Page 2 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

TRIPP

PRESENT DAY

“Tripp, right?”

I smirk before the end of my pool stick strikes the solid red three, sinking it into the top right pocket. This isn’t the first time a girl has asked my name while I’m bent over a table. She’s under me, usually, but this still counts.

Near the back of the room, someone kicks the side of the jukebox to fill the bunkhouse with music again—an hourly necessity around here with that old thing. Next to me, Heston cracks open a cold can of beer, and I finally stand to turn and match the sultry voice to a face.

“Depends on who’s asking,” I say.

A pair of sparkling blue eyes peer up at me. Her hair is dark and shiny, almost matching the deep purplish color of her lipstick. I don’t pay much attention to her outfit, but the tight skirt is a nice touch if I’m honest.

Since I know almost everyone in our small town, it surprises me that I’ve never seen this girl before.

Meeting someone new is not common within the property lines of this ranch, either.

Only people we know are allowed to come to our weekend parties.

If they invite someone to bring along with them, they have to clear it through Gage first.

If he doesn’t know you’re coming, you are not getting in. Period.

“You here with somebody?” I ask curiously.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

I laugh, clasping my hands together over the top of the pool stick and resting my chin on my knuckles. Thirty seconds go by while she remains silent and sizes me up. I watch as she adjusts the charm on her necklace, which was already centered.

I could wait for her to spit out some sort of creative proposition that will land her in my room for the night, but I’m already bored with this predictable outcome, so I drop the act to speed things along instead.

“I’m just messing with you. Yeah, I’m Tripp.”

That lights her face up with a smile. “I’m Violet.”

“Goodbye, Violet,” Heston says after a missed shot.

I didn’t hand-pick a dickhead for a best friend on purpose. It just happened that way. To keep him from bitching, I circle the pool table and line up an easy play.

“Ignore him. He’s just impatient when it’s my turn,” I say, mid-shot.

When it goes in, I shift to the right a few feet, closing one eye and pulling back to hit another.

I raise my voice so that she can hear me from across the table and above the noise in the room.

“The bathroom’s the first door on the right down the hall if that’s what you’re looking for. ”

My gaze flicks up to hers for a moment, and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I had something else in mind,” she admits.

Bingo.

With a quirked eyebrow, I hold her stare. She’s bold. I can appreciate that, but the thrill of it doesn’t hit like it used to.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my normal antics became less enthusing. My game stopped mattering, and autopilot took over. It’s been a couple of months like that for me, I suppose.

Replacing the fun of it all with an aversion to overly eager hookups is not the emotional detour I saw coming at this point in my life. I still wouldn’t turn down a one-night fling after a shit week, though. Naked Fridays are still very much in the game plan.

This is what I do. Who am I to break the cycle just because of a little mental block?

The way Violet rolls her bottom lip into her mouth is enough to make me sink the eight ball and toss my stick in Heston’s direction. She smooths her hair as I approach her.

“I need a drink. You want one?”

“Yes! I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she chirps, following close behind me as I weave through the crowd of people to the kitchen.

“So, how’s your night?” I ask as I pull two light beers out of the fridge. It’s not my go-to, but we’re fresh out of Shiners. It’ll buff.

“Oh,” she replies like she’s surprised I asked. “It’s going good. I wasn’t expecting much when I decided to come, but the vibe is really cool in here.”

I nod, scanning the bunkhouse with a satisfied smirk.

Good parties are a lost art. There’s no easy way to find the magical middle ground between college kid rager and middle-aged snooze fest .

It took a couple of years of fine-tuning before our reputation solidified.

We don’t hang black lights or do keg stands at the bunkhouse .

. . anymore. But at least once a month, you can count on a hell of a time here.

Some say we’re pillars of the community when it comes to good drinks, food, and music.

I’d have to agree. It helps that we have a lot of space—the bunkhouse itself is big and open enough to have an entire wedding reception if you clear out the furniture and pool table.

There’s a patio with a grill and seating out back, and a few fire pits we hang out at in the summers, too.

I fucking love every bit of this place.

“Glad you’re having a good time,” I say.

“Amy invited me here, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

Violet nods, taking one of the beers from me. Our fingers brush, and I wait for a spark.

“We’re good friends. She’s tried to get me to come here before, but I bartend and usually end up serving the drinks instead of enjoying them on the weekends.”

“Bartender, huh? You’re good at that, I bet.”

She smiles and then takes a sip of her drink. She’s a pretty girl with her long lashes and soft-looking lips that any guy would drool over. When she takes a step closer to me, I wait for the shot of adrenaline to hit.

“What makes you say that?”

I shrug. “You seem like a girl who’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind. Just a hunch, but that’s gotta help with tips. People like that.”

“Do you like that?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the kitchen island. One hand pushes the brim of my cap back while the other lifts the bottle of beer to my mouth for another drink.

Do I? Probably. Usually. Maybe.

I don’t fucking know anymore. No one piques my interest like they used to. No certain types excluded. Luckily, my muscle memory kicks in to answer her before my thoughts begin to spiral.

“Sure. Sweet and fearless, like you, suits me just fine. I don’t discriminate, though. I’ll take my girls shy with a side of attitude too, as long as they’re not married. Hard rule.”

