Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

“My computer’s in there.”

I shrugged. Get in and I won’t have to do the same with you.

“If there’s somewhere else—”

I shook my head and gave her that Come on nod again.

She just kept standing there, staring at me. I was starting to think I actually would have to pick her up and put her in the truck when she sort of fell into me. Her arms squeezed tight around my ribs. My eyes watered and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from jerking away.

I must’ve made some kind of sound, or maybe Desty remembered on her own, because she jumped back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, but I probably didn’t look too convincing.

“It just seems like forever since anyone—” Her bottom lip started shaking. “—since—” She tried looking up at the sky. “—since anyone—” But she couldn’t hold it in. She started crying.

Shit.

I don’t know if it’s the same way for other guys, but I have this problem with crying girls. One of the only things I learned from Dad before Kathan killed him was that it’s a man’s job to protect women. So, if a girl near me bursts into tears, it doesn’t just make me uncomfortable, it makes me feel like I screwed up, like I should’ve been protecting her from whatever made her cry.

I kept my left arm squeezed against the pain in my side like some kind of broken wing and hugged Desty with my right. She didn’t make a lot of noise when she cried, but her whole body shook. I rubbed her back. Damn, she was soft. And the material of her t-shirt was so smooth that it kept snagging on my hands.

It didn’t seem like hugging her was helping anything and I really, really didn’t want her to keep crying. So I did the only other thing I know that makes girls feel better—pulled Desty square with my chest and started kissing her cheeks. They tasted like salt, but it was good salt, and underneath she tasted like skin, which was even better.

Ryder always said I wasn’t good for anything other than music, but he was wrong. You can get good at anything if you practice enough. If Mitzi had called me in just once a night while she and Jason were my protectors, I would’ve had sex more than twenty-one hundred times. Thing was, Mitzi burned way too hot for one-and-done, so for the last five years I’d been running the equivalent of two- and three-a-days. Practice, practice, practice—then nothing but my right hand for more than a month.

When Desty started kissing me back, I went a little crazy, pushed her back against the truck and unbuttoned her shorts. There was a sleeping bag behind the seat, a condom in my back pocket, nothing but a spare tire in the bed. I could throw the sleeping bag down in the back and make her forget why she was crying for a little while. Or the bench seat in the cab was plenty big if she wanted air conditioning. Hell, when you got right down to it, she could throw her legs up around my waist and we could use the fender for leverage. That security light would shut off after a while and I was sure I could fight through the rib pain. I was even fine with not using a condom if she didn’t want to pause to get one on. I’d pull out—whatever she wanted—just so I could come with someone again. I traced the waistband of her underwear around her hip.

Let’s work off some of that room and board.

I jerked away from her so fast our lips made a popping sound.

“Did I hurt you again?” she asked.

I shook my head. Whipped off my John Deere hat and rubbed my face with both hands.

Shit, shit, shit. I took a deep breath, then blew it back out. The spike in my rib helped clear out my brain some. Another breath to make sure it hurt enough. I really just thought that. Who the hell am I—Mitzi?

“You were just being so nice to me.” Desty re-buttoned her shorts. She wouldn’t look at me. “I thought you wanted…”

Dammit, Desty, one of us thinking that I’m the guy who’d make you fuck me for a place to sleep is already too many.

I pulled my hat back on and nodded toward the truck, hoping she would just get in and let me figure this out.

She climbed up and shut the door. I punched the fender as hard as I could.

Desty didn’t say anything the whole ride back to the house. It was driving me crazy that I couldn’t just tell her I started out wanting to make her feel better and things got out of hand. I would’ve given a whole lot to be able to talk right then or to be able to ignore whatever faulty wiring passes for my conscience.

***

I had hoped Jax would be playing video games when we got there—he was pretty good at putting people at ease—but the place was quiet. Either he was across town doing some emergency photographic-recall for the Witches’ Council, or him and Harper were in bed.

I put Desty’s backpack over my shoulder and headed upstairs. She followed along behind me, not saying anything. That got me—if I was the kind of dick who would take advantage of a girl who needed a place to stay, then Desty was the kind of girl who’d let me. Between that and knowing I was going to see Colt with Mikal again tomorrow, my last nerve was stretched pretty tight.

“You must give me the Holy Staff to rise to the next level, Warrior.” Harper’s voice was muffled through their bedroom door. “Mm, give me all of it.”

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