Anything but Love (Wingmen #3) Read online

  “I told you to leave her alone.”

  I feel a sharp impact on my lower back, too close to my kidney. “Fuck.”

  That’s it. I’m done being nice. Turning around, I straighten up and roll my shoulders. I swing and make contact with his nose. A satisfying crunch rewards me.

  “No fighting!” The bartender waves his arms to catch our attention.

  Blood begins to seep out of Damien’s nose. His eyes go wide like a bull in the ring seeing only red.

  When he charges me again, his girlfriend steps between us. “Stop!”

  I step back and hold my hands up. “Tell him that. I’m innocent. Your boyfriend started the whole thing.”

  She glares at me, one palm on his chest and a finger pointing at me. “You broke his nose. I can’t believe you broke his nose.”

  I grab the bar towel and shove it at them. “Here.”

  Staring at it like it’s filthy, he doesn’t touch the towel. From the stench of bleach, it’s probably the most sterile thing in the place. Instead, he pinches his nose and mumbles some impressive curses at me.

  “Fine. Bleed all over your shirt and her dress. Just trying to help.” Annoyance coats my words.

  Girlfriend looks down. “Shit. This is silk.”

  “Your charming boyfriend doesn’t seem too concerned. Maybe you need to develop better taste in men.”

  “Screw you.” She spits out the words like she’s a badass.

  “Now, now, language.” I smirk at her. “But if that’s an offer, keep it on the down low. We don’t want to rile up your man again, forcing me to kick his ass.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” Damien mutters. “She’s way out of your league.”

  I take a step in his direction and he flinches. With my eyes on her, I slowly speak, emphasizing each word, “I’m. Not. Interested.”

  After scooping out a couple more bills, I leave them on the bar before lifting the tray.

  A cold, damp something hits me in the side of the head as I walk back to my brother. The bar towel lands on my shoulder before sliding to the floor. “If you’re going to throw wet things at me, sugar, make them something interesting. Like your panties.”

  My shit-eating grin is followed by my middle finger to them both.

  “Where’d you go for shots? Washington?” Carter asks when I set the tray down on the table. One hand reaches for a shot, the other rests firmly on the ass of the redhead.

  “Shut up.” I swallow another shot, finally feeling the effects of the earlier tequila.

  “Want to do a body shot?” One of the blondes from the dance floor grabs my forearm while raising the small saltshaker.

  I nod. She licks my arm near the inside of my elbow and sprinkles salt on the wet skin. When she pushes a lime toward my lips, I oblige her and open my mouth. There’s a lot of wiggling and showing off while she licks the salt, lifts the shot glass using only her mouth, and shakes her hair around her shoulders.

  She leans in to remove the lime, draping her forearms over my shoulders. Her cloud of sweet, fruity perfume and tequila invades my space. She smells like a too sugary strawberry margarita.

  I’m aware she’s still about six inches from my face and the lime is gone. Her eyes try to focus on my lips, the universal signal she’s thinking about kissing me.

  All I have to do is tilt my body forward and I know she’ll meet me in the middle.

  She’s cute, nothing extraordinary. Natural boobs, nice mouth, and willing. What more does a guy on vacation in Mexico need?

  I make the inches between us disappear. Her mouth connects with mine, the taste of tequila still fresh as she sucks my tongue like a lime.

  The kiss is sloppy and desperate. Vacation hook ups should be fun. No one wants to end up clinging to a door in a freezing ocean.

  Most of the time I confidently ignore the iceberg warnings. This kiss feels like I’m her last hope. In this situation, I’m the door. Not Leonardo DiCaprio.

  I don’t need or want a clinger.

  Not tonight. Not ever.

  I’ve watched too many of my friends get tangled up in relationships, losing themselves inside the velvety, pink cage. Not for me.

  I slow down the kiss and give her a final peck before gently removing her arms from my shoulders.

  With a slow, sly grin, I brush my thumb over her lips. “Thanks for the kiss.”

  I’m always polite, if not honest.

