A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) (5 page)

“So, how about this,” I said, pretending I hadn’t just thought about penetration while standing in front of a girl who already thought I was only after her for sex.
You’re on a roll, Case.
“You come inside with me and think about it over a six-pack and a pizza. If you don’t want the room, I’ll take you to a hotel myself.”

“You’re going to drink and drive?” she asked, one brow raised in a delicious arch that disappeared into her bangs.

“No. You’re going to drink. And then, hopefully, no one’s going to drive.”

I took her bag and slung it over my shoulder. She didn’t object so I took that as a sign to head for the house. She fell into step beside me and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. Hell, why did it even matter so much? She was just a girl. Pretty as hell, but just a girl.

“Oh,” she said, slowing her step and looking sorry for the first time. “I drank your last beer earlier, remember?”

I shook my head and sent her a smile. Without saying a word, I veered toward the truck and plucked out the case I’d bought the previous night and hadn’t brought inside.

I sent her a wink, putting an extra drawl into my words. “Darlin’, a real redneck always has backup brew. Come on, I’ll even let you watch me do the dishes.”

She laughed—a low, sensual sound that came from deep in her throat. Even this girl’s laugh was sexy as hell and the way she brushed against me as her shoulders shook lightly ... I knew then I wasn’t just
in
trouble, I’d met it face to face and invited it inside.

Chapter Five

Jordan

It should be illegal for hot guys to do the dishes. Especially when said guy was ripped and shirtless—he’d claimed it was to keep the water from splashing on his clothes—and currently number one on my list of irritating people. Casey might’ve had a point outside: I needed the room more than he knew. But after waiting around all afternoon, being right only made him more annoying. Or maybe it was the fact that he was sexy to the point of distraction. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything when his biceps flexed like that. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen such a fine specimen. Or cared.

“See something you like, slick?”

Heat crept up my neck as I realized I’d been caught in the act. I put a little more punch into my scowl than necessary. Crossed my arms a little tighter and leaned against the pantry door. “Slick?’” I repeated.

Casey shrugged, feigning disinterest, but I could see that he’d enjoyed finding me checking him out. “You’re a city girl, aren’t you?”

“Did Frank tell you that?”

“Didn’t have to,” Casey said, turning his attention to a casserole dish with a layer of mystery-brown coating the bottom.

I grimaced as he submerged it in the soapy water that filled the sink and began scrubbing away. My gaze dropped lower and caught on the way his jeans hugged his hips just so.

“It’s written all over you like a neon sign at happy hour.” He gave a lopsided grin at his own joke.

I snorted—probably not a very “city girl” response. “You would use a small-town reference as a metaphor,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He glanced my way, but I didn’t answer.

He let go of the casserole dish and turned to face me with narrowed eyes. “You have something against small towns?”

I snatched my open beer from the windowsill beside me. The snark poured out before I could stop it. “Not at all. Without small towns, country music lyrics wouldn’t survive which are, I’m sure, of value to someone somewhere. And I like buying farm-raised poultry, so there’s that.” I tapped my chin, as if I couldn’t come up with another single feature to add.

Casey’s expression took on a sharp edge. There was a flash of something I didn’t expect or recognize before he abruptly went back to the caked casserole dish. “Don’t forget the most important one,” he said, intent on his scrubbing. “Without small towns, you’d have no one left to ridicule in your spare time.”

“I wasn’t…” I scowled. “Okay, maybe I was. A little.”

“And by ‘a little’ you mean you’ve got a bone to pick with towns that sport dirt roads and sweet iced tea consumed on porches. What’s the big deal? A redneck spit in your kool-aid or something?”

“No one spit in my kool-aid,” I mumbled, staring down at the beer bottle I held loosely in front of me.

I made the mistake of letting my mind wander too far, to all the reasons I had for disliking towns like Grayson. And for never wanting to come back but feeling like I had no choice.

Dad’s last wish—his dying words—had been to ask me to come here. To meet the mother who had disowned him simply for wanting to move to a city that could provide a better life for his family. He wanted me to hear her out. As if her side of the story would make a damn bit of difference after all this time. He knew how I felt about my grandparents. So he’d waited until he was on his deathbed to ask it of me. How could I say no?

The sting of it—of a lifetime of bitterness toward a family that didn’t deserve their own son—got to me and my temper flared. “You’ve got to admit, though, places like this are so … ancient. It’s like the word ‘progress’ doesn’t exist here. People get stuck in their ways and there’s no changing the way they think. You’re either right or you’re wrong and heaven forbid you’re wrong.”

I fell silent as I realized my rant bordered on personal. I hadn’t meant to say all that. But Casey’s reproachful look had gotten to me. As if he had a right to judge me or assume anything. He had no idea what I knew about small towns, about what they were capable of. I’d watched it firsthand; my mother still carried that hurt and bitterness around.

I caught Casey watching me, dishes forgotten once again. “Are we talking about places or people?” His hands were propped on the counter, bracing himself and making his biceps flex and tighten. My train of thought evaporated at the sight of his bared muscles. I forced my eyes back up to his face and found him smirking at me—caught again.

Dammit. My mouth went dry.

I opted for a long swig of my beer in lieu of an answer and Casey went back to the suds. While I drank, I shoved aside my real reason for being here. And for hating every minute of it. Mentally, I put it all into a drawer right next to how hot Casey Luck was when he did domestic chores. Neither one deserved my attention just now.

Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d found a guy this hot. Or been distracted so fully from my grief—a constant ache that felt like anger and always seemed to simmer just underneath my forced smile. Still, Casey was a local, and that was the exact opposite of my type.

