Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (21 page)

Three hours after that, with her makeup scrubbed off and her body clean, she crawled into bed with Mallory. As the other woman had promised, their night was as platonic as could be. She relished the safety of being able to let down every guard, every defense, every scalding doubt. Mal petted her hair and whispered tender things, their bodies twined in mutual comfort. Trish let herself do what she’d never done in front of a man, not since she was seven and her daddy’d said he was leaving.

She cried.

Chapter Twenty

As if it wasn’t enough that Mike lived in an actual house, he maintained a grassy backyard. Hands shoved in his pockets, Eric scuffed his toes through the green stuff that resembled plush carpeting. During another barbeque to lay the sod more than a year ago, he’d assumed the labor would come to nothing. The grass would wither and die in the Nevada heat.

It wasn’t just surviving. It was thriving.

He shook his head. “How much work you put in?”

“What’s that?” Mike looked up from the charcoal grill on the far side of the brick patio.

“The grass.”

Mike flashed one of his bright grins. Nothing shook the guy. He hitched the bag of charcoal under his arm and surveyed the yard with palpable pride. “Enough. It’s my stupid-ass hobby when Leah’s watching crappy television or singing karaoke.”

Grass. In Las Vegas. Eric couldn’t imagine the amount of chemicals and water Mike poured into the ground. It had certainly paid off.

“Practically a gridiron,” he said.

Liam gestured with a bottle of beer from the patio chair he’d immediately claimed after arriving with Sunny and Kavya. “He’s brilliant. And right. What you have here, Strap Happy, is a gridiron. We need to christen it with a game of touch football.”

Eric shrugged. “Maybe.”

He could go for some rough-and-tumble, but Trish was due any minute. He’d offered to pick her up, but she’d passed. As with every spare minute all week, she had class or an audition. Today’s was for a Bellagio show, which was apparently a big deal. She’d been so excited on the phone, spinning into a high-pitched babble session. It was cool—fun to hear her so amped up.

Definitely better than how helpless he’d felt when she’d called him an hour ago.

No callback.

The rejection proved their oncoming expiration date. He didn’t have it in him to give Trish what she needed. He was stretched thin. So damn thin. And he couldn’t lay all of it at Carey’s door. The kid was making real progress. No, it was deeper than that, and he sure as fuck didn’t want to go digging through the muck of his own brain.

Mike put the finishing touches on his mammoth pile of briquettes, then doused them with lighter fluid. A fireball flared up two seconds later.

Liam jumped to his feet. “Damn, man. You trying to light your house on fire? Kavya’s in there.”

“Bigger is always better, right?” Mike said on a bit of a laugh. He tousled his hair. “Relax, I wouldn’t let anything happen to your girl. At least it’s going now.”

Eric drifted toward them. For a minute, the three men stood shoulder to shoulder, ringing the flames in silence.

Jesus, if only he could toss each of his worries in there and let them burn. The sheer size of his problems would snuff out the flames.

“You can’t cook on that pile,” Liam said. “You’ll turn our steaks into ash.”

Mike poked the flames with a long-handled fork. “I know what I’m doing. I’ll shake it out when the coals die. But, man, that’s some good stuff. Staring into the fire after a long week.”

Eric laughed. “Caveman.”

“You’d know, Kisser,” Mike said.

Liam’s grin spread slowly, but it was decidedly enthusiastic. “Maybe I should club Sunny over the head and drag her back to my cave.”

Mike laughed hard enough that he angled his head toward the bright, clear sky. “Goddamn, you’re an ass. It’s a miracle Sunny puts up with you.”

“Hell yes it is.” Liam offered another beer-bottle salute then took a healthy swig. His gaze wandered toward the sliding glass window, but the glare meant no view of anyone inside. “I’m a lucky man.”

Eric wanted to ask how they’d sorted everything out. Whatever they’d been, however they’d managed, Sunny had stayed. He hardly knew what to make of it. Or how to feel. Happy for his friend, but jealous of how they’d punched through a tough spot.

