Lead Me On

SO FAR, EVERYONE had treated the subject of the video as if it was no big deal, and that gave Margot quite the shot of joy. Why had she even been worried? They were all way past college mischief.

But she couldn’t ignore how some of the brothers, as well as Brad, kept glancing over at Clint. Even if they weren’t teasing her about that video, it was on everyone’s mind.

Just one more reason to avoid him.

She’d actually been working up to telling Brad about her basket for the past hour, but things were still a little haven’t-seen-you-in-a-long-time tense between them. Still, he hadn’t dropped any hints about having a girlfriend or anything.

So why not go forward?

She ran a gaze from his wavy dark brown hair to his smile. He’d always reminded her of Ben Affleck but much less cocksure...unlike another person she could name.

But she wasn’t going to think of Kid Quick-Trigger on the other side of the room, in his booth, drinking whiskey. Mr. I’m-So-Cool-in-a-Cowboy-Hat. Señor Slick. She’d been telling herself to ignore Clint Barrows over and over, but this time she meant it.

Brad set his beer down on the bar. It was still half-full. “It really is good to see you, Margot.”

Did she hear a “but...” in there somewhere?

“I liked seeing you, too,” she said. “Catching up has been nice.”

Was nice the word for the conversation they’d been having about running a dairy farm?

Then again, was her auction basket all about the art of conversation?

He fiddled with his beer mug for a moment, then said, “Some of us are getting up early tomorrow to go fishing. Don’t ask me why we torture ourselves like this.”

“Why do you?” She smiled, hoping to get past this semi-awkward stage and right to the basket.

“Because that’s what we used to do,” he said. “Fish. Golf. Be sportsmen.” He checked his silver watch, then got out his wallet to pay the bar tab. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the homecoming pregame kegger?”

He was...leaving?

Margot’s Girl Survival Mode kicked into gear, telling her this was a bad time to blurt out that, hey, she’d really like to spend some private, quality sex time with him, and by the way, here’s what her basket would look like tomorrow evening at the auction, because she really, truly thought they could have quite the reunion all by themselves.

One more adventure, right?

But, ever since she’d gotten the news from her publisher, she’d started to wonder if, after college, she had set out to have adventures on her own only because experiences filled a hole that’d been put there by never having a true home. Had she been trying to find one by going from place to place, person to person, just as her parents had before they’d passed on eight years ago?

And...her parents. It’s not like they’d taught her about a whole lot besides “loving life” and “smelling the roses along the primrose path.” Sometimes, she even wondered if they’d loved her half as much as all their pleasure-seeking activities. One time, they had even turned a room in the two-bedroom house they’d been renting into an art studio for their projects, and she’d had to sleep on the couch. She’d been eight.

The thoughts dogged her, even as she started to get the vibe that things weren’t gelling with Brad.

He rested a companionable hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, then started to leave the bar. “See you later, Marg.”

As he left, she tried not to let hurt set in. She was usually much better at this, distancing herself before anyone could do it to her first.

She just sat there as he disappeared, wondering why Brad’s attitude didn’t hurt more.

She decided to go, too, and she thought she felt Clint’s gaze tracking her out the door. Then it occurred to her... Even though Brad hadn’t teased her about the video, had it made him look at her differently?

As used goods, viewed by hundreds of people sitting in front of a computer?

It didn’t matter anyway, because she’d blown her chance to tell Brad about her basket so he could bid on it.

On her way into the lobby, she came to a dead stop. What was with her? She’d always taken charge. It was what a single girl did.

At least, the type she used to be.

Full of determination, she went to the reception desk, asked for paper and an envelope, then scribbled a note, since the clerk wouldn’t release a room number that she could call.

Brad,

I didn’t get the chance to broach the subject, but I’d love to get together before the weekend’s over. If you’re interested, you could always bid on the basket with the silver and gold stars attached to the handle. It might bring back a few adventurous memories...or make a few new ones.

It wasn’t like her to hesitate, but she definitely did when she reread that last part.

Ah, screw it. Adventure!

She signed her name, stuffed the note into the hotel envelope, then generously tipped the concierge and asked him to deliver it to Brad. She liked this much more mysterious way to approach him rather than just calling him up. It was part of the basket’s seduction.

Feeling much better, she took a detour outside to the parking lot, to her Prius, where her bags were still in the trunk. She had arrived before her room was ready and met Leigh and Dani right after checking in.

The night was mid-October-crisp, with the scent of wood smoke in the air. Avila Grande, home of Cal-U, was near Route 99, and she could hear the faint swish of cars traveling along it. In high school, she’d loved John Steinbeck’s work—what could she say about the streak of Americana in her?—and when Cal-U had offered her a scholarship for their fledgling English program, she’d snapped it up.

But being here now felt a little lonely, and she tried not to sink into the mire of her thoughts again—the voice of her literary agent telling her that it didn’t look likely that she would be picked up by her publishing house anytime in the near future. She fought back the looming question of where her paychecks would be coming from after her royalties dried up and her savings had been gutted.

This weekend was supposed to be about Dani, but maybe also about thinking of a new direction for herself, right? So why wasn’t she feeling brave?

When she heard boot steps on the pavement, she slammed down her trunk and set her bags on the blacktop. She’d taken Krav Maga, and she was always ready to use it.

“Whoa,” said a familiar male voice that made shivers sweep up and down her skin.

She went tight all over again—in her belly, then lower, until she got a little wet at the sight of a lamp-lit Clint Barrows in that cowboy hat, snug T-shirt and jeans.

Wonderful, faded, leg-hugging jeans....

“I saw you go out of the hotel by yourself,” he said. “It’s not exactly a concrete jungle out here, but it’s dark.”

He’d taken off his hat, the illumination making his hair look golden and so thick that it conjured naughty thoughts about that night all those years ago. Hot, dizzy, breath-stealing thoughts. Her mind went even further, and she pictured him kissing his way down her neck, her chest...lower, until he made his way across her stomach and then...

Her pulse was thudding in all the places she’d just pictured, as if his mouth was actually on her, driving her wild.

“Why’re you really out here?” she asked, cooling herself off, making a show of corralling her luggage—which she did quite easily all on her own. A girl never traveled with more than she could handle.

As she headed back to the hotel, pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked closer to him. He was leaning back against what had to be his truck—a comfortable, beat-up blue Dodge—and he’d rested his hat on top of the cab, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.

“I’m going to tell you my side of the story,” he said. “Maybe not out here, maybe not at the kegger tomorrow, but you’ll know it before the weekend comes to a close. And you’ll know how much I regret what happened.”

The soft rumble of her suitcase wheels went silent as she stopped just past him. “How could you regret it? You’re the one who came off looking like a stud. I came off looking like something...rented.”