She giggles, placing a hand on my forearm. I wait for the goosebumps.

Amy walks by, taking Violet’s attention for a moment. As she turns to wave, her other hand curls around my arm. I slowly peel the label off my beer bottle.

“We’re headed out. Old married people shouldn’t be allowed in here past ten because I’ve got a headache brewing,” Amy says with a laugh. “Do you want to catch a ride home with us? We can totally drop you off.”

Violet turns her head and fixes me with an eager look, to put it lightly. The tips of her long nails drag across the skin on my arm, and the damp beer label crumples in my hand. I wait for the excitement.

It’ll come.

She bites the corner of her lip, waiting for me to invite her to stay. I’m down. But meeting her less than five minutes ago and then not having to lift a finger to put that look of anticipation on her face makes for a dull chain of events.

I’m off my rocker, I know. Any other single guy in this room would give his left nut to have this girl in the palm of his hand with such little effort.

I need to get over myself. Take the gift and don’t look at the horse, or however the old saying goes. Maybe she’ll surprise me, and my senses will adjust once we’re alone.

“The guy in the room next to me snores,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper and leaning toward her. “And I sleep with the bathroom light on. Just so you know.”

She beams, squeezing my forearm.

“I—think I’m going to stay,” she says to Amy.

An hour and two more beers later, every one of the bright overhead lights flick on. When Heston gets tired, he makes it everybody’s problem with that little party trick. The crowd chatters on their way out the door, and I take Violet’s hand, leading her toward the hallway.

“I’m just going to freshen up real quick,” she says, stopping us in front of the guest bathroom and slipping inside.

I yawn and check the time on my phone.

“North pasture at eight,” Gage says as he passes me.

“Ten-four,” I answer with a salute.

Gage lives with his fiancée, Blythe, in the big house across the ranch, but they never go home after a party. They keep their room here for times like this. Warren isn’t far behind him, headed to his room as well.

Usually, those two are attached to their girls’ hips, but Blythe and Savannah are probably asleep in the loft. They’ve been wedding planning up there in matching feather-cuffed pajamas since after dinner.

“Sensational,” Heston grumbles, slipping into his room across from mine.

Cows don’t care if it’s the weekend. Neither does Gage, who steers the ship around here. We play hard on this ranch, but Saturdays are never off-limits for work with him around—hangover or not.

The four of us are thick as thieves. Not long ago, you couldn’t tell any of us shit. We raised hell like it was our last day on earth.

I lean against the wall, letting my head fall back to look at the ceiling. Things have changed in comparison to our younger days, and I’m not sure if I like it yet. I still try to keep them on their toes, but sometimes it feels like I’m the last man standing. Heston included.

They’ve outgrown our old routines in some ways, and as much as I hate to admit it, I might be getting too old for this crap, too.

Seeing them as happy as they are . . . I can’t tell if it makes me sick to my stomach or just plain envious. They have a lot that I don’t have, but I don’t like to dwell on it.

I chuckle and shake my head at my strange string of thoughts. Who am I kidding? I’ll die the same untamed menace I am today.

I have this place. A job I love. Good friends and any girl I could want.

That’s enough for me.

The water in the bathroom finally cuts off, and Violet emerges with her tits halfway out of her shirt. I smirk, take her hand, and try to guess what color her bra is.

It’s then I decide I’m not jealous of the other guys after all. I can’t imagine doing this with the same girl every night. My way is so much more fun.

“There’s an extra pillow and clean sheets upstairs in the loft,” I say. “I think the girls have a sleepover going on up there, so they can point you in the right direction.”

Her bottom lip pouts out. She slows her walk and begins to turn away, but I pull her in front of me to spin her like we’re two-stepping instead of on our way to bang the rest of the night.

My arm hooks around her waist to stop her twirling momentum, and she crashes into my chest. I push her backward until her ass bumps against the wall, and then waste no time covering the side of her neck with my mouth.

“Gotcha.”

“Devil,” she giggles. A second later, she’s gasping and squeezing my shirt in her fists as I kiss a trail up her soft skin.

“Last door on the left,” I say in a low voice against her ear.

She instantly wiggles out of my arms and darts down the hall. I follow, undoing the top buttons of my shirt on the way. When she stops in front of the door I directed her to and tries to open it, her brows draw together.

“It’s locked.”

I walk casually, turning toward the room across from it. “Try again.”

She wiggles the handle with more force this time and stomps her foot against the bottom of it when it still won’t open.

“FUCK OFF, Tripp!” Heston yells from inside the room, practically making the wooden door vibrate.

I laugh so hard I have to lean forward and rub the center of my chest. Never gets old. After opening the door to my real room, I hold my hand out in the entryway.

“Ma’am.”

She walks through while narrowing her eyes at me. “Did you tell me the wrong room on purpose to piss him off?”

“ Yep .” I close the door and turn the lock, fighting off another yawn. Maybe she’ll slap me a few times to wake me up. I could be into that. “So, where are you fr?—”

My sentence is cut off when I turn around and come face to face with Violet, standing at the end of my bed, shirt and bra already discarded and on the floor. My eyes widen, and I rub the side of my face.

This might be a record.