by Linda Kage
“You’re still four years younger than me, honey.” Or nearly four years, which was just too young for me. He was just beginning the crazy, drunken college era; I was ready to be over it and settle down. Our maturity levels had to be polar opposites.
“Damn.” He shivered and set his hand over his heart. “I like it when you call me honey. Makes all the short hairs in my undies tingle.”
See, right there. Point taken. That was exactly the kind of sophomoric comment to turn me off. Usually. Except, dammit, when he said it, it roused an internal shiver through me.
To his face, however, I frowned. “If you really think such disgusting comments impress me, you’re wrong.”
He shrugged. “Or maybe you really like my disgusting comments but don’t want to admit how much, so you say it’s lame to camouflage your true appreciation…for my comments.”
Damn, he was good.
But I shook my head anyway. “You are so delusional.”
“Definitely.” He winked. “What else you got?”
“What do you mean, what else do I got?” Did he actually want me to call him more nasty names?
“My forbidden status.” He snapped his fingers, encouraging me back on track. “You said first of all with the age thing, leading me to believe there was more than one aspect making me so illicit and exciting. So what else you got, baby doll? Lay it on me, thick and heavy, or you know, just lay yourself on me.”
I sent him a dry stare, even though inside, I shivered, feeling the word baby doll make parts of my own anatomy tingle, which totally unnerved me. Coming from any other jackass’s mouth, baby doll would piss me off. I mean, what a stupid nickname, right? But coming so playfully from Colton, it sounded, I don’t know, scintillating.
And lay yourself on me? Really? That should be a weak, pathetic, laughable come-on. But all I could imagine was crawling on top of him, buck-ass naked and laying it on him…thick and heavy.
And that felt wrong. So, so wrong.
So I glanced away and bit my lip, unable to tell him to stop misbehaving, because I knew he’d just keep going, probably stronger than ever, if he knew how much it got to me.
Except I couldn’t tell him the biggest reason why I found him forbidden, either.
I knew interracial couples weren’t such a big deal in the grand scheme of things anymore, but where I’d grown up, each group had basically stuck with its own kind. My friends would tease me mercilessly; I’d probably be too embarrassed to ever introduce him to them. And besides, with the dad I had, well...let’s just say I wasn’t sure how he’d take it if I ever brought home a white boy.
Then there was the fact I’d straight up been told once, “I don’t date black girls,” by a guy I hadn’t even thought I’d been flirting with, which had made me feel about as worthless as pond scum. But it had also gotten me curious to know what had made that prick so damn special that I wasn’t good enough for him or his kind. It also made me want to show him, to find some white guy who thought I was all that and shove him in that dick’s face, prove I was worthy of anyone I wanted.
Crazily enough, I had never actively pursued a white guy, though, not until I’d met Brandt, but that’d had nothing to do with kinds or colors and everything to do with how utterly perfect he’d been. Besides, somewhere deep inside, I think I’d always known he and I would never really go anywhere. He’d been more of a pipe dream because he pretty much possessed every quality of my ideal dream man: handsome, kind, likable, not full of himself, hard-working, and honest. So I’d had to try for him, of course, but I’d also been aware from the very beginning he was too good to be true.
Thinking about Brandt, though, I glanced at Colton. “I’ve dated your brother. You and I hooking up after that would just be...weird...all the way around.”
“Half a date,” Colton tossed back with a swish of his hand. “Doesn’t count.”
“Whatever,” I argued. I had been the one to ask Brandt out, to start the flirting, to visualize a relationship and daydream about doing dirty, naughty things with him. Turning to his brother after that would be beyond strange, and really awkwardly depraved.
Wouldn’t it?
I already felt guilty enough for even thinking about Colton the way I did, so yes…yes, it would be wrong.
“Did you fuck him?” Colton asked.
I choked on air before gasping, “After half a date? Yeah, I don’t think so.” What the hell kind of girl did he think I was?
Colton kept going. “Swap spit with him?”
I blinked. “Swap what?”
“Kiss? Did your mouth or tongue go anywhere near his mouth or tongue?”
Sighing heavily, I answered, “Of course not.”
Colton’s shoulders relaxed. Made me wonder if he was actually relieved by my answers. But then his smarmy little care-about-nothing-but-himself grin returned. “Well, then...we’re good. Next forbidden issue?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I wasn’t exactly ready to put this issue to bed yet. “What about the fact you’re so sure I’m in love with him? That doesn’t bother you at all? You wouldn’t worry I was thinking about him while I was with you?”
“Oh, baby doll,” he murmured, his eyes glazing with sudden heat. “All you’d need is one taste of me and you’d forget about big brother completely.”
I drew in a sharp breath, determined to mask how hot his self-assurance made my hormones.
With a disbelieving snort, I pointed. “See, that right there. That cocksure attitude is reason number one why you turn me off. I don’t appreciate it.” Or more accurately, I didn’t appreciate how much I did appreciate it or how scattered and messy it made my emotions.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t like confidence in a guy? Odd, because Brandt’s not exactly insecure, yet you like him.”
