100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (50 page)

Let me say again…this whole scenario made zero sense.

Damon never struck me as the boyfriend type. Especially with someone as trendy and cute as Gucci. But what did I know? I was pretty sure Dylan had some stupid in him since he’d brought
me
. Slapstick quickly muscled Finn out of the way and jumped a nicely dressed Damon before he could even say boo. The noise sounded like the crack of two rams colliding in an open field. Grunts, screams, and guttural groans accompanied each of Slapstick’s punches. But despite getting pounded to a pulp, Damon remained intent on having his piece of Finn. As Finn one-legged it up to stand, Damon pulled him by the other leg, and Finn collapsed back on the bottom of the pile. Finn got off a couple of shots, but by that time, Dylan—flanked by Grumpy and me—arrived and dove into the middle, pulling Finn out by his shoulders. Slapstick slugged away on Damon and then circled his neck with a strength that lifted him off the ground. After what seemed like forever, he threw him one-handed across the floor, shattering the eggnog fountain (bummer) and jumping on top again to finish what he’d started.

Sweet Jesus, it wasn’t over.

Twenty feet ahead, huddled between friends, Brynn elbowed to the fracas dressed in black stockings, boots to the knee, and an über expensive-looking, long-sleeved LBD. Thing was, her little black dress looked like it’d been shrunk on high heat in the dryer. Hugging her curves like a stock car took the Daytona 500, anything meant to be bouncy was bouncy; anything meant to be taut was taut. Suddenly, I was awkwardly aware my Miracle Bra needed to be retired. Either that or I needed to triple-up on the voodoo cream and deal with the resulting chest hair.

Brynn quickly clicked over to Dylan’s side in her Louboutins and begged (yes, I said
begged
) him to corral Slapstick. You see, I
knew
Dylan. Even though he probably wanted Damon’s head bashed in like a pumpkin, if he could keep Slapstick from a temporary insanity defense, he’d do his civic duty. Plus his hero complex had probably kicked in, and he’d want the honor of silencing Damon himself.

And let me add as a side note,
Where the heck were the chaperones?

“D,” I whispered. “Do it. He’s a good guy.”

Dylan gave me a BRB face and ponied up and grabbed Slapstick by the shoulders, the plan to throw him to the side. When he got his hands on him, Slapstick barely conceded an inch. Dylan got that look like he’d witnessed Jesus Christ splitting the sky. He wasn’t used to not dropping someone on impact, but Slapstick was like a wrecking ball. Taking out anything and anyone near him. With an annoyed frown lining his jaw, Dylan grabbed Slapstick once more and got his legs into the toss. With more determination, he lifted him up and thrust him ten feet away. Slapstick’s embittered breath came out in a wheeze.

Damon crawled off into the crowd.

What did I think of Damon’s fighting skills?

Snore.

Slapstick’s?

What freaking planet did he come from? Krypton?

While Dylan had done his thing, you couldn’t miss Brynn’s reaction. If he was a new car, let’s just say she contemplated the test drive. A loooooooong test drive. Maybe a naked test drive. I hated her. My. God. I actually think I hated her.

By this time, a parent chaperone joined the mix—red SOLO cup in hand—and spoke with Dylan, Finn, Grumpy, and Slapstick. Damon had disappeared…probably lamenting how badly he got his butt kicked in public. Brynn clicked back to the circle she’d been conversing with. Someone in the back came forward, and placed a tender arm over her shoulder. This male was over six feet wearing dress-khakis, a light-colored sweater, and some sort of loafer…expensive stuff…possibly tailored, because everything hung on his long and lean body like a second skin. Their corner was dimly lit, making faces and hair color recognition all but impossible. Squinting to focus, as soon as I got a load of the profile, momentarily I was struck dumb. Like I’d been kicked in the head by a mule and was now a vegetable. I’d recognize that square jaw anywhere.

Ben Ryan
, I gulped.

I felt like I was in a tailspin and had a thousand feet before I kissed the ground. Like I needed to add another layer to the Darcy drama?
Omigosh, Ben Ryan
, I said to myself again. Heck, I might’ve yelled it…because here he came…strutting my way.

Ben left Brynn pouting, artfully navigating through the crowd, his coppery-colored hair and intense silver eyes extraordinarily different. Ho. Ly. You. Know. What. I’d only had two Cokes. I’d need four more and perhaps a cigar to deal with Ben.

Like Dylan had done earlier, Ben’s devilish eyes slid over me, pulling one of those head-to-toe deals where you check out the whole package. Unlike Dylan, he blatantly craned behind me to catch a view of my backside. I felt the heat in my cheeks, and if he laughed, I swear, I’d knee him in the ’nads.

