Wynter's Horizon (7 page)

Quinn lay low, pretending he didn’t notice. But when I suggested returning to Jim’s that Friday night, he couldn’t take it anymore. Driving down to the bar, he hassled me about acting like a teenager on the hunt for a lay.

I turned the Jeep into the lot, finding parking near the back door. I half hoped Wynter wouldn’t be there; maybe I could chalk the whole thing up to a strange anomaly. I wasn’t that lucky.

I spotted her immediately, playing some video basketball game in the corner. Standing feet apart and braced, the basketball clutched in her hands, she still managed to look hot. Before each throw, she brushed her hair back behind her shoulder, a look of concentration on her face, broken by a smile with every basket she made, which was plenty. She wasn’t model gorgeous but more like pretty with depth—like fine scotch composed of a lot of subtle flavors that together delivered a great punch in the end. Each time she reached out to throw the ball, the lean lines of her figure were accentuated and her black shirt rode up a bit, exposing the slender curve of her waist.

Quinn and I sat in our usual spot, and I listened half-heartedly to him talk about some guy who accosted him in the market for taking the last bunch of bananas. Halfway through Quinn’s conversation, I tuned him out entirely and focused my attention on Wynter and her friend. These were times my heightened hearing really came in handy.

“Ass face is looking at you,” her friend pointed out.

“Julia, that’s not nice,” she admonished, laughing.

“Nice? In what way is he nice to you? WTF, Wyn, come on.”

“I know. I know. I just have trouble staying away.”

Her friend shook her head, a mixture of frustration and concern on her face.

“Well, don’t tell Annie. She’ll be pissed. You promised last time that it was the last.” Wynter stared at a group playing darts and my eyes followed hers, settling on a tall handsome guy, with light, almost white-blond hair and blue eyes. He was athletic looking, with a confident air about him, like the team quarterback.

I turned to Quinn, but he had already figured it out. “Have you heard him?”

“No, I was listening to her conversation.”

“Well, tune in but be prepared. You may want to go over and break his neck. He’s a cocky bastard.”

I tilted my head, blocking out the rest of the noise in the bar as I zeroed in on him. “So, Meyers, you getting lucky tonight?”

“She’s like a well, boys, never runs dry. You should see what she’s willing to do. She can’t say no to me.” He grinned at his friend, taking the darts and starting to throw.

“I heard you got some action off that sophomore, Leslie,” another friend volunteered.

“Not yet. She’s a longer project, going to take some time and finesse. Wynter is just all about the sex.”

“Well, she’s certainly giving you the eye from over there.”

He nodded confidently, taking his turn. “I told you it’s in the bag. She’s a push-over.”

I regarded Quinn for his reaction. He just shook his head and took a drink. Anger rolled though me, ridiculous, really, since I didn’t even know this girl, or her morals. Besides, what did I care? I had my own issues to deal with.

Done with the basketball game, she leaned against the wall, sipping her beer and talking to her friend. Every now and then she reached up to push her hair back behind her ear, then slid her hand down to rearrange her necklace and shirt. There was a self-consciousness and vulnerability in her motion. She didn’t look just all about sex. That guy was wrong.

“Let’s do something,” Quinn said, his eyes sparkling with a look I had seen a hundred times before.

“What? Are you crazy? He’s right. She is giving him the eye. I can see her looking at him.”

“So? Who cares?” He answered dismissively, waving his hand in the air.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because. Maybe he’s bad, but I’m worse.” I took another look at her as I said it.

“How is that, mate?”

“He uses her and the night is over, and maybe she has a broken heart. In my scenario, I could use her
and
break her neck.”

“Yes, but you’re not going to. You don’t even want to use her.”

“That’s some screwy logic. I’m the monster but the better one?”

“Works for me.”

“Besides, it sounds like a regular occurrence. From what he said, he can have her any time he wants.” Just saying the words loosened my rage, and I fought the urge to go over and pummel his head. I didn’t know if it was jealousy that he
could
have her whenever he desired—or the fact that he took it for granted.

“Well, old man, I’m going to have some fun.” He started to move toward the pool tables, calling to me in a voice so low no one else could hear, “Live a little.”

I glowered at his retreating back, but there was no stopping him. It didn’t take long for the brunette to start talking. When we were teenagers at the Forum, I hated how easily he made friends and charmed the girls. I was good at military stuff—fighting, running, and shooting, not talking. But, thrown together on more than one mission, I grudgingly gave up my hostility, realizing his strength complemented my speed. He was competitive and loyal; he’d always had my back no matter what. And his charming nature only helped when we got into more than one situation. It had been a while since I had seen him in action. But after all these years, he still had it. Of course, the laser blue eyes against the dark mop of hair didn’t hurt.

Wynter glanced my way more than once during their conversation. I smiled nervously. We were playing a dangerous game, and Quinn knew that. He waved to me to join him. I did but not without reservation. I had reacted the other night operating on instinct and training, getting involved to stop something bad, but choosing to engage was entirely different, even if I did want to know why she was in my memory.

“Beck, this is Julia and Wynter. Girls, this is Beck.” I shook their hands.

“No fighting tonight?” I asked.

Wynter eyed me over her beer bottle as she took a sip. I could hear the liquid slide down her throat.

“The night’s not over yet,” she teased, smiling. “What kind of name is Beck?” Clearly, she didn’t know me.
Why did I know her?

Quinn opened his mouth, ready to launch off on some tangent, but I intercepted him. “My real name is Reginald Beckett, but most people just call me Beck.”

“Epic! You sound like the butler,” Julia choked out mid-swallow, nearly regurgitating her mouthful of beer.

She leaned over, whispering into Wynter’s ear, “No wonder he goes by a nickname.”

