Page 41 of Eight Seconds to Ride

Daisy and Jessie run out, joining us as the song continues, but as if I have a one-track mind, all I see is Shooter and the way he’s resting back with his elbows on the bar, eyes never wavering from mine. It’s potent. As if every single other body in this establishment vanishes, suddenly it’s just him and I. All the effort I made to keep him at a distance is for nothing as I watch his baby blues roam over the length of my body, feeling it like a physical touch—wishing it were.

Shooter has this way of watching me like I’m the only person in the room. He looks at me like I’m the only one whomatters, like he has eyes for nobody else. It’s erotic, making my already burning up body temperature rise by ten degrees, but it’s also misleading. Shooter isn’t an“eyes for only you”type of guy, especially not for someone like me.

I’m a game for him, I’m sure. A convenience. But you know what? Maybe he can be just a game for me too. Be a convenience while we’re on the road. I mean, why the hell not? Why not take what he’s giving me now, knowing nothing will come from it later?

This may be the bottom-shelf tequila talking, but right now, I don’t really give a shit. Especially when one side of his lip ticks up into a smirk that’s all sex and confidence. And when he nods his head to the side toward the back entrance, I find my body following him before my mind has a chance to catch up. Before I can even glance around and see if anybody sees us going outside together. I can’t find it in me to care.

Definitely the tequila talking.But that’s sober Sterling’s problem. Not drunk Sterling.

Drunk Sterling is carefree and horny.

Drunk Sterling is…very confused when he steps outside and doesn’t see Shooter anywhere. Frowning, I glance around, stepping farther away from the back door, still not spotting him. Where could he have gone? I wasn’t that far behind him. Taking another two steps, considering pulling out my phone and texting him, a hand wraps around my bicep, yanking me to the left. I gasp, head snapping to the side when my gaze lands on Shooter.

Scanning the area, I notice we’re in the alley behind the bar, and I will my heart rate to settle down before I give myself a heart attack.

“Really?” I hiss. “You couldn’t have just waited for me instead of yanking me into a dark ass alley like some kidnapper?”

“You’re always bitching,” he remarks, grin bright, eyes a little hazy and bloodshot.

I roll my eyes as he stalks toward me, backing me up against the wall. Truly, I don’t know how he always gets me trapped between him and impenetrable areas. His gaze flickers between my eyes and my lips, my tongue poking out to wet them instinctually.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly when a few moments pass in silence.

Shooter chuckles, the sound deep as it washes over me. “Hi. You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

He noticed. That’s interesting.

“I have not.” I jut out my chin, be it in defiance or to stand my ground. Either way, he doesn’t buy it.

He leans in, his full, pink lips ghosting over mine for a beat before going to my ear. “Don’t lie to me, dirty boy. What, you regret letting me fuck you?”

A shot of undiluted excitement shoots down my spine, landing deep inside my balls, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stifle a groan. Not trusting my voice to remain even, I shake my head.

Shooter pulls back, just enough to look me in my eyes. I wish he hadn’t. I’m well aware I’m about as transparent as they come. I’ve always worn my feelings right there on my face, and with Shooter, it’s no different. It’s like he can read every single way he affects me, see my every thought.

While it’s quite the opposite for him. He’s a steel wall, letting the outside world—including me—see nothing more than he wants us to see. I don’t have a single clue how he feels about me, beyond what he shows me, which I have no doubt is nothing but a façade.

When I don’t respond, he takes my earlobe between his teeth, dragging it out just enough to add a bite of pain. I gasp, and he huffs out a laugh through his nose, the hot breath on my neck causing a shiver to race down my spine and goosebumps to bloom all over.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, deep voice like gravel. “About last night, and every other time.”

His admission takes me off guard, and I can’t help but question if he means it or if he’s just saying that to get what he wants. Or maybe, like me, he’s drunk and his filter is a bit watered down. It’s not the first time he’s admitted something like this, but with Shooter, I can’t help but have my guard up.

“Do you think about me, Addams?”

Pulling back, presumably to get a read on me, I smirk and shake my head. It’s a lie, and I’m sure he knows that, but like Collin Raye, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Shooter rolls his eyes, groaning, as his warm, calloused hand slips behind my neck, wrapping around my nape and holding me firm. “Like I believe that,” he murmurs before his lips press down on mine, tongue probing along the seam until I willingly let him in. My hands come up, fisting his shirt at the sides, tilting my head slightly, allowing him to take our kiss deeper. He tastes like nicotine and cheap tequila, and in my current headspace, it’s the most delicious and potent concoction I could ever sample.

“You think you can kiss me like that, and then tell me you don’t think about me?” he asks against my lips before sucking the bottom one into his mouth, pulling a soft moan from me at the same time.

My body is vibrating at a frequency that is wholly Shooter, so lost in him that I’m about to give in and tell him he’s right. He’s all I think about. Thankfully, I’m saved by the bell—or in this case, saved by an interruption.

“Shooter, Sterling!” At the sound of Daisy’s voice, we break apart and he takes a step back, putting some much-needed space between us, but not before Daisy gets an eyeful of us together. Even from all the way over here, I can see her biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop the laugh from escaping. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” she taunts, and unlike her, Idochuckle.

“What do you want, Daisy?” Shooter snaps.

“Jessie isn’t feeling well, so we’re leaving. Come on.”

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