The Hookup (Moonlight and Motor Oil Series Book 1) Read online

  “You had to put Lace down?” she asked, not masking this news was upsetting, as it would be. She’d loved that horse. They all had.

  He saw her, her red hair streaming behind her, the smile she’d aim down at him from under her hat, astride Lace while he and his dad sat on his dad’s porch, grinning like idiots because Johnny had done what his father had failed to do.

  Found a good woman who loved him more than anything on the earth.

  One good thing about his father dying before she took off.

  He never knew that wasn’t true.

  “He went, she declined so fast, it was like she knew and didn’t wanna be in a world without him in it.”

  “Oh God, Johnny,” she said gently.

  “Can we be done with this?”

  “I . . . still have Ranger. He’s good. Healthy and happy. But I think he still misses you.”

  That was outside her norm. That was close to making her a bitch.

  He’d told her to take his dog. He couldn’t be there to protect her from whatever her brother got her caught up in. But he could leave her with Ranger.

  She’d cried, sobbed, told him she wanted him to go with them, and if he couldn’t then she couldn’t take a dog from his man. She couldn’t do that to Ranger. She couldn’t do that to him.

  But he’d said if she had to go she had to go with Ranger, and she knew him well, to the bone, to his soul. She knew he’d set her free if that was what she needed, but he wasn’t letting her walk out his door without someone to look after her.

  So she’d taken his dog.

  “Uncool,” he muttered.

  Again with the hurt. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Now I know.”

  She gave it a beat before she pressed, “I want to come and see you.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “You know.”

  “I know so the question remains, for what purpose?”

  And again with the wounded. “Can’t we just talk?”

  He had an excuse not to “just talk.”

  He was seeing Izzy.

  “Seeing” was a loose term after the short time they’d had, but they had plans to make that short time longer and he was the one who set that up.

  They’d fucked a lot and had one date but he still knew if there could ever be a one again, that woman gave every indication she’d be that one.

  But one was one and there couldn’t be another one.

  For Johnny, because she’d walked out his door three years earlier, there also couldn’t be the one.

  When it came down to it and a decision had to be made, he wouldn’t decide on a woman like Izzy.

  No, a woman like Izzy with her frilly pillows on an outside loveseat and her flowerpots and birds singing on her shoulder, and her guacamole and her honesty, and her stories about her dead mom needed a whole man who could give her his whole self, not half a man who’d given half of himself to the wrong woman.

  Shandra didn’t get to have any part of Izzy.

  Izzy knew about Shandra.

  But Johnny would never pollute all that was Izzy with the mess that became of him and Shandra.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Dad’s sick,” she told him.

  “Don’t know a man who deserves being that more than him.”

  “I understand why you feel that way. It’s hard to wrap my head around my need to do my duty as his daughter when I understand why you feel that way better than you. I still have to come see him.”

  “After the choice you made with your brother, if you think this surprises me, it doesn’t.”

  “I might be moving home,” she shared.

  Fuck.

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “I might not have a choice.”

  “Then avoid me.”

  “Johnny—”

  “Shandra, just don’t.”

  She gave that a few beats.

  Then Shandra was all Shandra was.

  Gently, tenderly, she said, “Okay. I won’t. I have to come home, but I’ll avoid you, Johnny.”

  “Obliged.”

  “Tell me one thing. Are you happy?”

  He was not happy.

  His shot at happy walked out his door with his dog and went on the lam with her brother exactly one week after his father died.

  You didn’t turn into a unicorn.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “I . . . okay.” He could almost hear her swallow. “Good.”

  She wouldn’t ask. Not about another woman. Not because she didn’t want to know. But because she was Shandra. She did the worst to him and it cut her up just a little less than it did him, that little less being all she needed to go through with it.

  She wouldn’t put him in that spot.

  She wouldn’t infect what he had with another woman.

  She wouldn’t do that.

  But she could guess.

  And Johnny reckoned she was guessing.

  “Take care of yourself,” he bid.

  “You too,” she whispered.

  “Goodbye, Shandra.”

  “’Bye, Johnny.”

  He didn’t hesitate to disconnect.

  He also didn’t hesitate to do what he did next, something he knew he shouldn’t do after he got done talking to Shandra for the first time in three years.

  He went to his texts, a specific number, and typed in, You remember how to get to the mill?

  He moved to the car he was working on but didn’t get the chance to get stuck in because Izzy texted him back.

  It’s driving yonder until you hit a dirt road and then you drive on that until you hit a stone building with a water wheel.

  Yes, he shouldn’t have texted her after he spoke with Shandra for the first time in three years.

  This was because the smile her text gave him felt wrong, twisted, corrupt.

  He had to exit her life.

  He had to do it tomorrow night over dinner.

  Hell, he should ask her to meet him at Home and tell her there, not make her come all the way out to the mill for him to share what hadn’t really started and could never have been was over.

  He didn’t change their plans.

  You missed about three turns, he texted back.

  Whoops, she replied.

  Oh yeah.

  He had to exit her life.