  She rocks back on her heels, lust dancing in her eyes. I reach around her to pick up a shot glass. Her lips part in anticipation of the lime.

  Evident by her frown, she’s disappointed when I down the shot and shove the lime in my own mouth.

  “That’s not how body shots work.” Her glossy lips pout and she sways on her feet.

  Even if I were interested in her, I’m pretty sure she’s past the point of being sober enough to say yes, and mean it. Hooking up with tipsy, uninhibited girls is one of my favorite things. I don’t cross the line when balance and speech are lost. The woman in front of me is about to cross those lines.

  She wobbles on her heels again, clutching my arm for balance before she loses her grip and slips to the floor, giggling all the way down.

  Yep, she’s on the far side of drunk.

  I lift her and her skirt rides up her thighs, revealing a lack of any underwear. She seems unaware she’s flashing everyone. Being as subtle as I can, I lower the fabric. My hands on her thighs encourage her to kiss me again. I keep my mouth clamped shut.

  I try to catch Carter’s attention to give him our SOS signal. He’s completely absorbed with making out with the redhead.

  Realizing I need another out, I shift my girl in front of me to face her friends. With a gentle shove, I propel her in their direction. She teeters on her heels. For a moment I think she’s going to face-plant before she recovers and stumbles into her veiled friend’s side. Their giggling resumes while I plot my escape.

  The rest of the girls are still dancing, leaving me with the clinger, the bride, and the girl currently stroking my brother through his shorts.

  I don’t need to see that.

  Drinking my beer, I scan the bar for other options. My attention lands on purple tips standing alone at the bar. Her boyfriend is no longer next to her.

  She’s glaring at me.

  Now what did I do?

  With my best cheesy grin plastered on my face, I wave at her.

  She flips me off. Giving people the bird appears to be her signature move.

  Perfect ass or not, the girl is a nightmare.

  Deciding to give up for the night, I tap Carter on the shoulder. He breaks away from his ginger with an audible slurping sound.

  “I’m heading back to the resort.”

  “So early?” His lips are covered in sparkling pink gloss. “Throwing in the towel?”

  I flinch at the word towel. Guess he missed my almost bar fight. I nod. “Yeah, not feeling it.”

  “I get you.” He slaps me on my upper arm. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  When the girls realize I’m saying goodnight, I’m practically tackled to the ground. My body has seen a lot of action tonight, and most of it not good. I’m going to have a bruise on my jaw for sure. I promise I’ll be around tomorrow night as I back my way out of the club.

  Standing in the open doorway, I allow myself one last glance over to the bar. Spying green eyes and dark hair dipped in purple, I raise my middle finger in a salute off my forehead. I don’t even try to hide my “your loss” grin.

  Smirking over our single finger exchanges, I turn to step outside and walk right into another guy.

  “Guess you didn’t learn your lesson the first time,” the biggest asshole in Mexico growls at me before yanking me outside.

  JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH, and their donkey, this guy won’t ever stop.

  He shoves me against the stucco of the building, trying to press his arm against my throat.

  “Listen, dude, I don’t want to fight you. I’m not interested in
your woman. If she’s with you, I’m not her type. I mean, look at us.” I let go of his shoulder and point at myself, starting with my beard and ending at my flip-flops.

  “Right. Why would she want a loser like you? You’re probably some poser-wannabe lumbersexual. She’s a slut, but I doubt she’d stoop as low as you.”

  Oh, no he did not call her a slut.

  Wait, did he call me a lumbersexual?

  Fuck that.

  I inhale and exhale nice and slow. On the outside I appear calm and collected right before I use my left leg to swipe him off balance enough to reverse our positions. “I don’t want to fight you.”

  “Pussy.”

  “Why is that an insult? You say the word like it’s a bad thing. Isn’t pussy the whole reason you keep trying to kick my ass? You think I’m trying to steal yours. Or at least the one not attached to your body.”