Liam pushed his shoulder against Eric’s. “How about you, man? Is your mystery girl still stopping by?”

When Liam and Mike had razzed him about refusing to go out the previous Saturday, Eric had made what he hoped wouldn’t be a mistake. He’d told them about Trish and that he’d be bringing her to the barbeque—a fact they’d passed on to their respective chicks. That both men sounded so disbelieving had stung his pride, but he had it coming. The old Eric Donaghue hadn’t worn a halo when it came to women. When he’d been stationed with Mike in South Carolina, he’d changed girls as regularly as days of the week.

The new version… Eric had no clue.

“Last I heard.”

“Then why so quiet?” Liam asked, frowning. “You know, more than usual.”

Eric shook his head. No way would he admit the direction of his thoughts. There was guy code, after all. Lusting after another man’s happiness wasn’t okay. “Major Haverty’s been on me.”

“Fang?” Mike made his way to a cooler by the side of the house and spun the top off a beer. “What’s the problem?”

“Dunno. He’s…giving me crap.”

Mike took a swig. “Think he knows your extracurricular activities?”

“Shit, I hope not.” Eric grabbed a beer of his own and staked a spot around Mike’s glass-topped table. An awning provided shade so that the cushioned chairs didn’t burn through his shorts. “Maybe he’s just an ass.”

Mike crossed his long legs at the ankle. “Fang’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

The beer went down cold. Exactly what Eric needed. For being with friends in a safe place, he remained tense. “Nah, Haverty hates my guts.”

“Come on,” Liam said on a laugh. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

“He does. Ever since I started going rounds with his boy.”

“Good Lord,” Mike said. “Don’t let Jon hear you call him Fang’s boy.”

“You’re right.” Eric grinned. “Not a boy. Tin Tin’s his lap dog.”

Mike laughed so hard around a mouthful of beer that his shoulders bowed. For a second Eric thought he was going to spray across the table.

No way was he going to tell these two yahoos the mostly awkward, almost okay sentences he’d exchanged with Tin Tin on the tarmac. He and the kid weren’t ever going to be friends, but Eric liked the idea that they could share the same air without wanting to shoot each other down.

When the laughter quieted, Mike shook his head. “You’re lucky they’re not here.”

“Why is that, anyway?” Liam’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “You give a barbeque and Leah’s two best friends don’t show? Do they disapprove of our caveman ways?”

Mike snorted. There was no shaking the guy, not when it came to Leah. “More like Ryan’s wife had somewhere else for them to be. Some family thing. Jon’s girl dragged him along.”

“The day I’m led around by my cock is the day I give up flying.” Eric wasn’t sure where the words had come from. Annoyance, maybe? That a smart-ass like Carlisle was happy in a long-term relationship?

It was just talk. No way could he give up flying. If he climbed out of the cockpit, he’d have fled Detroit for nothing. He’d have left Carey alone for no reason. After the crash, through his rehabilitation, Eric hadn’t believed in giving up. Otherwise he might as well hand over the life that had been spared.

Liam cleared his throat. “If Fang finds out about the boxing, you won’t have a choice. He’ll yank you outta your Viper faster than you can spit.”

“I need one more bout. I’ll have cash to pay up through November. Carey will reach one hundred and twenty days. The full deal.”

Both men knew what he was doing and why. That didn’t make it any easier to talk. He’d needed to tell them after a bruised rib laid him out for two weeks. He’d particularly worried about telling Mike, since his link to Leah meant he was closer to the boss man. But their friendship had won out. The three of them had claimed Eric’s bruised rib was due to afternoon PT. He was goddamn lucky there hadn’t been flights scheduled for that first week. Any more significant damage and even Mike wouldn’t be able to cover for him.

Then Haverty would have Eric’s head for real, not with ominous glares and vague warnings. Serious shit. Maybe taking-rank kind of shit.

He didn’t want to think it through, because he didn’t have a choice. For a US Air Force officer, knocking over a bank was less frowned upon than moonlighting in an off-Strip arena.

