Goddess Rising (17 page)

“Yep,” Ty nodded. “She’s a real go-getter, too. Feisty as hell. First week of freshman orientation, we all placed bets on how long the fish would last through hazing.”

Wes fought to hide his grimace. He didn’t want to know what they’d put her through. Just thinking about the bruise on her cheek, Wes suspected he’d be incarcerated for many, many years if he found out every ordeal they’d visited upon her.

“How long did she last?” he asked instead, hiding his reaction with a quick sip of beer.

“Never broke her, and she was the only one.” Ty shook his head. “She’s half the size of most of the guys, but she’s got more guts than you could hang on a fence.” Ty glanced at him, openly curious. “You interested in her?”

Wes shrugged casually, leaning against the bar. “I’m interested in everybody.”

“Don’t I know it!” Ty chuckled, sipping his beer. He glanced around before leaning in. “So, didja bring it?”

“Good thing your little brother’s better looking than you are,” Wes replied with a nod.

“You ain’t lying,” Ty replied. “I can’t believe that kid’s already made it into his freshman year. He’ll probably be even wilder than me.”

“You don’t tell him where you got this,” Wes reminded him.

“I know the rules.”

“You got the cash?”

Ty slipped him the money under the guise of handing him a pack of cigarettes. Wes pulled a cigarette from the pack, sticking it behind his ear as he fiddled with his jeans pocket like he was looking for a lighter. He came away with Ty’s little brother’s new ID tucked in his hand as he handed back Ty’s cigs.

Ty grinned, sticking the fake ID and his cigarettes back in his pocket. “You’re slicker than pig shit.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Wes replied dryly.

Ty’s eyes suddenly shifted over his shoulder. “Pisshead, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he winked, all smiles.

“Call me pisshead one more time, and I’ll break your other arm,” Wes heard Samantha drawl as she slid next to him, leaning against the bar. “Wesley Elliott,” Samantha said, smiling up at him. “How do you know this crazy jarhead?” she asked, nodding toward Ty.

“Drinking buddies,” he lied smoothly. “Where have you been? I was hoping to see you again.”

Chris’s large hand landed on his shoulder. “She’s been with me,” he said, shooting Wes a triumphant look.

“Must’ve aced that paper,” Wes replied, lifting a brow.

Samantha nodded. “We did, as a matter of fact. Here celebrating.”

“What can I get you?” Chris asked Sam as he got the bartender’s attention.

“Bottle of water.”

“Awww, come on,
piss
—I mean Sam,” Ty corrected abruptly, after her sharp, warning look. “You oughtta let loose a little,” he suggested. “Hell, I didn’t even know you owned a skirt,” he teased, eyes trailing down her legs.

Wes felt his hackles rise. He knew he didn’t have a right to feel the way he did, but he didn’t want Ty looking at her. Or Chris for that matter.

“Didn’t you say you left something in your truck?” Wes interrupted with a pointed look.

“What?” Ty caught his expression. “Uh… Good to see you, Wyatt—I’ll catch up with y’all later!” he said, taking the hint.

“What’d he leave in his truck?” she asked Wes as Ty disappeared into the crowd.

“His common sense,” Wes muttered under his breath, turning back toward her. “So…” he began, glancing at her and Chris. “You two, huh?”

“Yep,” Chris confirmed, as he handed her a shot glass.

“This isn’t water,” she noted dryly, holding up the glass.

“I thought you said tequila,” he teased, handing Wes a shot as well.

Sam lifted a brow.

“Oh,
come on,
Sammy!” Chris cajoled. “We just got the best grade in the class, we’re young, we’re at a packed bar, and I’m the guy with the prettiest girl on his arm—let’s have a little fun!”

“Are you suggesting I’m
no fun
, Chris Fields?” she asked, a gleam in her eye. “Cause that’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight, and I’m getting pretty tired of hearing it.”

“No, ma’am,” Chris replied. “I’m suggesting we should have even
more
fun.”

“Well, in that case—” Sam clinked glasses with both of them before taking the shot like a pro. Wes and Chris exchanged surprised looks before knocking back their own.

Sam slapped a twenty down on the bar. “Chris, get another round, please!”

Chris’s brows shot into his hairline. “Well, all righty then…” he said, picking up the twenty and flagging down the bartender.

Wes suppressed a grin.

Chris was big, but in actuality, he was a complete lightweight—especially in season. His night with Sam would be over well before it started if he kept doing the hard stuff, and Wes had every intention of sticking around to see it go down in flames.

September—Saturday Night, A Couple of Hours Later

Dukes, College Station, Texas

W E S L E Y

“H
oly shit
,
I
think this girl’s gonna drink us both under the table,” Chris slurred as he leaned heavily against the bar.

“You’ve been dry for too long, with all that football,” Wes remarked as he watched Samantha getting friendlier with each shot, chatting to a couple folks standing near them. She’d loosened up all right. A few drinks in, and the typically reserved and stoic Ms. Wyatt became Suzy Social. Wes admired this easy-going and unreserved side of her, smiling as she threw back her head and laughed out loud. Wes wanted to run his hands through the dark fall of her hair. He wanted to tug it back so he could kiss her like he’d been fantasizing about since the moment he laid eyes on her—

“Where’s Sam? I wanna dance!” Chris shouted over the music. He made a move toward the dance floor and stumbled a little.

“Whoa there, cowboy—” Wes helped righten him. “You’d better stick to dry land while you learn to hold your drink again.”