I ground my teeth. “Well, Brandt doesn’t act like he’s God’s gift to women. Nor does he strut around, preening as if the entire universe owes him something and should idolize him. He doesn’t try to act like anyone but himself, and that’s why he’s so amazing.”
When I realized I’d once again admitted my feelings for Brandt aloud, I snapped my mouth shut and glared at Colton. But the contemplative way he watched me caught me off guard.
Tipping his head to the side, he asked, “Is that how you see me? As some kind of annoying peacock with an overinflated ego and no depth?”
The question seemed so sincere and solemn as if my response actually meant something to him.
My mouth opened, but no words came. I could only blink, worried I’d hurt his feelings.
That was the thing about Colton; I hadn’t thought he could be hurt or that he’d care what anyone thought. I had just assumed he’d be so full of himself he wouldn’t believe or take to heart any insult slung his way. But the fact that he’d listened to every word I’d said and seemed to mull my thoughts over made me suddenly very uneasy. I wasn’t the type to go around intentionally and unnecessarily hurting people’s feelings. They had to deserve it first.
“I...I...” Reaching for one of my earrings and tugging self-consciously, I tried to come up with something nice to dull the insult I’d just spewed, but my mind went totally blank.
I felt like crap.
“And as for the God’s gift to women part,” Colton said before I could fumble out anymore inarticulate sounds. “I wasn’t shooting quite that high. I just wanted to be God’s gift to you.”
“Oh, Jesus.” My shoulders fell. Had he merely been playing me this whole time, trying to make me feel bad for making him feel bad? Now I wanted to strangle him all over again. “You are so freaking annoying.”
He only shrugged, his eyes glittering mischievously as his grin grew slowly. “God must’ve thought annoying was what you needed most.”
“I don’t think God would wish your kind of annoying on anyone.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I bet he knew you’d get just as big a thrill out of disagreeing with me as I do from disagreeing with you, though.”
Scowling as hard as I could to hide the rush flowing through my veins, I muttered, “I do not like disagreeing with you.”
“She says as her skin flushes and eyes sparkle with vitality as she…disagrees with me yet again,” he murmured theatrically.
I huffed and scowled for real this time. “Well…try to say something decent and maybe I’ll agree with it.”
“Okay, fine. I like your earrings.”
“Oh…shut up.” Realizing I was still playing with them, I dropped my hand.
But seriously, why the hell had he mentioned my earrings of all things? I’d worn them because they were my very own mini security blankets in disguise. I hadn’t meant to bring attention to them. Wishing he’d have commented on any other piece of jewelry I wore—pearl hair clip, butterfly necklace, bangle bracelets, anklet, toe ring, thumb ring, anything—I cleared my throat and finished my glass of champagne, only to become a little panicked because I’d run out.
“Here, take mine.” Colton extended a fluted glass across the table, nearly full of the bubbly stuff.
I stared at it a moment before taking it hesitantly—hey, he was underage, it wasn’t as if he needed it—and then I gulped down his glass too.
He watched me with a pleased glint in his gaze before murmuring, “So, about those earrings...?”
I cleared my throat and glanced away. I didn’t realize I’d started to play with them again until I said, “What about them?” and quickly dropped my hand.
“They’re dream catchers.”
I arched him a dry glance. “Wow, you’re quick.”
Grinning, he said, “I am. Do you have some Native American ancestry in you?”
“Nope,” I answered in a bored voice, keeping my attention on the dance floor.
“Then why dream catchers?”
I veered my gaze back to him. “Because they’re my thing. Is that all right with you?”
He grinned. “Perfectly all right. Did you used to have bad dreams?”
I blinked, not expecting him to ask me that. People usually just assumed I thought they were neat and left it at that. But the way he was looking at me, as if he really wanted to know, made me mumble, “Yeah, when I was little.”
I clamped my lips shut and swallowed.
Why had I just told him that?
He kept watching me, his gaze doing that intense crawling-into-my-head thing again. “What did you dream about?”
The hushed, intense question made me shiver.
I began to play with my dream catcher earring again. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on, baby doll.” He leaned in across the table and flashed his cajoling grin that had probably won him whatever he wanted in the past. “You can tell me.”
As my mouth opened to confess all, I realized something. Colton Gamble was nothing but a facade. He wasn’t the lazy, brainless flirt who cared about no one but himself that he appeared to be. The boy was deceptive, calculating and canny, hiding under a layer of shallow whimsy to learn about his prey. He craftily used his intel to build his web without anyone even being aware of it, and then bam, he pounced.
Almost feeling the silken, deadly strands of his trap tightening around me, I tried desperately to think up a way to escape. After clearing my throat, I evasively answered, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Which means it matters a lot,” Colton murmured intuitively.
I gulped, afraid he’d pick at it more. But he appeared to be lost in his own head a moment before he opened his mouth and took a breath as if he had something deep to say. When no words came, I tilted my head to let him know I was ready to hear it.
Except he closed his mouth, took another breath—through his nose this time because his nostrils flared—and then he asked, “Do you want to dance?”
I pulled back in surprise, totally unprepared for such a turn in the conversation. My gaze strayed to the right where other people were laughing and lumbering around on the dance floor.