He’d do what he needed to do.

The back door slid open.

Trish.

Even with hot-as-hell Leah at her side, she wasn’t dimmed. She was breathtaking. Perfectly packaged. He’d almost hoped she’d go for the natural look, with her short hair showing, but she’d worn a platinum-blonde wig. A little tousled and very movie star. A camisole top with skinny jeans completed the outfit.

She was wearing heels, though they were sturdier than her usual stilettos. They clicked on the bricks as she walked toward him. He stood from the patio table and wrapped an arm around her waist. He kissed her cheek because her lipstick was as precise as the rest of her.

She was shut down. Not letting him look inside. He’d never say it, not in a million years because he knew how much it hurt her, but she was in full Barbie mode.

Plastic.

That Bellagio rejection had done her real damage. And something deeper. Last night’s show? A class? He wouldn’t be able to figure it out until he got her alone. In the meantime, rounds of introductions bounced over the patio.

When Leah turned Trish’s attention to the far skyline—both of them momentarily distracted—Liam aimed wide eyes at Eric. Super wide. He mouthed a silent
Damn!
Mike grinned along.

Eric flipped them both the bird.

“No, seriously,” Liam whispered. “How the hell did you get a woman like that?”

As if one bird wasn’t enough, Eric flashed his other hand waist high. He wasn’t sure if Liam’s doubts referred to Eric’s scars, his attitude or his past, or if it was good-natured bullshit. Didn’t really matter. He had her. For now. He had Patricia Beauregard and a leg up on all the heads that turned in her wake.

Not that she would notice today. She was too closed off.

Once Liam headed back into the house, either looking for Sunny or checking on Kavya—his two obsessions—Eric caught Trish by the elbow. He urged her to join him in the shade of the house.

The toes of his shoes were in Mike’s grass, but Trish’s heels stayed firmly on the bricks. He rubbed his thumb across the inside of her elbow. “You okay?”

The smile she bestowed was model perfect. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That phone call, for one.” Even where he touched along her collarbone wasn’t purely her. Shimmering lotion slicked his fingertips. So he kept traveling up—his hand over her throat where he felt the strength of her pulse. “Anything else I should know?”

She glanced toward Leah and Mike, then the back door, but she didn’t pull away from his thumb. He dipped inside her mouth, finding the seam where red lipstick ended and delicate, damp skin began.

“I just…wanted to impress your friends.”

She lied. He knew it. But that was part of the deal. They could be friends. They could be lovers—and honest lovers, at that. He couldn’t be more, and apparently neither could she.

Leah sidled up to Trish, her long ponytail flipping over her shoulder. “Eric, you know the rules. No bogarting the new girl.”

Eric dropped his hand. “Be nice, Princess.”

“It’s okay,” Trish said with a glassy laugh. “I promise ‘new girl’ is better than some things I’ve been called.”

“Bombshell had better be on that list.” Leah shook her head. “Cuz
damn
. Are you a model or something?”

“Sometimes.” She flashed Eric a quick look that was part nerves, part tease. “Mostly I work on the Strip. I’m finishing up a lead role in
Princess of Egypt
.”

“That’s so cool. C’mon in the kitchen. I’ll introduce you to Sunny, and we’ll pretend to make potato salad while we talk show biz and hot guys.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Trish was hustled away from Eric with such ease that she hardly knew what happened. One minute he was poking at parts she’d rather he not see. The next she was arm in arm with the fighter pilot who had the lithe, petite body Trish had always envied. Not that Leah flaunted it. She wore a US Air Force T-shirt and cargoes that showed off her hips. The comparison made Trish self-conscious, that she’d taken so much time with her makeup and wig. It was only a backyard barbeque, for Chrissake.

Necessary, though. She couldn’t stand the idea of walking into an unknown situation without her usual defenses. Eric was one thing. His best friends and their significant others? No way.

“You’re a miracle worker,” Leah said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Kisser smile like that. When you walked through the door? Damn.”