  Save me from happening onto a lunatic with an underground bunker who’s going to hold me captive and force me to make babies so he can build a flock of crazies and send me directions, she went on.

  Fuck yeah.

  He had to get the hell out of Eliza’s life.

  Johnny texted directions.

  Then he texted, Be there whenever you get there. I’ll make something that works with that.

  I have to stop and let out the dogs and deal with the horses.

  Leave a key under your mat tomorrow and I’ll go do that after I’m done at the garage. His thumbs arrested, then they moved on without his permission, And I’ll get Swirl and Dempsey and bring them to the mill.

  Jesus.

  What was he doing?

  Fabulous. I’ll be with you around 6 or 6:30, she returned.

  Bring a toothbrush.

  Jesus.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  Roger that, Ghostrider.

  The smile that got didn’t seem corrupt.

  It was still wrong.

  Smartass, he replied.

  She shot him a toothy-grinned emoji and I’ll bring wine.

  I’ll get wine just bring you.

  I’m kind of picky about wine.

  I’ll get a lot of it so you’ll have your pick.

  I can just bring what I like, Johnny.

  Baby, so we’re not texting up until the time you’re gonna show at my house tomorrow night, just . . . bring . . . you. I’ll get the fucking wine.

  Okeydokey.

  Go back to work.

  YOU go back to work.

  I’m spanki
ng you tomorrow night.

  No text came in for long moments, and he knew she slid right into the shy she could forget when she was with him and they were both fully-clothed and sex wasn’t imminent or after he got his hands on her, before he got, This is my technologically clad vow to be good from this point forward.

  The woman couldn’t be bad with a gun stuck to her head.

  Unless she was naked.

  Then she was anything he wanted her to be.

  Jesus.

  See you tomorrow, Iz.

  You betcha, Johnny.

  He shoved his phone in the back pocket of his coveralls and leaned over the car.

  He did not see the engine.

  He saw Izzy at her sink wearing a light-purple top that clung to her tits, purple, green and pink striped pajama bottoms, the most ridiculous boots he’d ever seen on her feet, her huge mass of tawny hair piled up in a mess at the top of her head, an orange bird on her shoulder.

  He then saw her in those black pants that clung to her ass with that sharp shirt that made her look badass, wearing those pumps he wanted to fuck her in, ruining all that with her huge mass of tawny hair tumbling over her shoulders making her not look like a professional businesswoman but instead a sex kitten stripper in her fake professional businesswoman’s outfit before she tore it off.

  Then he saw her on his deck in his tee, holding a coffee mug looking uncertain and shy, and sleepy and gratifyingly thoroughly fucked, and so cute he still wondered how he managed not to tackle her to the wood and bury his cock up to her throat.

  That vision turned into her last night, holding on to the top curve of her iron headboard, her neck twisted, those clear blue eyes directed at him hazy with sex and turned on as fuck, her lips swollen from his mouth and moist from her tongue running along them as she took his cock from behind and begged him to give it to her harder.

  His final vision was altogether different.

  Years before, Shandra sitting at his father’s table, her beautiful face filled with laughter, the sound of it mixed with his dad’s, ringing in his old man’s dining room.

  He’d wanted to hate her.

  He’d never managed that.

  He’d wanted to put her behind him.

  He’d never managed that either.

  He needed to exit Izzy’s life.

  She knew about Shandra and he’d tell Izzy she was coming back to town.

  And he’d make her dinner tomorrow night and take her camping on the weekend and share how it was.

  She seemed to understand a lot of shit. She even seemed to understand about Shandra.

  Maybe he wouldn’t lose her.

  Maybe they could be friends.

  Maybe she’d have him over when she had her other friends over, he could eat her guacamole and get her cute and shy and smartass and know he was taking it in a way that was healthy for her, which was something that would cut. But it was something he could live with better than what he could do to her if he didn’t exit being in her life that way or not having her at all.

  And maybe he was a selfish dumbfuck.

  But whatever way it went, he’d explain things while they were camping.

  After that, it was her choice and that was the best he could do.

  It always had been.

  Tight

  Izzy

  “PULL ME OUT.”

  I heard Johnny’s growl but chose to ignore it.

  And I chose to ignore it because he had his back to the pillows shoved up against his headboard, his knees cocked, feet in the bed, thighs spread wide, both his hands in my hair, and his cock was in my mouth.

  He looked amazing like that, spread out for me, offered up to me: his broad shoulders, cut collarbone, wide chest with its sprinkling of black hair across his pecs, large nipples, the boxes of his abs standing out like he was doing crunches instead of getting a blowjob, the dark hair on his forearms, dense on his thick thighs.

  He felt amazing in my mouth, silk over steel.

  He tasted awesome, like musk and man.

  And I loved who I was right then, kneeling between his legs, sucking him off, feeling what I was giving to him as his hips jerked uncontrollably, the noises that rolled up his chest and out of his mouth abrasively, his strong fingers clenching in my hair restlessly.

