Clash(6)

“Hell, yes,” he replied, his smile a dichotomy of peace and conflict.

Every muscle in my body clenched in anticipation. This was it. Finally. The man who’d slept with more women than I cared to know was finally allowing himself to sleep with his girlfriend.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking like he’d bust something if I answered in the negative.

“I’ve been so sure I went on the pill the week after we got back together,” I said, sliding up and down over his lap. He groaned again, his head falling back against the seat. “Are you sure?” I asked, moving a bit faster to sway his response.

“Luce, I’ve been so sure I went and got tested and have been carrying this rubber around in my back pocket since the day we got back together,” he said, grinning that tortured kind at me.

I formed my hands around his face, tracing the scar that ran down the length of his cheek with my thumb. This man was everything I wanted‌—‌in every way a woman could want a man‌—‌and at last, I could have him the last way I hadn’t.

“I love you, Jude,” I said. Because that was all there was left to say.

The lines of his forehead ironed out. “And that makes me the luckiest bastard in the world.”

I smiled at him. “Come here,” I said, holding his face while lowering my mouth to his. “I want to know how the luckiest bastard in the world makes love.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said before fitting his lips to mine.

His hands had just found their way to the button of my jeans when a blinding set of headlights exploded into the cab.

I groaned, covering my eyes with my forearm when the driver flicked the truck’s brights on.

“Shit,” Jude cursed, looking over his shoulder.

The truck door exploded open, followed by some male hooting and hollering.

“Expecting company?” I sighed, covering myself with my other arm as I worked my way off of his lap. It was painful, separating myself from that what-could-have-been.

“Not exactly,” he replied, folding himself over my lap and grabbing my sweater. Lifting it over my head, he pulled it on, holding each arm for me as I worked each arm in. The sweater felt scratchier than it had five minutes ago.

Jude had just lifted his zipper when someone threw themselves against the driver side door.

“Ryder, man!” one of Jude’s teammates hollered through the pane of glass, appraising the two of us. “You getting your freak on with this fine minx?” Looking at me, Jude’s teammate wagged his brows. “You lucky bastard.”

Looking my way, Jude smirked at me. “Told you.”



A fire crackled at my feet, the stars blinked above me, Jude’s arms held me tight against him, and the sound of an entire college football team belching their way through “Hey Jude” serenaded me.

“I can’t believe this big night I thought you’d planned for us also involved more than fifty football players,” I said, tilting my head back against Jude’s chest so he could see my expression.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, kissing the lines of my forehead. “I thought we’d have a couple hours to ourselves before these animals showed up.”

A couple hours? I would have settled for, oh, about fifteen minutes.

The belching chorus came to an inconclusive ending, the temporary silence only to be interrupted by a chorus of flatulence. I groaned, closing my eyes and pinching my nose.

“Man, that was lame, Ryder.” Tony’s, Jude’s number one wide receiver, unmistakable voice hollered across the campfire. “If I was trying to win a girl back, there’s no way I’d go through the whole effort of bribing her roommate to get her to some mixer so I could have the DJ serenade her with some suckass oldies song why I professed my undying love to her.”

I opened my eyes so I could deliver a glare through the fire at Tony. I loved the guy, his infectious character was impossible not to, most days. This wasn’t one of those days.

“I’d just go up to her and be like, ‘Hey, baby. How’s it going?’ You know, something real suave like that?” Tony smiled like the devil at me.

“Tony,” Jude spoke up, curling his chin over my shoulder, “when was the last time you got one of your old girlfriends to take your sorry ass back?”

Tony’s face scrunched up in contemplation. Shrugging, he answered, “Never.”

“Exactly,” Jude said, lifting his middle finger at him.

My arms were tucked tight into the blanket Jude had wrapped me in earlier, so when he lowered his finger, I nudged him. “One more for me.”

Tony got the bird from Jude again, this one compliments of Lucy Larson.