The emcee was playing “The Cupid Shuffle,” and if I knew more than a handful of people in attendance, I probably would’ve been out there with my girls, getting down to the beat that very second. But my friends weren’t here, and I didn’t feel nearly comfortable enough to go anywhere near the dance floor.
So I said, “No.”
“What? You don’t like to dance?”
“I just don’t want to dance with you.” There. Nothing made a person back off quicker than a little bit of rude. And I could wield rude as if it were a deadly weapon if I did say so myself. I found it was the most direct, effective defense when someone threatened to get too close, exactly like the way he was nudging his business right into my emotional space.
But apparently, Colton Gamble was rude-retardant.
“Well, technically, being that this song is one of those group dance things, you’d be dancing beside me, not with me.”
“I don’t want to fucking dance,” I bit out. I needed him to go away so I could regain control over my heartbeat, settle my nerves back to normal, and kill the sudden spike in my hormones. I couldn’t remember feeling this messy inside in a good, long while. If I didn’t watch it, my composure would slip. And for me, that was the end of civilization as I knew it.
Colton, however, either didn’t understand the word no or he just wasn’t capable of giving up. He grinned. “I am so getting you on this dance floor.”
I sniffed. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Chuckling, he glanced away and scanned the entire reception hall, and then the dance floor before cupping his hands to his mouth and calling, “Hey, Bo Bo! Come here.”
I glanced in the direction he’d bellowed, bewildered to see a small boy lift his face and race toward us. I frowned, confused, and glanced at Colton, wondering what he was up to.
Once the kid was close enough, Colton snagged him around the waist and in one swoop, picked him up and plopped him onto his lap, making the boy screech with laughter. The way “Bo Bo” grinned and leaned into Colton’s chest let me know the two knew each other well, which made sense since I recognized the boy as the ring bearer from the wedding. I’d read from the wedding pamphlet that his name was Beau Gamble, nephew of the groom, meaning he must be Colton’s nephew too.
Beau was adorable, with Brandt’s hair and blue eyes but Colton’s impish grin.
“Whatcha doing, kiddo?” Colton asked him.
“I’m dancing. Come dance with me, Colt.” He had the most adorable lisp ever. His Colt sounded like Coat.
“Ah, bud, I wish I could.” Colton made a regretful tsking sound as he shook his head. Then he glanced my way, and his eyes glittered with mischief. “But I’ve got to keep this pretty lady here company, unless...you can talk Juli into dancing with us too.”
My eyes bugged with shock, unprepared for just how devious he was.
What was worse, the freaking Chicken Dance started next.
The Chicken Dance.
The whitest freaking dance of all white dances.
“Boy, you must be up out of your mind,” I blurted, beginning to panic.
“But, Juli,” Colton begged. “Don’t you want to dance with us?”
“Yeah, Juli,” an adorable, begging little voice echoed, making me jump because I’d been too busy sending Colton the glare of death. I’d totally missed Beau hopping off his uncle’s lap until he took my hand and stared up at me with the most solemnly begging blue eyes ever. “Please dance with us.”
Oh my God.
How did you say no to a cute kid? No way was I dancing to the freaking Chicken Dance, but Beau Gamble had such big blue eyes, and when they focused on me the way his were focusing on me, no way could I say no.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shitty, shit.
“Uh...s-sure, little man.”
Cheering, Beau tightened his grip on my hand and dragged me from my seat, straight toward the crowd of pathetically awful dancers. Glancing back at his uncle, I hissed, “You are so dead.”
“What?” Colton flashed a fakely innocent grin and then started to flap his arms chicken-style, already dancing with the others. He winked at me before wiggling his hips and bending his knees.
I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. He was just so ridiculously cute when he chicken danced. No way could you hate on a person when they were imitating a chicken. Just try it, I dare you, and then you’ll know what I mean.
But dammit, my laugh made his smile stretch wider, encouraging him. A tugging on my hand had me turning back to Beau just as the chorus started. Since Beau was determined to dance with both Colton and me at the same time, he wanted the three of us to hold hands and sway in a circle through the chorus together. I jumped when Colton took my free hand, immediately playing along.
His grip was warm, and male, and oddly comfortable, but it still made my body throb with complete awareness, because I couldn’t stop thinking about all the different things I’d imagined him doing with these very hands. On the other side of me, his nephew’s fingers were small and hot and sticky, yet even that couldn’t detract from all the yummy sensations springing to life inside me.
The three of us twirled to the tune until we had to separate. Beau was having so much fun his enthusiasm was contagious. I could almost forget about how absurd I felt when I watched him clap his thumbs against the rest of his fingers like a chicken beak and then flap his wings. Laughing again, I found myself glancing Colton’s way, only to giggle even harder over how much he was getting into the song too.
“Juli, no. Here, it’s like this,” Beau encouraged when I didn’t dance along. I bit my lip, thinking up every excuse I could to get out of it, but I couldn’t disappoint him, not when he was glowing over how much fun he was having, so...
I chicken danced.
I’m not proud.
But it happened.
And we’ll never speak of it again.