Teasing Destiny (Wishing Well, Texas #1) Read online

  “Betcha I can change your mind,” I challenged as she walked away.

  Which did get a reaction out of Destiny, just not the one I had been shooting for. Without even sparing me a glance over her slim shoulder, she lifted her hand and raised her middle finger in my direction. Well, hell. She was flippin’ me the bird.

  As she walked away, my lips turned up in the first real smile that had crossed my face in as long as I could remember. I even had to stop myself from whistling. That girl had one hell of a sexy sway in her drool-inducing giddy-up.

  Damn. Over the last four years, Destiny Porter had filled out in all the right places. My eyes were glued to her full, heart-shaped backside as she double-timed it down the narrow space between the two counters. The rounded globes of her ass cheeks alternated moving up and down as she swung her hips in a mesmerizing sensuality that was one hundred percent unintentional, which made it one hundred percent sexier. My mouth watered, and arousal whipped through me with typhoon force, prompting me to take a seat before my body’s reaction to Destiny’s killer curves became front-page news in the Wishing Well Gazette.

  Booth or counter.

  I weighed my options carefully. Sure, I’d be more comfortable in a booth—but it would be a lot harder for Destiny to ignore me if I was front and center at the lunch counter. What was comfort compared to that? I made sure to choose a spot that was next to the register and equal distance between the coffee pot and the pickup window—the three places Destiny would not be able to avoid for the rest of her shift.

  A sharp, all-too-familiar twinge stung like a bee in my elbow as I rested my arms on the counter and looked at the menu.

  “Jefferson James, how’s the arm, boy?” A deep, baritone voice came from behind me as I felt a slap on my shoulder. My good shoulder, thankfully.

  The booming voice belonged to Sheriff Reed who was the patriarch of the Reed family, one of the three founding families of Wishing Well, which also included my family and the Calhouns. I’d seen Brady, the oldest Calhoun boy, when I’d pulled into the Spoon. He’d peeled out of the lot, burning rubber like a teenager.

  Some idiots never grew up.

  “Feeling good. Thanks for asking. How’s Hud?”

  Hudson Reed was the oldest of the Reed boys and my best friend growing up. I’d lost touch with him when he’d stayed in town and I’d left for college a decade ago.

  “He’s good. He just made deputy.”

  “Hudson’s the law?” I tried not to look too shocked.

  Obviously, people grew up and changed. It was just that, the last time I’d hung out with Hud, we’d smoked enough weed to make Snoop Dogg envious.

  “Yep. Got the promotion last week.” Sherriff Reed’s eyes shone with pride before the subject circled back to my shoulder. “And how’s your PT coming along? Your daddy said you’re doin’ well.”

  “Yes, sir, I am.” I nodded then turned my attention back to the menu, hoping that he would drop the subject.

  My arm, rehab, and baseball were all at the top of my list of things I had no interest in discussing. Unfortunately, they were the only things people seemed to want to discuss these days.

  “Good, that’s good. So when are we gonna see you back up on that mound?” Sheriff Reed asked the question everyone had been asking since that fateful day I felt a snap and my life got turned upside down and inside out and I had felt…relieved. A reaction that I hadn’t shared with another living soul.

  Three months ago, I’d been on the mound, facing NY’s Manuel Morales in the season opener. A searing pain had ripped from my elbow to my shoulder as the ball flew from my hand. After several consultations for second, third, and fourth opinions, it was determined that I would need UCL reconstruction, most commonly known as Tommy John surgery.

  I’d had my surgery ten weeks ago, and no complications had popped up. My rehab was going better than my physical therapist had hoped for. My PT even joked around that I was superhuman, because I was actually coming back stronger than I had been before my injury. Both she and all three physicians that were supervising my case were certain that I would be cleared within a month to return to the game.

  “Hopefully soon.” The soon part was true enough. But the hopefully—well I knew that was a lie as sure as I knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. It was a lie I’d been telling to everyone, including myself.