  He blinks at my response to his insult. The gold from his fancy watch glimmers in the streetlight when he pulls his arm back to throw a left hook.

  I see I’ve confused him with logic. My hand grabs his fist, but I miss his punch from the right. His aim is off and it hits my shoulder.

  “Damn it. You don’t listen.” I clutch the front of his shirt and lift him up on his toes.

  “Buenas noches, amigos.” Two men in shiny, fresh police uniforms flank us.

  “Great, just great,” I mumble and give them a smile. “Buenas noches, señors.”

  My Spanish sucks, but I understand enough to know they want to bring us down to the station for fighting in the street. In other words, they wanted a bribe.

  We need to cool it and pay them off.

  I speak under my breath so the “officers” can’t understand me. “We’re going to need to give them some cash. How much do you have on you?”

  “I’m not giving them any money. They can’t arrest us.”

  I close my eyes to this idiot. “They can and they will. It’s Mexico. They can do whatever they want. Make up charges. Throw our asses in jail overnight. I really don’t want to spend the night in a Mexican jail. Cough up some pesos.” I push off his shoulder and smile at our new friends.

  If anyone is watching, I look happy to see them. “Hola, mi amigos. Sorry for the trouble. How about we settle this here? No need to trouble you by making you take us to the police station.” The entire speech, my smile never falters. I’m about to start giving out friendly back slaps and fist bumps like this is the best night ever.

  It’s not the best night ever.

  It’s right up there with prom when my date threw up Bacardi Breezers all over my rented tux, then passed out before I could get to second base.

  The uniformed guys, I doubt they’re even real cops, speak to each other in rapid Spanish for a minute before nodding in agreement.

  “We appreciate avoiding unnecessary paperwork. Thirty-six hundred peso a piece will cover the fine for fighting.”

  Damien balks and mutters, “No way.”

  I elbow him. “That number is more than we have in our wallets. How about twenty a piece? Are US dollars okay?” I know they prefer American money.

  “Now you insult us.” More Spanish follows this along with several hand-gestures I’m confident mean “stupid gringos.” “We cannot accept anything less than fifty dollars. A piece. Or we will have to file the paperwork at the station.”

  I know I have the money in my wallet, but it’s more than I want to pay to get rid of this asshole.

  “Fifty American. Total. And we’ll never trouble you again?” I hold out my hand to shake on it.

  A silent conversation passes between them. “Okay.”

  “Give the nice men twenty-five dollars, Damien.” I keep my eyes on the officers. When he doesn’t react, I stare at him. “Come on, it’s twenty-five bucks.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not paying a bribe.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I mumble.

  I pull a twenty and a ten from my wallet, careful to hide the rest of the bills. “I have thirty. That should cover me, right?”

  “We decided on fifty. We cannot accept thirty.”

  “Thirty is for me. You can ask my friend for the other twenty.”

  Damien bristles over the word “friend” but doesn’t budge.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” a female voice asks from behind me. “Damien?”

  “Nothing, Cari.” He makes the chest-puffing pose again. “Go find us a taxi.”

  “You cannot leave, sir, without taking care of the charges.” The rounder, shorter officer steps forward. He plays his role well.

  “What charges?” she asks. “What happened?”

  “Your friends were fighting in the street.”

  Sighing, she crosses her arms over her chest. “How much?”

  “The nice policemen lowered the fine to fifty dollars,” I explain.

  “Fifty? Then just pay it.” Her familiar glare is aimed at her boyfriend.

  “No.”

  “You have the money! Fifty is nothing! Pay him.”

  “It’s the principle.”

  “It’s Mexico!” She lifts her arms in exasperation. When Damien doesn’t budge, she sighs and reaches into her little purse. “Fifty a piece?”

  “No, total. Give me a twenty and we’ll be good.” I hold up my bills.

  “Twenty dollars? Oh, for the love of Brando, I can’t believe it.” She stuffs a twenty into my hand.

  “Gracias.” I neatly organize the dollars and pass them to the officers.

  “Buenas noches.” They disappear into the crowd.

