Going Cowboy Crazy (19 page)

“Really? So I guess all the stories I’ve been hearing are a bunch of lies and that fake accent I just witnessed was all my imagination.”

She stopped struggling, and her face flushed even brighter.

“So it’s true.” His hands dropped from her arms. “You are running around pretending to be Hope.”

She smirked. “Not exactly.”

It was the same wording he’d used when she asked him about his relationship with Hope. And he didn’t believe for a second that it was only a coincidence.

“Hey, Slate. Hey, Hope.” Emmie Leigh and her little sister scooted past them on their way to the women’s bathroom. “Glad to see you two lovebirds back together.” They giggled as the door marked
COWGIRLS
closed behind them.

Slate cringed as Faith’s eyes narrowed. But before she could let loose with the four-letter word that set his teeth on edge, he reached out and shoved open the door to the men’s bathroom and pushed her inside.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving us some privacy.” He slammed the latch home before he turned and rested back against the door.

Those wide blue eyes darted around the room, hesitating on the urinal before bouncing back to him. “Open that door.”

He crossed his arms. “No. Not until we’ve had some time to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk with you.” Crossing her arms, she mimicked his stance, but the effect wasn’t quite the same. He didn’t have perfect little breasts to push up, and it took a real effort to pull his eyes away from those sweet swells.

“Well, darlin’, you might as well talk to me because you’re not getting out of here until you do.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she took two steps closer, until that cute nose was inches from his chest. “So talk, darlin’. Nobody’s stoppin’
yew
.”

The fake accent grated on his nerves worse than any pig calling Hope had ever done, and he gritted his teeth and pushed away from the door, forcing Faith to take a step back.

“First, stop talking like that.”

“Like what?” The accent was twice as thick.

“Like a bad Dolly Parton impersonator.”

Faith smiled up at him and batted her eyes.

“Second, what the hell do you think you’re doing parading around like Hope, spouting off all kinds of nonsense about having sex with Hollywood movie stars?”

Her lips pressed together—lips that were coated with that glittery pink stuff—and he figured she was about to give him some smart-ass reply. Instead, she surprised him.

The stiffness melted from her shoulders as she drooped back against the counter of the sink. “I figured if I couldn’t beat them, I’d join them. But I may have overdone it a little.”

“A little?” Slate shook his head. “Darlin’, if half of what I heard tonight is true, you more than overdid it. You dug a hole so deep you’ve got one foot in China.”

“Well, what did you expect me to do?” Her hands flailed around, missing his chest by mere inches. “I tried telling the truth, and no one paid the least bit of attention to me. And then those women started asking me all these stupid questions about Hollywood, and after Shirlene’s margaritas, I just started talking, and before I knew it, I’d had sex with half the movie stars in Hollywood.”

It was a relief to see the angry, hostile Faith replaced with the cute, insecure Faith. Especially when he thought he’d lost that woman for good.

He took a step closer and grinned. “But did you have to screw midgets?”

Her hands hung in midair as she looked up at him. “Midgets?”

“Ahhh. No midgets, I take it. I figured that was probably an exaggeration. Along with the whole lesbian Taco Bell thing.”

Her gaze dropped to the toes of his boots. “Well, actually…”

Heat filled the crotch of his jeans, and when he spoke his voice hit a note it hadn’t hit since the sixth grade. “You came up with that one?”

Her head lifted, her face as flushed as his body felt. Damn, he had never realized how hot the little bathroom was, probably because he’d never been in there long
enough to notice. And because he’d never shared it with a woman with sexy hair, a sweet little body, and a hot lesbian fantasy.

Needing some fresh air, he glanced at the small window to the right of the sink. Unfortunately, it was painted shut.

“Well.” Slate cleared his throat. “It sounds like you had quite an afternoon.” He looked around, desperately searching for something to get his mind off Taco Grandes. “So you’re staying with Shirlene?”

Faith blinked at the quick subject change. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Good. She’ll treat you right. Although Shirlene has been known to have a wild streak a mile long, so you might want to keep that in mind when she makes suggestions—like line dancing at a country honky-tonk with a bunch of rowdy cowboys.”

Her face scrunched up in confusion. Of course, she was no more confused over his words than he was. What was he doing? He had been handed the perfect opportunity to set things straight between them, and here he was rattling off like some pathetic jealous loser. Unfortunately, she turned mean before he could rectify the situation.

“Better than hanging out with a two-timing jerk who couldn’t tell the truth if his life depended on it.”

He pointed a finger. “Now wait one damned minute. I never lied to you.”

“You never lied to me?” Those blue eyes snapped as she poked him in the chest with her finger. “Are you kidding? You’ve done nothing but lie to me since the moment I met you. You lied about my car. You lied about where you live. You lied about the truck you drive. And you lied
about my sister!” She balled up her fist and thumped him hard in the chest.

“I’ll give you the car, but I didn’t lie about anything else. I do live in Bubba’s trailer—at least, for the time being—and you never asked me about the truck. And I haven’t lied about Hope.” Those blue eyes narrowed, and before she could let loose with more accusations, he held up his hand. “But you’re right, I should’ve explained things to you before we—” He stopped, not sure what word to use. “Umm, before we…”

“Had sex,” she stated.

It wasn’t exactly the right phrase, but since he didn’t have a better one, he let it slide. “Yes. I should’ve explained things before we had sex. But things just kind of got out of hand.”

“Got out of hand?”

That wasn’t right, either, but he forged on. “You know, in the heat of the moment, people forget things.”

Those eyes narrowed. “Like the relationship between their past lovers and their present?”

“No!” Slate suddenly felt like a man drowning in his own damned swimming pool. “I told you, Hope and I were never lovers. We’re friends.
Just
friends.”