  Baseball had been my life, my identity, since I was a kid. Now, at twenty-eight, I knew I was too young to blame the fact that I had no interest in returning to the game on a mid-life crisis. Every day I woke up honestly expecting to feel differently. To snap out of it, get my drive, my passion back. I hadn’t.

  “Good, glad to hear it. Will I be seeing you out at your folks’ tonight?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great,” Destiny grumbled quietly under her breath as she passed in front of me, towards the register. It hadn’t been loud enough for the good Sherriff to hear, but I would bet my last dollar she’d had every intention of me picking up on it.

  Her baby blues never turned my direction, but that didn’t mean I missed the irritation that my attendance at my folks’ yearly Third of July extravaganza was causing her. It was written all over her pretty little face.

  While she “ignored me,” my gaze roamed over the slope of her button nose, her long, dark lashes, and her high cheekbones then down the gentle curve of her slender neck. Damn, she’d always been pretty—but, now, she was heartbreakingly beautiful.

  I’d witnessed the exact instant that the shock of my arrival had worn off and morphed into anger. The girl could definitely hold a grudge—no two ways about that. I had to admit that her particular grudge against me was well deserved, so I didn’t blame her. Which was why I was here. It was past time that I make things right with Destiny.

  “How was your lunch, Sheriff?” she asked, her voice strained but pleasant as she stared straight ahead.

  “Great, as always. And what about you, darlin’? Will you be attending tonight?”

  “I’ll be there.” Destiny took Sherriff Reed’s credit card as his phone rang and he answered it.

  My jeans grew uncomfortably tight as Destiny’s thin fingers slid the card in the machine, ripped the paper that had printed out of it, set them both on a tray, and handed it back to the Sherriff with a pen. Shit. Just seeing her cash out a customer had turned me on more than any model—including Playboy, Victoria’s Secret, and Sports Illustrated—I’d been with ever had.

  I had it bad for this girl. And I had since she’d hit puberty, no matter how much I’d tried to ignore it, deny it, or avoid it. Hell, maybe even before then. There’d just always been something about Destiny. A fire—and one that had nothing to do with her golden-red hair—that I was drawn to like a moth to a flame.

  Sheriff Reed disconnected the call and signed his bill. “I better see you out on that dance floor, young lady,” he added with a wink as he tipped his hat towards Destiny, then slapped me once more on the shoulder before leaving.

  “What do you say, Pip? You gonna save me a dance?” I asked over the chimes above the door.

  As was becoming her habit, she ignored me. Did not even acknowledge the fact that I’d spoken as she double-timed it back towards the kitchen. Apparently, my plan to sit at the lunch counter was not as brilliant as I’d thought. Getting back into Destiny’s good graces seemed like it was going to be harder than I’d bargained for, and I had figured it was gonna be damn near impossible.

  “When did ya get into town?” Tami Lynn asked as she set a mug down in front of me and filled it with steaming-hot coffee.

  “About ten minutes ago.”

  The vapor from my cup drifted through the air and I took a good, long breath in to enjoy the aroma. I could definitely use the caffeine, considering I’d driven all night to get there. When my mom had mentioned that Destiny was going to be helping out with the catering, making cupcakes for the party, it’d lit a fire under my ass like nothing else ever had. I’d packed a few th
ings, jumped in my truck, and driven straight from Chicago. No plan. Just attack.

  As much as I could use the pick-me-up, the piping-hot part was less appealing. It had to be well into the low hundreds outside, and at least the high eighties in the diner. Bud, who owned The Greasy Spoon, hated spending money on air conditioning. He was old school and relied on fans, making both his customers and his employees roast through the harsh Texas summers. Which had never bothered me before, but thinking about Destiny suffering through it suddenly didn’t sit right with me.

  “The Spoon was your first stop?” Tami Lynn’s drawn-on eyebrows lifted.

  I nodded, taking a sip of the coffee.

  “You ain’t been out to see your mama yet?” she asked suspiciously as she fanned herself with a menu.

