Wicked Nights (4 page)

reenlisting.

Big Petey looked over at him when a commercial came on. “You ready for another?”

He didn’t want to put the man out of business. “If you make it a cola.”

Big Petey also didn’t stock any name-brand sodas. Local gossip alternately claimed he’d outspent his

account with both major distributors or referenced the man’s legendary cheapness. Since the stuff Big Petey

poured was no better or worse than what Cal had drunk in dozens of overseas ports, and had bubbles, Cal

didn’t care which version of the story was true.

Big Petey grabbed the dirty glass and stowed it somewhere beneath the bar. “You’re making me a rich

man, Brennan.”

At least he’d merited a clean glass. Maybe. After all, he couldn’t see exactly where the new glass Big

Petey slapped down on the bar had come from. It was possible his original glass had simply round-tripped.

Big Petey aimed the soda gun in the glass’s general direction and squeezed.

“Drinks taste a whole heck of a lot better with rum.” Big Petey did not have a personal one-beer limit,

and Cal’s choice of beverage was a constant source of amusement for the other man.

“Big Petey makes an excellent point.” The scent of apples and something floral surrounded him as Piper

slid onto the empty barstool beside him, resting her bare arms on the counter.

A big grin creased Big Petey’s face. “If it isn’t our world champion.”

Piper made a face. “I didn’t compete.”

Big Petey grabbed another glass—from the shelf behind him, so definitely clean—and carefully set it

down on a cocktail napkin in front of Piper. Piper also merited a bowl of peanuts. If Cal hadn’t already

known the other man had been nursing a soft spot for Piper, he now had all the proof he needed.

“You’ll always be my champion,” Big Petey said gruffly. “I’d have been sitting here in the bar, watching

you win gold, if you’d gone to the world championships.”

Piper smiled and mimed blowing kisses while admiring an imaginary medal. Cal bet it was indeed gold

in her imagination. Piper had never settled for being anything but the best. He had no idea how she could

handle the constant references to her almost-successes, but she always had a smile when her spot on the

team was mentioned, even if she usually changed the topic immediately. She’d had to drop out after the

accident because, as superhumanly competitive as Piper was, even she couldn’t force her knee to heal fast

enough for the world championships.

Sure enough, she pointed to Cal’s glass and deflected Big Petey’s interest in her diving dreams. “I’ll

have what he’s having.”

Big Petey huffed. “Jack and cola. Coming right up.”

Piper snagged a handful of peanuts. “Cal here is predictable. He’s downing straight-up soda, and we all

know it.”

He wasn’t that predictable. Was he? He turned on his stool and reached in to steal a handful of peanuts

from Piper. And...wow. She hadn’t been wearing that dress earlier. In fact, he was certain he’d never seen

her sleeveless mint-green number before. Little stripes covered the fabric, making him want to look closer,

or maybe it was the woman in the dress. The thing had a neck high enough to pass muster with the most

conservative of audiences—apparently he’d seen all he was seeing today of Piper’s breasts—but a dearth of

fabric south of her butt, stopping a good two inches above her bare knees. She wore a pair of those sandals

with laces that wrapped around her ankles and calves and made him think about unwrapping. Piper dressed

up was dangerous.

She tugged the peanut bowl out of his reach. “Those are mine.”

Her eyes laughed at him, so he snagged a second handful.

“You bet. That’s what makes them taste so good.”

“You don’t change.” She sighed dramatically and then raised her glass in the air. “Cheers.”

“Right back at you.” He clinked his glass against hers. For a few minutes, they nursed their drinks

companionably while the home team struck out on the television.

Daeg slid between them, depositing two empty bottles on the bar. “Wow. Now, here’s a sight you don’t

see every day. There’s only twelve inches between the two of you, and no one’s fighting.”

“We don’t fight all the time,” Piper protested. “And you just took up all the space anyhow.”

Daeg eyed the peanuts and she nudged the bowl toward him. “Consider it a public service,” he said.

“Hey,” Cal protested at the peanut move. “You’re discriminating.”

Piper flashed him a grin as Big Petey swapped out Daeg’s empties. “You bet.”

“We get along.” Right. Like cats and dogs, oil and water...he could trot out every hackneyed, clichéd

comparison and they’d all be accurate. He and Piper fought. Sparred. Lived to one-up each other.

Piper swiveled on her stool, her knee brushing his thigh. He did his best to ignore the small contact.

“Sometimes.” Daeg raised his bottle to Piper. “Cheers. But most of the time, the two of you are either

fighting or daring each other to do stupid crap. I grew up here, too. I know exactly what the two of you got

up to.”

Piper shrugged modestly. “What can I say? Cal here is suggestible.”

“Someone here is also a sucker for crazy dares,” Cal pointed out.

Piper had never met a dare she wouldn’t take. She’d done all sorts of crazy things over the years. She’d

gone cliff jumping at midnight (which was when he’d discovered his calling as a rescue swimmer). Ridden

in a string bikini printed with the American flag down the boardwalk on the back of his Harley (one of his

all-time favorite memories). She’d engaged in a very failed attempt at bison tipping, after arguing that the

island’s bison and cows were more or less interchangeable, and had instead discovered that bison patties

stank to high heaven. She’d made him buy her a pair of new sneakers after that one, which he’d thought

was fair.

Her grin lit up her face. “You should take more chances.”

Over his dead body. “And you’re going to kill yourself one of these days.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Her hand rubbed the scar on her knee self-consciously. They didn’t

talk about the Jet Ski accident that had put an end to her diving career. She’d come far too close to dying.