I held up a hand, waving him off like a taxi I decided not to take. “Go away,” I choked out.

“Darcy,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m…
b
-busy,” I stammered.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
You can do this, Darcy,
I told myself.
He’s just another pretty face, nothing more
. Yanking the chain on my boy-crazy, I tried my best to remember good girls didn’t have bad thoughts; good girls didn’t look at Hot-Boy B when they went to the party with Hot-Boy A. And above all else, good girls weren’t attracted to boys they knew absolutely nada about…who’d hit them with their Audi.

With a desperate turn to find Dylan, I heard Ben chuckle from behind and circle his arm around my wrist, turning me back toward him. Slowly, he drew my body into his like we were…

Shoot, I don’t know, like we were two familiar people who did more with one another other than mere talking. I had goose bumps over every inch of my body, and I blushed with embarrassment because I felt Brynn’s eyes on me like a sniper with a clear shot.

I tried to say, “Don’t,” but all that came out was a nervous giggle.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “I’m happy to see you too. Marry me.”

It struck me like a crashing car that Ben was a fastard. When I clamped my jaws shut, Ben shrugged and moved us back and forth to the slow song playing. “Okay,” he amended, “one date. Then we can get married.” Theoretical dates with Ben rolled on my inner-hamster wheel. They chugged in a nauseating circle not gaining any ground, just making me dizzier.

Collin Lockhart danced close to us with a redhead I didn’t recognize. Dressed similarly to Dylan, he did a few spins, but right when he leaned into her for close conversation, Brynn practically jerked his arm out of his socket, tearing him away. She dragged him with her—Ben and me as the destination. Collin ran a shaky hand through his thick blond hair, and his eyes blinked in flat-out confusion. But it wasn’t a confusion that’d lead to publicly embarrassing a pushy Brynn—or reuniting with the redhead he’d left standing. In fact, he looked like he’d take whatever Brynn dished out.

Ugh…what kind of power did she wield over guys?

I shook my head in wonderment, turning my attention elsewhere. “Why and how are you here, Ben?”

“I’ve been worried about you,” he said oddly. “I’ve crapped out with Brantley McCoy, and that insinuates big problems. You need to give me more to work with. Why are you holding out?”

“You never answered my question,” I diverted.

“Just enrolled, angel.” Shoot, the nervous giggle came back. This time with a panicked shrill. “I start in January and was personally invited by the principal tonight. And by the way,
you,
” he emphasized, “never answered
mine
.”

“I gave you everything, Ben. I swear it.”

“You’re not
kidding,” he said, his face suddenly grave.

By God, Brynn and Collin hovered next to us, practically stealing our air. “Have you given up on the ten grand?” Ben asked, not caring they eavesdropped. Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? All I did was shrug because frankly I didn’t have another plan. “What about this guy with the limp?” he murmured.

I’d forgotten I’d told Ben about Chichi’s prediction. As I looked at my surroundings all week, I’d pretty much come to the conclusion everyone had a limp of some kind and left that one to the Fates.

“Haven’t found him,” I said.

Another frown. “What about the spray painter?”

My breath caught. I negotiated with my lungs to ditch the spasms and prayed to God Almighty I didn’t go female and dissolve into tears. “Deadline was today,” I replied soberly, “and I failed.”

Ben placed his hand at the nape of my neck, tilting my head so he could speak into my ear. “Failure is never final. It simply means you try another angle.”

As he attempted to rock us back and forth, I stood rock solid, trying to convince myself failure wasn’t final. But the trail was so cold it was frostbitten. Ben ventured to place my hands around his waist, but again I remained uncooperative. My gut said there were things about him I needed to stay away from. Dylan was the consummate gentleman; Ben—I somehow knew—was a cad.

Dylan and I had this otherworldly connection, and all at once a burst of adrenaline shot straight into my chest. Maybe that was our destinies realigning, or maybe it was Survival 101. Looking over Ben’s shoulder, my entire body jerked and tingled at the sight of Dylan splitting the crowd. Closer. Closer. Closer. Definitely Survival 101.

Dylan pulled a double blink when he saw Ben’s arms draped lazily around my waist. His eyelids then dropped low, and I swear, I think he growled in possession. “Easy there, Ryan,” Dylan said darkly. “Why don’t you put your tongue back in your mouth before I rip it from your jaw?”

Dylan strode over and placed his hand to rest possessively at my lower back. I turned and circled my arm around his waist. My God, I looked like a tramp. I’m not sure how I got into this situation, but I didn’t want Dylan to think I’d initiated it.