  “No, ma’am.”

  In fact, I hadn’t even told her that I was coming home before I’d hung the phone up on her. She had no idea I was in town. Tunnel vision. That’s what I’d had since the fire had been lit and I’d made the spur-of-the-moment decision to head down here. One thing and one thing only had consumed my mind…

  Melodic laughter filled the room, pulling me out of my inner thoughts. The angelic sound rolled over me like a cool breeze on this swelteringly hot day. My heart skipped a beat as I absorbed Destiny’s laugh like a sponge, soaking it in to my consciousness.

  Damn.

  I’d always thought it was the sweetest sound in the world and it hit me that I hadn’t heard it in far too long. It drew me like a magnet and I looked over just in time to see Destiny’s head fall back, then come forward—her body bending with her hands holding her stomach—as she laughed at something one of her customers had said. The scene was bathed in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the window causing the blonde highlights in her long golden-red hair to shimmer.

  That hair.

  If I closed my eyes, I could still feel her silky hair brushing against my face and my bare shoulders. I could still smell the intoxicating scent of her citrus shampoo. I could still see the strands of red falling over the tan skin of my arm. I’d always had a thing for Destiny’s hair, and when I’d gotten to experience it up close and personal, it had not disappointed.

  “So that’s the reason you ain’t been out to see your mama yet.”

  I shifted my attention back to Tami Lynn. Her arms were crossed, her eyebrows raised and her gaze steady. There was no question in my mind that she was sending me a message, plain as day—that she had my number, and I’d better not forget it.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I wasn’t even going to try to deny it.

  I was back in Wishing Well that weekend for one reason and one reason only—Destiny Rose Porter. I needed to make amends but I knew that she would need some time to adjust to seeing me again. The girl hated surprises as much as she hated being the center of attention. But, I only had forty-eight hours so I was going to have to make the most of every minute.

  This town was small, and gossip traveled faster around there than Twitchy, the squirrel from Hoodwinked. But it didn’t matter who knew that I was here for Destiny. Hell, I would have called a town meeting if I’d thought it would help me get out of the doghouse.

  Tami Lynn’s assessing gaze sliced through me like she had lasers shooting out of her eyes. Punches were one thing she did not pull. She’d always had a knack for cutting right to the chase, and her stare made it clear that, the fact Destiny was the reason I’d hit town and headed straight for the Spoon, did not sit well with her.

  “I’m gonna be watchin’ you like a hawk,” Tami Lynn promised, narrowing her eyes.

  Destiny had kind of been adopted by this town, and the community did not take that responsibility lightly. Her parents were both gone. Destiny’s mom, Jessica, had passed away due to complications during childbirth. At the time her dad had been deployed overseas and tragically never made it back from his final tour to see his daughter. So Dixie Porter, Destiny’s great-grandmother, had raised her since the day she’d brought her home from the hospital.

  As a boy, I remember thinking how pretty Destiny’s mom was. I was only six when she’d passed, so my memory was a little fuzzy. But, from what I remembered, Destiny was the spitting image of her mom. I had only seen pictures of Polly—Destiny’s grandmother, Jessica’s mom, and Dixie’s daughter. Word was she lived in Arizona at an artist’s community—or a cult, depending on who was telling it. She’d moved away when her daughter was six, leaving Jessica with Dixie.

  Dixie Porter was an incredible woman and Destiny definitely took after her great-grandmother.

  When I didn’t answer, Tami Lynn prompted, “You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I did my best to suppress the wide grin that was trying to creep up on my face, but it slipped through anyway.

  It was oddly refreshing to be home, around people who couldn’t care less about my athletic achievements. Not that they weren’t proud of me—they were. But a couple of World Series rings didn’t buy me a lick of goodwill in this town, especially when it came to the town sweetheart.

  Tami Lynn shook her finger at me. “No funny business, JJ, or you’re gonna be lookin’ down the wrong end of Emmitt’s shotgun.”