“Then why does the town think otherwise?”

Slate could’ve gone into his reasons for not setting the town straight, but he didn’t want to come off as an arrogant selfish idiot—even if that was what he was. No, it was better to keep things simple. “They probably think that because we dated in high school.”

Faith’s eyes darkened. “But I thought you said you were just friends.”

So much for simple. He ran a hand over the back of his
neck, squelching the desire to put a fist through the glass of the window so he could get some friggin’ air. “We were friends. Friends who dated.”

“I see,” she said. Except it didn’t sound like she saw what Slate saw.

“I know it sounds kind of crazy, but we sort of friend dated.”

“Friend dated?”

“You know, two friends going to the movies and high school dances and Sutter Springs—”

Her eyes widened. “You took Hope to Sutter Springs?”

Oh shit.

“Well, not for what you and I did, darlin’. Hope and I just hung out up there and drank beer and howled at the moon and…”

“Kissed?”

He couldn’t stop the telltale blush.

The slap she gave him rang his bell.

“You bastard!” She tried to hit him again, but he grabbed her wrist. Of course, it didn’t stop her mouth. “How could you do that to me? To both of us? Or are you one of those beer-swigging jocks who likes a little twin action?” Her other hand cracked him across the opposite cheek. “Pervert!”

“Dammit, Faith!” He grabbed her hand. “It’s not like that at all.”

She stopped struggling. “Then what is it like, Slate?”

With his breath chugging in and out of his chest and his cheeks burning, his brain refused to give him one explanation that would fix the mess it had gotten him into. So he gave up on it altogether.

“It’s like this.” He jerked her up to the toes of her little red boots.

A surprised puff of air escaped her mouth right before he covered those glittery pink lips with his. Without thinking, he brought her hands too close to his head, and she grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He braced himself, waiting for the pain that was sure to follow. Except instead of yanking, her fingers relaxed, brushing the tips of his ears with a caress so gentle that it made him moan. Her mouth opened, and her lips slid in harmony with his. He released her wrists and spanned her waist, lifting her up to the counter as their tongues finally crossed the threshold and started a lazy waltz.

Her legs encircled his waist and pulled him close, the rigid fly of his Wranglers pressed against the center seam of hers. He tugged open the snaps of her shirt, then slipped a hand inside the gaping hole. With a twist, he unhooked her bra. Her whimper vibrated through his mouth as he filled his hands with the soft flesh of her breasts. She pressed more firmly against his fly, tightening her legs and brushing back and forth until Slate’s knees trembled.

He pulled back from the kiss to catch his breath, but she looked so damned sexy with her head tipped back and her eyes closed and her mouth all parted and glistening, that he couldn’t stay away for long. He gave her another deep kiss as he unhooked the buckle of her belt, flicked open the snap of her jeans, and slid down the zipper. But the jeans were too tight to slip his hand inside.

He had just started to lift her off the counter when the door shook.

“Hey, come on! Give a guy a break, would ya?” Another bang rattled the latch.

“It’s taken!” Slate yelled back, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Slate? Is that you?” Rye Pickett’s voice came through the door.

“Slate’s in there?” Another male voice joined in. “I thought he went home with Hope.”

“I guess not,” Rye replied. “Maybe he’s sick or something. He’s sure been in there a long time, and he don’t sound so good.”

Slate released his breath and dropped his forehead against the top of Faith’s head. “I’m sorry, darlin’. It looks like we’re going to have to finish this later.”

He wasn’t quite prepared for the fist that hit him full in the gut. He wheezed and stumbled back a few steps. “What was that for?”

“Slate? Who are you talkin’ to?” Rye asked.

“What’s going on, guys?” Kenny had joined the growing mob.

“Slate’s in there.”

“By himself?”

“I hope not. Because if he is, he’s gone off his rocker, and it’s too late to get another coach for the season.”

Faith glared at Slate as she zippered her pants and buckled her belt. Her bra proved a little more difficult for her shaky hands.

“Now, darlin’.” He helped her hook the bra back together and would’ve snapped her shirt if she hadn’t jerked away from him. “Don’t go getting your feathers all ruffled. This wasn’t any big deal—”

A high-pitched squeak came out of her mouth, and he held up a hand. “I mean, it was a big deal, but just not a big enough deal to worry about.” Her eyes almost popped
out of her face, now the exact color of the deep red of her plaid blouse.

“Slate?” Harley’s voice came through the door. “Son, are you all right in there?”

“Yes, sir,” he hollered back, when what he really wanted to do was tell them to mind their own damned business and get back to their drinking and crazy line dancing.

“Is someone in there with you?”

Slate walked over to the window and gave it his best effort, but it refused to budge. He sent Faith an apologetic look before he spoke. “As a matter of fact, sir, Hope and I were just having a little conversation.”

“Hope? Hope’s in there with you? Oh, well, in that case, we’ll let you two get back to it.”

“But I have to go real bad, Harley,” Rye grumbled.

“Use a bush, Rye. Hope and Slate need some privacy.”

There was the shuffle of boots, then finally peaceful silence. Slate looked back at Faith, but refused to open his mouth. Not when every time he did something came out that turned her back into a wildcat. Falling back on his old standby, he leaned a shoulder against the stall, crossed his arms, and smiled.

It was a mistake.

With a low growl, Faith lowered her shoulder and hit him square in the solar plexus better than his defensive line. The air whooshed out of him and he crumpled over, a position that gave him a perfect view of those little red boots as they waltzed right out the door.

“Hey, Slate.” Kenny’s square-toed ostrich boots came into view. “I guess you and Hope made up.”