoulder as an armrest. Arrogant prick.
Sarah forced back a frown and lowered the plates to the group’s table, the sudden silence churning a sick feeling just below her ribcage. The shorter guy peered up at her, his frosty gray eyes shadowed by his flop of muddy brown hair.
His emotionless gape changed to a lopsided smile, and he dragged his stare over her in unguarded appreciation. “I’m Marcus Martin.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, at his expensive-looking knitted blue sweater, but turned away before she could unleash her desire to tell him she didn’t care what his name was and that he should keep his leering to himself.
A high whistle cut through the bar’s noise, that irritating whistle of course coming from Marcus Martin’s direction. “Now that’s a firm piece of ass.”
She stopped in her tracks and spun around, the muddy-haired little jerk leaning his elbow into his table, his gaze still at her hips, like he had no intention of hiding his staring.
She scowled at his woolen sweater again, the upturned collar with a white shirt underneath somehow annoying her more while he drummed his stubby fingers over the tabletop. “What did you say?”
His gaze finally lifted and met hers, and he pitched forth a greasy smile. “My buddy and I hear Mirabelle Falls is the place for an intimate night swim. We’re heading down there later. You should come, honey.”
He looked her over again, his arrogance still ringing in her ears since he’d used an obnoxiously loud tone. Meanwhile, Ally’s overt laugh pinged across the space, her head now resting on blond boy’s shoulder.
What was she doing?
Sarah grimaced at the stumpy guy before her and muttered nothing more than an abrupt, “No.”
She turned away again. Having dealt with countless sleazy types over the years, she wanted nothing more than to return to the bar and for Ally’s strange choice in companions to leave already. What was with the strange choice, anyway? She’d need to talk to Ally. Find out why she’d suddenly decided to drop her standards.
Then again, hadn’t Sarah done similar the first time she’d met Dean? Taken a risk on an out-of-towner? Not that Ally knew anything about that. Still, at least one of these guys was acting like trash and that didn’t bode well for Ally’s safety.
“Is she always such a sour prude?”
Once again, Marcus’s dull-brained words stalled her exit, the volume and vileness of those words enough to send a blanket of silence over the other nearby patrons. Some stared back at her, mouths agape and hands frozen mid-air as though they dared not complete their next bit of food or sip of drink.
“I don’t know about that.” She turned slowly and tucked the frostier edge of her mood behind a tight smile before swanning closer and adding a little extra sway to her hips, along with a brightness to her tone. “I guess it depends what’s on offer, Mr. Martin.”
She rested a hand on Marcus’s table and leaned in, giving him a healthy view down her t-shirt’s V-shaped collar. The tension across his cheeks subdued, and he sank back in his chair, a smirk taking over his expression. “Like I said. Mirabelle and a swim. You and me. Naked. I’ll take things from there, honey.”
His smirk inched higher. A man used to treating people like shit and being rewarded for it, but she refused to slink away and hide, so she bit her lower lip and played coy instead. Let the fucker underestimate her. Let him believe that was the smuttiest thing a small-town woman like her had ever heard.
The room’s eerie silence grew, and she couldn’t escape the stinging awareness that most people in the bar watched her now. At least that meant someone might back her up if this turned sour. Maybe Ally would also rethink who she spent the rest of her night with.
Sarah leaned in farther, not stopping until her face was mere inches from Marcus’s. “How old are you, sweetie?”
His gaze bore into her, predictably over-confident. “Twenty-two.”
“Hmm… I just don’t know. The river sounds mighty crowded…” She lifted her hand off the table and ran a fingertip over his non-existent bicep, biting her lip again, this time to keep from laughing. “I mean, what with your friend there and all…”
Marcus leaned in closer, his lip brushing her ear before he whispered. “He’ll be too busy fucking his new bimbo to notice anything we’re doing.”
She winced before she stopped herself, wanting to reel back, wanting to smack this smug bastard across the face, and not stop smacking him until he left Maynard’s and Harlow altogether.
Her stomach roiled, and she clenched her fingers on the tabletop, forcing herself to stay and pretend what he said didn’t bother her.