  A loud, dismissive huff came from behind me, and I turned around to see Destiny cleaning off a booth that had just been vacated. I couldn’t see her face, but I would put money down that she was rolling her eyes. What I could see was her perfect, heart-shaped backside.

  “Damn,” I muttered under my breath.

  I hadn’t meant to. The second I’d heard the word slip from my mouth, I’d been as shocked as the girl who’d inspired the comment seemed to be. Bright-blue eyes shot to mine as long, red hair fanned out like a rainbow when Destiny stood up straight and whipped her head around.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “You sure you want me to answer that, darlin’?”

  Destiny’s baby blues flared with that fire I’d missed every day for as long as I could remember. Her nose twitched, her lips pursed, and her eyes slanted as she set her hands on her hips.

  Yep. Still the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Don’t you have somethin’ better to do? Like maybe a co-ed or model?”

  “A co-ed or model, huh?” I chuckled. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  “Aww, bless your heart. You might want to get your hearing checked, because that wasn’t jealousy you heard, it was disgust.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, pushing her cleavage up between the V of her white T-shirt with The Greasy Spoon logo over her left breast.

  “Is that right?” I casually reclined against the counter, stretching my long legs out so that my feet almost touched hers, and stared straight at her in a challenge. “I disgust you?”

  With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she dropped her arms and turned back around, grabbing the brown tub that held dirty plates and glasses. Then she spun to face my direction again so fast that I didn’t have time to make sure my feet were out of the way. One second, she was upright, and the next, she clipped my foot and was falling face-forward to the ground.

  On pure instinct, I stood as I wrapped my arm around her waist. The plastic tub hit the floor with a loud crash, and the dishware went flying. I froze. My awareness zeroed in on only one thing. All of my senses were overwhelmed with the reality of Destiny in my arms, her soft curves pressed against me, fitting perfectly like a puzzle piece.

  Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes, and for a moment, one perfect instant, Destiny melted into me. Unfortunately, it was over before it had even started, because Tami Lynn was in front of us, bending down to pick the dishes up, and Destiny pulled out of my grasp to help her.

  Not wanting the raging hard-on our unexpected up close and personal encounter had caused to be noticed by the entire diner, I bent to help clean up.

  “We’ve got it,” Destiny snipped, grabbing a plate from my hand.

  “Just trying to help.” Lifting my arms in mock surrender, I stood and
then sat on my stool again.

  “Wow,” she said. “Well, I guess chivalry is not dead after all. Do most girls swoon after you trip them and then offer to help?” With that, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, stood, plopped the tub down behind the counter, and grabbed several white towels.

  “I did not trip you.”

  I almost pointed out that even her Grandma Dixie had a long-running joke that Destiny could “trip over a cordless phone.” But I didn’t. Destiny might’a been cuter than a June bug in a jumpsuit when she was pissed off, but there was a fine line between mad and furious. In the past, I had tended to cross that line. This weekend, I wanted things to be different with us. I wanted to be different.

  Destiny waited, her head tilted to the side. I could see the wheels turning in her head as she thought of snarky remarks she could knock out of the park after I lobbed whatever she was expecting me to say her way. When I didn’t follow up with any crack about her coordination—or lack thereof—she shook her head as confusion clouded her pretty face.

  Her voice was thick with emotion as she asked, “What are you doing here, JJ?”

  She really wasn’t asking why I was in my hometown, but why I hadn’t been back in four years. Why, after almost taking her virginity, I’d treated her like shit, like an annoyance, like a groupie. Why I’d gone from being her lifelong friend to a complete asshole in the span of an hour and then gone MIA for years.

  I had answers for every one of those questions, but this wasn’t the right time to get into it. So instead of addressing my asshole behavior, I did what came naturally—fell seamlessly back into our bantering. Or what she liked to call our “bickering pattern.”

  “You missed me bad, huh?” I grinned and added a wink that would affect her panties in one of two ways.

  They would either bunch or dampen. I was hoping for the latter.