“She’s beautiful,” Ben gushed more than necessary. “It would be a crime not to enjoy what simply is not the every day.” I fought the urge to laugh—and lost. Ben was definitely the wordy type. In any other situation, I might be flattered, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this would end in one way if Ben didn’t shut his dumb-butt mouth. Dylan semi-fought already tonight, but that was defending someone else. If he was the main event, we’d need the fire truck and ambulance on standby.

Dylan’s jaw set tightly. “On that we agree, but news flash, Ryan…I. Don’t. Share.”

“Me neither, but if things were so absolute between Darcy and you, then why do you seem so threatened?”

That was like muttering a dare to a nut job strapped to C4. “Stop, Ben,” I whispered.

“Perhaps the only alternative I have to get you to shut up is to shove a fist in your mouth,” Dylan warned.

Collin and Brynn were all ears. I mustered up my best back-off glare—just threw that sucker in their faces—and uh…they didn’t even move. Ponkeys.

Ben shrugged, “Well, in that case, we could take this outside if you’d prefer.”

Dylan’s laugh was hollow…rude…and out-and-out cocky as heck. “Honestly, I’d rather handle this grudge match inside. I prefer public takedowns over the private.”

At this, Ben’s jaw steeled. Totally shut up. In that moment, I think he realized Dylan would tango…any time…day or night. It wasn’t a physical punch, but it was definitely a jab.

In the blink of an eye, it was all Party-de-Highway-to-Hell. Dylan wanted him dead; Ben was stupid enough to drive the death-bus. Swear to God, I almost laughed again, but I knew neither would understand. If I had the time, I’d hypothesize about their true motives—was it merely to claim the fair Darcy Walker, or was it two arrogant, territorial lions seeing who had the loudest roar?

I did the only thing I could possibly do…I left Ben standing. I came with Dylan; I’d leave with Dylan. Still, I wriggled my jaw around because it felt like I’d just got clocked by both of them.

27. Emotional Hangovers

I
had an emotional hangover—best friend
induced—but the way I felt, an alcohol-induced hangover might’ve been less miserable. My date-date with Dylan hadn’t been a date-date after all, but a category-five disaster. He’d “friended” things up as the night wore on, ending the evening with your standard hug, standard I-love-you, and standard goodnight kiss on the cheek.

Same old. Same old.

He’d dropped me off at work the following morning, and he, his sister, and the Beemer—which I’d silently sat in, pretending all was well—went shopping, God knows where. Rather than having free time on the first day of Christmas Break, I’d been scheduled for a full shift.

Thank you; no thank you, Mr. B.

Making the best use of my time, I decided to close up loose ends. This is the message I left on Coach Wallace’s voicemail. “You might want to sit down, but Jojo’s preggers. I think you’re the father, sir. And here’s my two cents even though you didn’t ask for it. You don’t want to be a deadbeat dad. Murphy is everything to me. He stepped up when circumstances and destiny dictated otherwise, and that’s a special memory I’ll take to my grave. Your kid won’t forget how you handle this, and even if it’s not your kid, well, it seems like he or she needs a dad. I might not be perfect, but believe me when I say I have experience with crazy. Jojo might’ve messed up your car in the past, but this time she didn’t.”

I signed off, straightened a knocked-over cardboard snowman, and hand-dusted crap while I rode my RipStik. I steered back to Rudi in her regular spot behind the customer service desk. Although deaf, she didn’t mind speaking to customers while she worked. Sad, but understandable. Most at school were self-centered, judgmental SOBs, and that was on a good day. While she looked up a book on the computer, I folded my arms on the counter, lay my head on top, and sighed.

“Late night, angel?”

Somebody strangle me
…

Rudi jerked excitedly on my arm. I peeled open an eye with an accompanying death stare. Yep, Ben Ryan.

His smile quirked up, and those silver eyes cut straight into me like twin lasers. He duplicated my posture, leaning across the countertop to touch my hands. “You like what you see, don’t you?” he flirted.

Somebody did…because either Rudi or I was hyperventilating.

I backed out of his grasp to a safer distance. “Ben, Rudi,” I introduced, jerking my chin at both of them. “Rudi, Ben.” After Ben explained he was “the new kid in town,” he asked Rudi where he could find the latest James Patterson for his mother. He signed the question. Of course, he would. The ponkey was pretty much as perfect as his clothes. I ditched those two to roll up front when I heard the doorbell ring.

“Who are you?” I asked Ben when I felt his heat beside me. “You literally materialized in the Valley ether from nowhere. Excuse me if I’m the suspicious type, but here lately, I need to watch my back.”

I opened the drawer, ensuring we had enough change. As I counted out five hundred dollars’ worth of money, I expected to get more of the same…which, in Benland, was nothing but wanting to talk about me.