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

TRIPP

“Less talk, cowboy . More action.”

Oof. The line between cringing and ripping off my clothes is laughably thin for me at the moment.

I swallow the urge to ghost her. Is that even possible when you’re in the same room already and one of you is closing in on stark naked? Her hips sway, and I’m momentarily distracted from my thoughts. She looks damn good.

This is just like any other night. Any other girl.

Did your balls fall off? You like this sort of thing, remember?

“Okay . . . How about we?—”

With no warning, she runs toward me and jumps. It’s sheer luck that I catch her. Two legs wrap tightly around my waist, and with my eyes still wide open, she kisses me.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she moans between sloppy movements of her mouth against mine. Her hands latch onto my biceps, then she drags her nails all the way down to my forearms. “That jawline. And these tattoos do something to me. Take your clothes off. Now.”

She can’t even throw in a please? Good boy? I don’t remember ever being this picky with a half-naked girl in my arms, but I can’t help but pick her words apart. Once you’ve heard them a few dozen times, they don’t land the same.

My grip tightens around her waist and under her ass because she’s moving her hips in some sort of chaotic circular motion.

I remain still for the most part though, wondering if I want to get laid bad enough to go along with it.

The lack of blood rushing below the belt is as good a sign as any that I, in fact, do not.

Yeah, this shit just doesn’t do it for me anymore, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m an idiot is the only reason I can come up with. She catches on to my lack of reciprocation and pulls away to push her tits up and bat her eyes.

“Throw me on your bed and tie me to it, already! I’m so ready for this after all I’ve heard.”

That’s what this is? I fight an eye roll and step forward to toss her on the mattress like she requested, if only to put some distance between us. She arches her back and sticks a fucking finger in her mouth. Jesus .

It’s no secret that I get around, and I take my talents seriously—horseback riding, poker, fingering .

. . basic stuff. You learn a thing or two when you’ve been knocking boots as long as I have, and girls tend to spill the beans when they spend a night with a guy who never comes first. Word gets around, and I’ve run into this situation before.

Show me what you’ve got , they say.

Usually, I’m happy to oblige, but Violet caught me on a bad night. She seems like she’d be fun to fool around with. It’s not her. It’s me.

I pause, standing at the side of the bed, and push my hair back with enough grip to nearly pull it right from the roots. Unfortunately, I’m over this shit, and the attempt to yank my hair out in frustration does nothing to rewire my thoughts.

I can slap myself tomorrow for choosing sleep over an easy lay. For now, I need to figure out how to get a half-naked girl home safely without making her cry.

While she rolls to her stomach and pushes her ass up, I quickly fish the phone from my back pocket and send an S.O.S. to the group chat. Violet peeks over her shoulder with a smoldering look meant to entice me. I raise my brows with a closed-lip smile.

My phone buzzes with several replies faster than I thought it would. I’m surprised they aren’t all asleep already.

Warren

Why do we need to get her out of your room? Do it yourself. You sick or something?

Gage

This is too good.

Running low on time here, boys. Help a guy out.

Warren

I’m so confused.

Heston

Telling her to fuck off usually works.

Gage

Try slowly backing away.

Actually, use the wrong name. Major hack.

“Roses are red, Violet feels blue.”

Is she reciting a poem? My palm covers my forehead as she continues.

“If you don’t get over here, I’ll have to make you.”

Not bad, honestly. Five out of ten at best. I could have rated it a six for the clever rhyme, but points off for still being in my motherfucking bed.

*Middle finger emoji*

“You’re really pretty,” I say with a sigh. She smiles and starts pushing down her skirt. “But I gotta be honest, Violet?—”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She covers her ears as the extremely loud beeping from the smoke alarm continues to blare. I hide a laugh while swiping her clothes from the floor and tossing them toward her. My phone buzzes again as I pretend to panic and swing open the bedroom door.

Warren

Amy’s out front, y’ole bastard

“Did someone text you?” Violet yells over the shrill beeps. “What’s happening!”

I can’t come up with an elaborate lie, so I just blurt out the single word. “Fire.”

“Oh my god! Okay, stay calm. I’ll call the fire department!”

“No need. Head on home and I’ll take care of things here.”

She’s running through the living room when I notice she never put her bra and shirt back on.

They’re clutched to her chest and not doing much in the way of covering .

I have to chuckle realizing that no matter how chaotic this night has ended, I still managed to get a topless girl to jump into my arms.

Naked Fridays live on.

“I think your friend Amy is still here. Better hurry,” I suggest.

Without another word, she dashes out the front door, bare back on full display. The smoke alarm finally does us all a favor and cuts off, providing enough silence for me to catch the low chatter coming from Gage’s end of the hallway.

I think his room is empty at first, but after walking in and looking toward the en suite bathroom, I find them.

Heston is sitting on the counter, one leg bent and propped up on Blythe’s vanity stool.

Warren sits on the edge of the tub, legs spread and resting his elbows on his knees.

Gage is leaning against the wall with one boot crossed casually over the other.

Each one of them has a lit cigar in their hand.

I cough and wave my arm through the air as smoke billows toward me. Before yanking the stool from under Heston’s foot for me to sit on, I crack the nearest window.

“Saved you one,” Gage says, holding a cigar in my direction.

My mouth curves into a crooked grin as I take it from him and trap it between my teeth.

“In our twenties, this would have been a red,” Warren says, holding up his cigar to inspect it in the light.

Heston chimes in with a sigh. “Be a lot cooler if it was.”

“Don’t tell Blythe, by the way,” Gage adds. “These were supposed to be for the wedding. And Tripp, you owe me.”

“That’s bull, I don’t owe you shit. I didn’t snitch to Warren when you started banging the living daylights out of his little sister. I’d say we’re even.”

Gage chokes on a thick puff of smoke, and Warren rubs at his temples like he wishes, for the millionth time, he could erase the image. Riling them up is so elementary. I get way too much enjoyment out of it.

Heston leans over to shove my shoulder, harder than I saw coming, because I slam into the wall next to me. That means shut up in caveman. I lift my arm to shove him back, but he pulls a lighter out of his pocket and tosses it right at my chest instead.

“Thanks.”

It doesn’t take long before we hear the distinct sound of stomping from the stairs to the loft where Blythe and Sav were having a girls’ night.

“Shit,” Gage mumbles, tossing his cigar in the sink. Warren follows suit immediately.

The pair of stomps grow closer, now echoing in the hallway. I lean toward the open door to give us away. “In here!”

Heston and I make eye contact while the other two try and fail to dart out of the bathroom at the same time. They can’t both fit through the narrow doorway, so it’s a full-on fight for who’s going to look less guilty and make it back to their beds first.

For the first time in, maybe ever, Heston is as amused as I am. With the cigar still in his mouth, he adjusts the brim of his hat and laughs. It’s low and short-lived. But it’s there.

It’s a wonder why, in this moment, instead of laughing along, I sober up and an unsettling clarity sinks in. The feeling itself is awful, and it’s the exact reason I usually distract myself with women or another drink—to avoid thoughts like this one.

The new and confusing disconnect between my brain and my dick is one thing to stress over. More concerning though, is the fact that I’m missing something that’s still right in front of me.

Against my will, change is threatening to shake things up even more than it already has.

The older we get, the more different things become.

I know that. But fuck, it pisses me off.

I made the perfect life, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

It’s disturbing to think I don’t have much choice in the matter.

After nodding toward Heston, I trudge back to my empty room. It’s quiet compared to its normal state. No stray undergarments hanging from the ceiling fan. No disruptive prank knocks at my door or rambunctious music filtering in from the living room.

I hate it.