Quinn chuckled, not bothering to disguise that he heard something whispered. “I like you.” I wondered absently what Sara would have thought if she could have seen us. She had always been the jealous type. This would have thrown her over the edge.

I grimaced, thinking of the row.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked.

“Nothing. Just worried about your wife. Or did you forget about her?”

“Nearly ex-wife. And whatever,” he muttered.

I ignored him. The day Quinn and Sara actually divorced, Hell would freeze over. I turned my attention back to Wynter and her friend. “Where’s the other one?” I asked Julia.

Her phone bleeped and she looked down, typing a reply even as she answered me. “The other? Oh, you mean Annie? She’s not feeling well or she’d be here. We had kind of a rough night last night.”

Quinn nodded, disappointment clear in his eyes. I marveled at his ability to move in this world, acting like we were just two normal guys out for a night on the town. Had it not been for this strange attraction to Wynter, I would have been at home. Alone. Interacting with people meant questions, and maybe some answers were better left unknown.

I noticed a light scar, meandering across Wynter’s forehead and under her hairline. It was visible with her hair pushed behind her ear. I thought of my memory. In it, she’d had blood encrusted on her head. What happened to her?

She looked up, meeting my gaze and then pulled her hair forward.

I dropped my eyes quickly, searching for something else to look at, which didn’t help because her lips were the next thing in my line of vision. That was even worse. They were full and delicious. She ran her tongue over her top one, and all the blood flowed south. Fuck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Quinn signal me. The Meyers guy glared at us. I bet he wasn’t used to being upstaged. Quinn smiled devilishly, a glint in his eye.

“How about a game?” He motioned to the pool table, playing up his Irish accent.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Julia jumped at the idea. “Sure.”

There wasn’t a discussion about partners, just an assumption we would pair off together, and I wondered if Julia had an ulterior motive as well.

Wynter grinned at me. “I’m not so good,” she warned.

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled back. I could have cared less. Billiards didn’t offer much of a challenge to either Quinn or I, much less the version played in bars. We would spend most of the next half hour trying to miss to seem more normal and trying not to knock the balls off the table and through solid objects. When one had extra coordination, eyesight, and strength, the greater challenge was not raising suspicions. At my house, Quinn and I spent a lot of spare time devising new games with the billiards table, and the house walls and ceilings had numerous holes as evidence.

“For real. I play all the time and never get better.” She added.

“I’m not worried.” I motioned to Quinn. “He stinks anyway.”

“You wish that was the truth. Reggie.” Quinn retorted, blue eyes sparkling. We were so far from the truth on anything at this moment it made me laugh.

She played better than she had predicted and I matched her play by play. But, despite our efforts, the game went rather quickly. Quinn smiled at me rakishly as he called and sank the cue ball. We lost but, I didn’t really care. I moved around the table, hoping to make more small talk. If I could get to know her, I could ask her about the scar. Meyers got to her before me. He knocked against her, whispering in her ear, “I texted you.”

He grabbed her ass as a final gesture, walking away toward the door, a cocky smile on his face. I fought the urge to reach out and break his arm. She smiled, flushing red in embarrassment. Why the hell did she like that asshole?

It didn’t take long after that for our foursome to break up.

I turned the Jeep out of the parking lot, watching her car’s disappearing taillights in my rearview mirror, as I headed in the opposite direction. Quinn laughed. “You want to follow her?” By his tone, he was obviously amused.

“No,” I lied gunning the motor. I wanted more than that. I wanted to find out what happened to her, why she was floating through my memories, and then I wanted to bed her. But none of it mattered. She didn’t want me, and she didn’t need me, and it was better that way. With some time and distance, I would get over her.

Chapter Thirteen

Wynter—Jason

I exhaled and stretched out under the sheet, wondering what time it was. Jason rolled over and pulled on his boxer shorts, pausing to check his phone before getting up. He peered down at me, sprawled in his bed, and smiled condescendingly. “You should go.”

I pulled the covers up, suddenly self-conscious. Searching around the floor for my clothes, I spotted my bra hanging off his Bruins lamp. Shit. I was lucky it hadn’t caught fire.

“Are you going to the black and white ball?” I asked, trying to come up with conversation and bypass the awkwardness that always came after sex.

Jason didn’t turn around, fiddling with his computer. “Maybe. You?”

I clasped my bra and slid my jeans on, still searching for my shirt. “Yeah. Dan said that Chris was thinking about asking me.” I waited for a reaction.

Jason didn’t respond immediately. I found my shirt tangled up in the comforter.

“Chris Chambers?” He finally asked.

I pulled it over my head, smoothing out my hair as I did. “Yeah.”

“Never going to happen, sweetheart.” He turned then and smiled at me. “Wednesday night he hooked up with Nadia Dysminski or Brisinski or something like that—that cute freshman with the long brown hair—and he told me he’s asking her.”

I grabbed my boot, bending to put it on and trying not to show my face. When I was a freshman, nobody took dates to the winter formal, but things changed. Now, it seemed everyone had dates for the damn thing, even though it was still a few weeks away.

“Why don’t you take that old guy from the bar?” He suggested, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Who?” I pretended not to understand, reaching under the bed in search of my other boot.

“The old guy. The one you were playing pool with tonight.”

He had noticed. I felt a small victory in my gut. It wasn’t often I made him jealous. “Beck?”

“What kind of name is that?” His tone dismissed me as he scrolled through his computer games.

“He’s English—and he’s not old.” I suddenly felt very defensive. I had felt a connection to that guy. When I was near him, everyone else in the room seemed to disappear. I caught the edge of my lost boot with my fingers. I wondered how it got so far under.