  “Have a nice time hating the rest of your lives.” I walk away from the couple from hell.

  Good-bye and good riddance.

  “CARTER. CLOSE THE damn blinds.” Blazing light bleeds through my eyelids. Guess no one closed the curtains last night. I roll over and stuff the pillow over my head, making a cave of darkness.

  I wait to hear the slap of Carter’s feet on the tile floor. Nothing.

  “Carter, come on, man. Your bed is closer.” Cursing, I flip on my back.

  “Dude?” I peel open one eye.

  His bed is neatly made, obviously unused from last night. No way would he bother fluffing his own pillows.

  How did I miss him not coming home?

  If he’s not here, where is he?

  I replay the night and a top-heavy redhead comes to mind.

  Right.

  Good for you, big brother.

  I grumble and slide out of the sheets. After closing the curtains, I stumble into the bathroom for a piss.

  Pretty sure I’m still drunk from last night. Or tipsy.

  Tequila has staying power. At least if you drink enough of it.

  A slow throb begins in my temple. A bruise colors my jaw. My eyes burn from sleeping in my contacts all night.

  “Hair of the dog,” I mumble to myself. “There’s probably a reason it’s called a tequila sunrise, right?”

  I change my contacts and splash water on my face. Staring at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror, I run a hand through my sandy hair, trying to remember the last time I had a real shower, with soap. I used the outdoor shower by the pool yesterday after paddleboarding and swimming. That counts.

  Ah, the pool.

  A nice morning cocktail and a nap by the pool is what I need.

  Assuming Carter has his room key, I throw on my board shorts and grab a T-shirt out of my suitcase on the floor. I sniff it and it doesn’t make me recoil, so it must be clean. Pulling it over my head and down my stomach, I search around for my flip-flops and room key. No need for ID or my wallet. I double-check my wristband is still in place. When Carter suggested an all-inclusive resort, I’d scoffed, but damn, it’s one of the better ideas he’s ever had.

  The pool area is relatively quiet. A light breeze rustles the palm trees. Perfect.

  I chose a lounge chair under an umbrella. My nose is starting to peel from the burn I got our first day. Even with my sunglasses, the sun stings my eyes, intensi
fying the throbbing in my forehead. I feel like I could incinerate in direct sunlight like a vampire.

  Waving over a hotel employee, I order a drink. No such thing as too early when you’re on vacation.

  I close my eyes and recline against the lounger while I wait.

  Once I’m holding my tequila sunrise, I look around the area. A couple of girls are sunbathing and two little kids play in the shallow beach area of the pool. At least they’re laughing and not screeching. For now. I’m not sure if my headache can handle the piercing sounds of children.

  Their mom is a total MILF, or maybe she’s the nanny.

  She catches me staring.

  I raise my plastic cup in her direction. Given her shy, surprised smile, I’m going with her being a mom. Her one-piece probably hides her pregnancy stretch marks.

  I’m guessing I just made her day. A hot guy like me staring at her? Hell, I just made her week.

  “Dude, I need one of those.” Carter flops face down on the lounger next to me, still wearing last night’s clothes.

  “You smell like you showered in beer and women’s perfume.”

  He flips me off without lifting his head. Grumbling, he peels open one eye. “Why am I not wearing sunglasses right now?”

  “Because when you went out last night, it was dark out?”

  “I should’ve planned ahead. I’m a grown-ass, almost thirty-year-old man.” He closes his eye and makes a grabbing gesture in my general direction. “Give me yours.”

  “No way. I’m not the dumbass.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my birthday. You should give me your glasses as a present.” Squinting at me, he rolls over and leans up on his elbows.

  “Your birthday is next week.”

  “Asshole.” He shifts and picks up my drink instead, draining it in one long gulp.

  “You owe me a drink.” I wave over the waiter.

  “Good thing they’re free.” He adjusts the back of his chair and shelters his eyes with one of his hands. “Nice MILF staring at us from nine o’clock.”