Even then, her gaze unintentionally slipped to Ally. Sarah had made her brother a promise. As archaic and ridiculous as his request had been, he’d warned her about looking out for this very thing. Maybe there was something about Ally that he knew and she didn’t, or maybe he was more of a knuckle-dragging caveman than she’d ever figured, and his warning was based purely on possessiveness. Either way, nothing about this situation seemed right, and warning or not, she would never stand aside without trying to stop a looming wreckage such as the one staring back at her now.
“You see, the problem is”—she slid her hand forward and grabbed Marcus’s wrist, digging her fingers hard into his overly soft flesh—“I have a few extra years on you, and I don’t think this would be an even exchange.”
His pupils spread to wide pools, and his face lost color. Her terse tone was not lost on his privilege-addled brain since he twisted his wrist and tried unsuccessfully to break free of her grip.
So, she pulled him closer, adding to his misery and whispering in his ear. “Not so fast. I’m not finished.”
She’d spent her teen years training to return two-hundred-mile-per-hour serves, then her years working the bar, and her efforts maintaining strength through exercise. All these things buoyed her decision to grip tighter, to level a threat this dirtbag might comprehend. “That ‘bimbo’ your friend is with, is my friend. If I hear even the slightest complaint about how she’s treated tonight, I’ll make sure the meanest people in these parts find you and your buddy and break all your legs and other appendages. Understand?”
No one in Harlow actually ran around breaking pieces off other people, but Marcus wouldn’t know that. And still, her thoughts switched to Dean since, for some reason, she could imagine him being really good at hunting people down and breaking legs.
Marcus pulled at his wrist again, his nose wrinkled in a disgusted sneer. “What the fuck is wrong with you, woman?”
She let him go now but patted him on the cheek just to return his condescension from earlier. “I mean it. Be a good boy now, okay?”
Marcus’s friend rose from his chair, the legs releasing a high-pitched scraping against Maynard’s old boards. “Is mega bitch here laying down the law?”
“Yeah.” Marcus jutted his chin out at her. “Seems she doesn’t like you hooking up with her friend.”
Ally rose and wrapped her arm around the blond guy, her glare burning into Sarah, like she was an embarrassing parent scaring away the cool kids. Somehow, Ally looked angrier than Marcus. Then again, she’d hadn’t heard what Marcus had said about her earlier.
“Your friend here has issues.” Blondie scowled down at Ally before shaking his arm and pushing her away.
Her taut look of panic dropped to slack disbelief. “But I thought—”
Blondie rolled his blue eyes and marched over to Sarah, poking his forefinger into the hard plate just below her collarbone. “If you knew who we are, you wouldn’t be threatening us. One word to my dad, and I’ll have this whole shitty backwater flattened.” He scoffed and peered down at her in disgust. “This sad excuse of a bar will be the first to go.”
Despite the pain from where his finger stabbed at her, she drew herself taller and rolled her shoulders back.
“You’re really leading with the, ‘I’m gonna tell my daddy’ approach?” She slapped his hand away, the action designed to highlight the weakness in the toffee-nosed brat’s threat. “And over what, some small-town girl insulting your feelings? I’m sure your poor dad, whoever the hell he is, lost hope in you years ago.”
“Sarah!” Ally’s cry broke the moment, and she squeezed in between the action. “What are you doing?”
Blondie’s face paled from its angry shade of red, the muscle twitching along his jaw easing too. His mouth lifted to a toothy grin while he pulled his gaze from Sarah and onto Ally. “You’re right, honey. What are we doing? You and this crazy bitch aren’t worth our time. Enjoy your days milking cows in shitty paddocks, or whatever the fuck you hicks do. We’re outta here.”
Before he left, he took a second to shake his head at Ally in a pitying sort of gesture, Marcus laughing and trailing behind him on their way out of Maynard’s.
A slow minute ticked over and Sarah watched Ally, her eyes sparkling and her thick eyelashes batting back tears. She took two quick steps as if to follow the boys, but Sarah lunged forward and grabbed Ally’s elbow. “No. Stay.”
Ally swung around, the tears winning out and streaking down her face. “You don’t get it, do you? You had no right to interfere.”
“If you’d heard what that boy said…” Sarah clapped her spare hand onto Ally’s shoulder, pleading for her to listen. “Besides, they insulted me too.”
Ally shook Sarah off in a flurry of weak slaps. “Unlike you, not everyone wants the hermit life.”