The silence stretched and I stared out the window at the long shadows of dusk. A bird sang in a nearby tree but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was a lawn that would soon need cutting broken by a worn path carved out between the house and the barn.
He must spend a lot of time in there
, I thought idly.
Wonder what for?

“So, which Ivy League was it?”

Casey’s question jarred me. “What?” I blinked, but Casey was staring hard at the baking pan he was scrubbing. Even so, I could hear the challenge in his words. I’d insulted him. Guilt pricked at me but my defenses were made of insults and I couldn’t afford to drop a single one just now.

“Ivy League,” he repeated. “College. It must’ve been one of those top-tier schools that educated and enlightened you until you were so high above the rest of us, you could so easily look down on the world.”

Okay, I deserved that one. “University of Pennsylvania,” I answered.

“UPenn? Really?” Casey asked, surprise coloring his words. When he spoke again, his demeanor shifted, the irritation dissolving. “I have a friend that went there before law school. Nice place.”

“You’ve been there?” I asked.

He cast a sideways glance at me, one brow lifted. “Is it so shocking to think I’ve left Grayson and seen the rest of the world?”

My cheeks heated at how easily he’d read me. I stared absently at my beer, unable to look up while I tried to think of something to say. But for reasons I couldn’t fathom, he let me off the hook.

“What did you study?” Casey asked.

I found him studying me with no trace of judgment and realized I’d been way too hard on him. I was a guest—standing in his kitchen, drinking his beer—and I’d done nothing but insult the guy and his whole town. My dad would have tossed a dishrag at me by now and muttered about manners. I decided to make more of an effort. “I graduated with a Bachelors in Architecture last spring,” I said.

“Buildings, huh? Any kind in particular?”

“I studied city planning and interned at a firm that did urban design, but I really love restoration and classic design. In fact, I’m working on starting my own place that specializes,” I said. And because I knew he’d find out anyway, I added, “I’m here to consult for Summer Stafford’s new build. We have our first meeting tomorrow.”

“No shit? Wow,” Casey said. “Summer’s been a broken record about this project for months. Glad she’s finally getting started.”

I smiled at the thought of how excited Summer had been earlier when she’d realized who I was. Practically promised me the job. I had to admit there was a certain level of self-satisfaction, not to mention relief, in that. “It sounds like a fun project.”

“It’ll get Ford out of that camper anyway.”

“Ford, right,” I said, remembering him from town earlier. God, that felt like a lifetime ago. “I met him today in town. You mean he lives in a camper right now?”

“He used to room here, but Dean offered his old camper a while back and Ford towed it up the hill and parked it beside his future home site. I think, despite the lack of amenities it provides, he and Summer wanted their own space.”

“And they’re engaged, right?” I asked, remembering the emails we’d exchanged and the details.

“Wedding’s this September. Hopefully just in time to see your handiwork,” he said, pointing a soapy hand at me.

“No pressure,” I joked.

“I have a feeling you’re a girl who thrives under pressure,” Casey said.

I didn’t answer.

I wasn’t sure if he was flirting again or if he’d just insulted me. Just in case it was the latter, I didn’t want to mess things up. Not when we’d just found some solid footing.

“Did you go to college?” I asked.

“I did two years in Philly at Mechanics Institute of America,” he explained.

“That’s right, you and Frank have that shop in town,” I said, thinking again of my deceased car.

“That’s all Frank,” he said and there was a trace of something—resentment?—before it passed. “I help out when he needs me, when I’m not down at Dean’s beating on that damned tractor.”

“I see.” I wanted to ask him why he did all of that when it didn’t sound like he enjoyed it very much, but I wasn’t about to pry right now.

Casey went back to washing and I went back to pretending not to notice his broad, bare shoulders and the muscles that bunched and rippled along his forearms when he lifted a dish, dripping wet, and set it aside for another.

When had doing the dishes become foreplay?

Casey startled me by suddenly turning away from the sink and opening the fridge. He snagged a fresh beer and walked up to me, holding it out like some sort of peace offering. I took it but he didn’t move.

“Look, I’m not disagreeing with you about small-town thinking. Thing is, that sort of closed-minded mentality can exist anywhere. In my mind, limiting it to residents of places like Grayson is pretty closed-minded in itself. And I don’t think you are. So, something must’ve happened.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him it wasn’t his business, to … something, but he plowed ahead.

“Whatever it was, it’s none of my business, so let’s just leave it at friendly for now. I’m not asking for more although anything less would make the whole roommate thing pretty awkward. What do you say?” He dropped his eyes to my mouth for an instant and then met my gaze. “Can we agree to be friends?”

“I haven’t agreed to the room yet,” I pointed out, my mouth suddenly dry. My heart pounded at his closeness and I forced my eyes not to roam the smooth expanse of his tanned chest and broad shoulders right in front of me.

Slowly, he reached for my beer, cracked it, and took a long swig. I stared—I tried not to, I really did—at the dark circles of his nipples, at the way his pecs stretched when he raised the can to his lips and lowered it again.

A ball of heat formed in my stomach, dropping lower and lower.

Casey’s grin was a little teasing and a lot smug. “If you didn’t want it, you’d have left already.”

Without waiting for an answer, he handed my beer back and returned to the sink, leaving me with my mouth half-open and my thighs tingly.

Why did I suspect he wasn’t only talking about the room?

I thought about telling him no, just to prove a point. But, in this moment, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that point would be. And I did need a place to stay. At least until I knew if I got the job with Summer. If that didn’t work out, I could make my appearance in Windsor a quick one. In and out and on the road again. Not that the road held any sort of destination on the other end.

But this, a furnished room to sleep in, a place to unpack a little, and far enough from Windsor they wouldn’t be looking over my shoulder sounded nice.

Screw it. At least I had a yummy view in the meantime. Even if he was made up of everything I’d sworn to avoid.