  I was the woman who could make this man react like that, feel the way he was holding back from thrusting into my mouth, but I knew he needed it and it was costing him, because he liked what I was doing so much he wanted to take more.

  And I was the woman who was dripping wet between my legs, fighting the trembling that threatened to overtake me because I liked the taste of him, the look of him, the feel of him, the knowledge of how much he got off on what I was doing to him with just my mouth, the power all that sent surging through me, vibrating in my clit, knowing in that instant he was all mine.

  I wanted to take him there. I wanted to kneel between his legs and watch him explode for me. The ones I’d caught, he was beautiful in orgasm, almost agonizingly so.

  And I wanted that, spread out for me, offered up to me . . . all mine.

  I kept at him, sucking harder, adding a hand wrapped around him and stroking tight.

  “Iz, pull me out,” he grunted.

  I kept at him.

  “Eliza, fucking pull me out.”

  I lifted my eyes to his, pulled him out of my mouth, but stroked him harder with my hand and felt the shudder score through me at the dark hunger carved in his handsome face.

  Suddenly, I was flat on my belly in the bed. A quiver ran over me when his knees pressed against the insides of my thighs, spreading them so wide I felt the pull in my muscles.

  I whimpered through the sound of crinkling foil and then whispered, “Johnny.”

  Fingers dug into my hips as they were hauled up.

  I started to come up on all fours but Johnny planted a hand in the middle of my back, shoved me back to the bed and growled, “Down.”

  That didn’t cause a quiver.

  That set me to shaking.

  And it set my sex to soaking.

  He then caught my hair, twisting it in a fist so it pulled at my scalp and I whimpered again as I trembled before him, now offered up to him.

  And loving it.

  “Keep your knees wide,” he ordered, gave a rough but gentle yank on my hair and drove inside.

  My neck arched, I cried out and instantly started coming.

  “Like my cock?” he asked harshly, thrusting deep and fast.

  “Yes,” I moaned through my orgasm.

  I felt his thumb circle my anus and my legs locked, my hands clenched his sheets and my climax stuttered.

  “Johnny,” I whispered.

  “No, baby?”

  “No.”

  His thumb slid away to become his hand sliding across the cheek of my behind. He grasped my hip, kept pounding, and the climax shot back so forcefully, I was panting into the sheets.

  “Arch your back,” he commanded.

  I did as told.

  “Give me more,” he grunted, the sound of our flesh connecting getting sharper, each slap coming faster.

  I reared back into him, spread so wide, taking him hard, feeling exposed, now all his.

  All Johnny’s.

  And that was better.

  Another orgasm began to rock through me and I gasped as it came.

  “Yeah,” Johnny growled, sounding turned on and pleased, and close himself to coming.

  He went faster, twisted his hand in my hair, “Now up, Izzy.”

  I came up on all fours, my head back, my spine arced to the bed, my body slamming back into his drives, my climax still burning, making me do all this with full body tremors.

  “God, fuck, Izzy, fuck,” he groaned.

  I glanced back at him to see him watching me take his cock and another shudder tore through me.

  He let my hair go, seized my hips and forced them to connect with his brutally as he took me through his orgasm, his grunts expl
oding in the room.

  I whinnied through them, a series of hums, pants and soft cries, until he slowed, the power drifted out, gentleness drifted in, and then he finally seated himself deep and I dropped back down to the bed, my cheek against his soft sheets.

  I felt it as he glided one finger lightly along my spine from where it sat between my shoulder blades, through the arch, up the small and it kept going, skating between the cheeks of my behind. My hips twitched and his finger trailed out and he flattened both hands on my bottom and pulled out.

  He tipped me to my side.

  I tilted my eyes up to him. He looked in them then exited the bed, flicking the sheets over my body.

  I watched him walk to the bathroom, only Dempsey following him (Swirl had settled in somewhere for the night) and I was too spent to think of the steaks he’d broiled for us earlier that had some strong garlic and herbed cheese crusted on top and were utterly delicious. Or the fact he’d bought ten bottles of wine for me to choose from, four red, five white and one sparkling, all the whites chilled in the fridge.

  I also didn’t think of the sated but remote look in his eyes that I caught before he left me in his bed. Nor did I think about how he said not a word after we shared the most intimate thing a man and woman could share before he took off to go deal with the condom.

  This last was his way. He’d done the same thing at my house.

  Though at my house, when he’d come back, he’d teased me about my girlie bathroom, focusing on the pink wire basket shelves on the wall filled with corked bottles of girlie pamper stuff and thick wash clothes and natural sponges and loofahs and pink cotton balls.

  I had a feeling I couldn’t tease him about his bath salts.

  I watched him come back, semi-hard, condom free, all beautiful. He flipped a switch on the wall during his return, which put out the canister lights in the ceiling around his kitchen and pendants that hung over his island, lights he’d dimmed before he’d taken me to bed.

  Dempsey followed him, and Johnny gave him a distracted head scratch as he watched me while he finished walking back to me. When he made it to the bed, I scooched away. He lifted the sheet and slid in.