“I’m gonna go look for Sammy,” Chris mumbled, clearly too hammered to see she wasn’t but ten feet away.

“You do that,” Wes replied, watching him stumble off with a smirk. He took the opportunity to slip an arm around her waist.

“You mind if I steal this one away?” Wes asked her newfound friends as he tucked her into his side, loving the way she felt there. “Haven’t gotten to dance with my girl all night.”

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he tugged her toward the dance floor. “Where’s Chris?”

“Ran to the gent’s,” he lied smoothly. “Figured the least I could do was keep you company ’til he gets back.”

Chris was his friend, but Wes would be damned if he didn’t take advantage of the moment in front of him. Samantha looked at him uncertainly for a split second.

“Chris can always cut in if he wants to,” Wes added as he led her out onto the dance floor. But the gods must have been with him, because the band transitioned from a fast number to a good cover of “Shameless,” and couples immediately began swaying alongside them.

“Sounds like they’re playing my song.” Wes took her into his arms, bringing her a little closer than absolutely necessary. Samantha didn’t say anything as her arms automatically slipped over his shoulders.

But then, she didn’t really need to—Wes could see the goose bumps rising on her arms, could tell she felt the swift and heady pop and crackle between the two of them.

“I haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” he murmured, enjoying the feel of her against him. He pulled off her cowboy hat, his other hand coming up to gather her closer to his shoulder.

“I’m just tipsy enough to tell you how handsome you look too,” she replied honestly before she flushed a little, realizing she’d spoken without her usual filter. “Ignore that,” she rescinded. “Apparently I have Tourette’s when I drink too much.”

“Where’d you learn to drink like that?” Wes asked with a smile, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. The fit felt damn near perfect. Wes’s more nefarious imaginings had him wondering if they’d fit just as well with her back to his chest while he spooned her.

“The ranch hands I grew up with make their own moonshine,” she admitted, drawing his attention back away from the sexy image of his body wrapped around hers. “Get into that stash a few times, and I think the saying comes true.”

“And what saying is that?”

“That which doesn’t kill you—”

“Only makes you stronger,” Wes finished with a soft chuckle. “Especially if it’s tequila.”

“Is Chris all right?” she asked.

“Oh, I’d say he’s more than all right,” Wes replied. “He got you tonight, didn’t he?”

Samantha said nothing as he led her in a lazy circle across the dance floor. Wes found himself pulling her closer, his hand holding her hat at her back, as she tucked her cheek against his shoulder. He breathed in her jasmine scent, not sure if he was feeling a little intoxicated from the shots or from finally getting to hold her.
Lord
, she felt good. Sam was a dream to hold—all loose limbed and warm and silky to the touch.

Maybe if he hadn’t had so much to drink, he wouldn’t have dared. Or maybe if he had been more sober, he wouldn’t have asked. But either way, Wes heard himself saying the words before he could stop himself: “Why are you here with Chris when you ought to be here with me?”

*

September—Saturday Night

Dukes, College Station, Texas

S A M A N T H A

Sam pulled back,
looking Wes in the eye. It was still a pleasant jolt to her system to take him in. He was handsome, like some tawny-skinned, golden-eyed god from Olympus, come down to dazzle girls senseless.
But I am here with Chris
, she reminded herself, even if the few minutes she’d been dancing in Wes’s arms felt like the exact place she wanted to be. Sam shook her head through the feel-good tequila haze, trying to recall all the reasons any entanglements with Wes would be a bad idea.

“Are you running some kind of counterfeiting operation?” she blurted out, surprising him. “See? Tequila equals Tourette’s,” she muttered to herself, instantly mortified.
Where the hell had that come from?

But she knew where it had come from. Since Alejandro made the accusation, it had been a splinter in her mind. And Sam wanted Wes to deny it, but equally, she didn’t really want to know anything about it. Because as bad as she knew Wes was for her, she also didn’t want any more black marks against him. She wanted to eliminate all the excuses she was using, to keep talking to him and dancing with him, especially when she knew better. Because a guy like Wes was too temptingly deviant to be any good for her.

Wes was
exactly
what she didn’t need. He was exactly what she
shouldn’t
want.

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked instead, redirecting, his gaze steady.

“How do you know Ty Burrell?” By now, Sam was standing completely still in the middle of the dance floor, couples shuffling around them as the song died down. The band declared they were taking a fifteen minute break.

“I told you. He’s a friend.” Wes’s look of amused bafflement fell just an eyelash shy of authentic. Sam slowly dropped her hands from his shoulders as couples cleared off the dance floor around them.

Problem was, Sam knew Ty. Knew him to be a partier, despite his standing in the Corps. She’d heard stories of his wilder antics. Hell, Ty bragged about it half the time. And she knew Ty had a little brother just starting his freshman year. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that Ty’d be hooking his kid brother up.

But it wasn’t the fake IDs that bothered her—hell, she’d been drinking underage all night. What bothered her, deep down, was that Sam
knew
Wes was lying to her. Even after all that earlier talk of being honest with one another. And if Sam was remotely honest with herself, she was a little mortified at how much she’d been enjoying pretending to be with him instead of Chris for the last few minutes, dancing to a song about shamelessness.

Her anger and disappointment in Wes and at herself began to rise, making her face flush hotter than it already was. Sam tried to tamp down on the emotion, reminding herself that Wes owed her nothing. But if alcohol was an accelerant to anything in her, it was her hot-flash temper.