Fortunately, he’d completed emergency medical training as part of his rescue-swimmer education. After

he’d saved her, he’d staunched the bleeding and thanked God a major artery had been missed. The crystal

clear water of Discovery Island had looked like a bad shark attack had occurred that day.

“You up for a game of pool?” She practically jumped off the barstool as she made her getaway.

Daeg looked at him. “Nice going, asshole. Now, go make it up to her.”

“By letting her win?”

Cal collected their glasses. He debated grabbing the peanuts, too, but he wasn’t a waiter and Piper was

already marching across the bar toward the pool tables in the backroom. She clearly expected him to follow,

and he felt guilty enough for bringing up bad memories to indulge her.

Daeg shook his head. “No one
lets
Piper do anything. She just does it. She’ll win fair and square on her

own.”

That was true, too. He followed her while he chewed on that one.

The bar’s pool table setup was ad hoc at best. Big Petey had gone for the more-is-better approach and

shoehorned two pool tables into a space meant for one. The proximity didn’t leave a whole lot of room to

maneuver.

Piper grabbed a cue stick from the rack on the wall, inspected the tip and leaned her hip against the

table. She was good at looking confident. He’d give her that.

“Perfect. You’re in,” she said when he stepped into the room.

“Piper.” Her name came out as a growl.

“Watch,” Daeg said to Tag. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to resist the promise of a free show. “I’m

predicting another crazy bet.”

“Twenty bucks,” Cal said, knowing she wanted something more than his cash. She probably would

negotiate for his shaving his head bald or singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” in a monkey suit when the

cruise ship docked, or any other embarrassing trick she could dream up.

“As if.” She waved a hand. “I don’t play for peanuts. Make it a hundred.”

They didn’t usually play for cash, but Piper couldn’t be making bank at the dive shop. She’d also

bought in and owned part of the place, which had probably left her cash poor. Since he had plenty of cash,

he was happy to share with her. It would mean losing intentionally, but as long as he made it look

good...making sure Piper was fed and happy was worth it. Despite the way they constantly butted heads,

he’d never wanted her upset or miserable.

“Ladies first.”

She rolled her eyes. “Way to set yourself up for the loss.”

He’d played her more times than he could count. Hell. He’d
taught
her to play. She was good, but he

was better. He handed their drinks to Daeg and racked the balls.

She tugged on her ear and bent over the table. He’d seen her make the lucky gesture countless times on

the diving platform, right before she hurtled through the air and ripped her entry. It must have worked,

because she broke straight on, the balls scattering.

When the five ball rolled into the pocket, she straightened up. “Stripes. My favorite. It must be my lucky

night.”

* * *

and lonely, though, going more than a little stir-crazy out at her place alone, so she’d hopped into her truck.

Possibly, she’d headed here because she was almost certain to find Cal nursing a soda if he was at loose

ends. Needling him was pure fun, plus the man seriously begged for a shaking up. Mr. Safety lived and

played by the rules.

Growing up, their crazy bets had been a regular summer occurrence. She’d come out to Discovery

Island and spend two months indulging in soft-serve ice cream, motorboat rides—and daring Cal. Even

then, before he’d become a U.S. Navy rescue swimmer and moved on to rescuing the more deserving than

she, he’d wanted to save her from herself.

She’d always been the bigger daredevil of the two of them. He’d rise to the occasion, but invariably

remained so serious during the execution of their bets. He was a good sport when he lost, too, although he

never lost by nearly as much as she wanted him to. Cal excelled at strategic thinking and, once he was in, he

was all in.

She looked over at him, taking his measure. He didn’t look worried about their current bet. “You

remember the last time we played pool?”

“Four years ago?” He sounded certain.

“The game that ended with you skinny-dipping in the mayor’s pool?”

He hadn’t expected to lose that particular game of pool, but he’d walked the four blocks to the mayor’s

house, with her tagging along. Then he’d hopped the fence, lent her a hand as she scrambled over the top,

awkwardly because her knee had been a hot mess, and proceeded to nonchalantly strip off. Good times.

She’d give Cal credit. He always kept his word.

“Some things are hard to forget,” he agreed.

She wondered if now was the time to admit she’d snapped not one but six pictures of his amazing butt

as he’d jumped into the pool. She’d hung on to those pictures, too, although she planned on claiming they

were blackmail material.

Like them all, he was a little older now, but she’d bet he still looked spectacular naked. When she’d

walked into the bar, he’d been staring at his empty soda glass, lost in thought. The scruff on his jaw and the

faded pair of blue jeans and polo shirt weren’t military issue, but there was no mistaking him for anything

but a soldier. He’d also looked alone somehow, even in the middle of the bar’s cheerful chaos, and that

wasn’t right. Sliding onto the stool beside him had seemed natural.

Imagine that.

While she and Cal had never been enemies, they’d never been close friends, either. Between competing

to one-up each other and his annoying insistence he knew best, they’d been at odds more often than not,

and the days of simply hanging out together had ended with her family vacations. He’d joined the U.S.

Navy; she’d gone to college and been headed for a professional diving career. All of which meant they’d

met up infrequently in the past few years. And yet...it certainly hadn’t escaped
her
attention that they

invariably rubbed each other the wrong way when they shared air space.

Grasping the base of the cue with her right hand, she rested the stick on the edge of the table. “You

might want to back up. Bodily injury isn’t on tonight’s agenda.”

“Thank God,” Daeg muttered behind them and took a drink of what she was fairly certain was her soda.

Spreading her legs slightly, she leaned in and lined up the tip against the cue ball. “Three ball.”

Take that.
Her shot produced a smooth, fast line to the ball, and it dropped into the pocket with a

satisfying thud.

“Seven ball.” This time, it took a softer touch to send the ball into the pocket.