One of the Guys Page 4

“You don’t know the kind of women I date,” Diego said.

  “Trust me, I know.”

  “Oh really? What kind of women do you think I like?”

  “Women like the blonde from Saturday, with the Volkswagen.” His type always went for the delicate flowers who wore skirts and heels and needed help getting down from a truck. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re seeing her. She certainly left no doubt that she was interested.” Her stomach contracted as she waited for a response.

  “She’s married,” Diego said flatly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Ronnie said, even though she was anything but. “Better luck next time.”

  Diego observed her silence, but his scrutiny quickly became unbearable.

  “What?” Ronnie asked sharply.

  “Did my answer change your mind about dinner?”

  “No.” Ronnie saw his flirtations for what they were. A game. Nothing more.

  He gave a short laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Veronica.”

  “Why do you do that?” Ronnie asked.

  His brow furrowed. “Do what?”

  “Call me Veronica.” Whenever he said her name, a fluttery sensation invaded her stomach.

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but no one calls me Veronica. Everybody calls me Ronnie.” Everybody but him.

  “I like Veronica better.”

  “So you go around renaming people with names you like better?” Ronnie asked, itching for a fight but not knowing why.

  “Veronica is your real name,” Diego pointed out, his voice slow and even, like a teacher explaining complicated calculus to a five-year-old. “I didn’t rename you. Everyone else did. And Ronnie sounds like a man’s name. But if you don’t want me to call—”

  “No, it’s…” The thought of him stopping sent her into an unforeseen panic. Her stomach trembled, and she shrugged dismissively, but she definitely didn’t want him to stop. “It’s fine. I just wondered, that’s all.”

  “Bueno.” Diego stifled a yawn. “I’m tired and hungry. Maybe you don’t care much about dinner, but I have a taste for steak tonight, so I can’t stay here all night watching out for you. Get in your truck.” He started away from her.

  “I never asked you to watch out for me.” Ronnie huffed. She could take care of herself. She marched toward her blue Nissan.

  Settling into the vehicle, she tossed the wrench on the floor and stuck the key in the ignition. Once again she heard the words he’d said.

  I can’t stay here all night watching out for you.

  She sat in the dark cab but didn’t drive away, and neither did Diego. He sat in his personal vehicle, a black behemoth with a hemi engine and the ability to tow thirty-one thousand pounds. A beast of a machine. Sturdy and strong, like its owner.

  She watched the minutes on the face of her phone advance slowly, one after the other. She waited a full five minutes, but he never moved.

  Finally, she started the engine and drove out of the lot. He followed behind her and went in the opposite direction.

  Diego worked late every night she did and left around the same time. Always. Once or twice might be coincidence, but every time indicated a pattern.

  Ronnie eased to a traffic light and stopped on red. She acknowledged what she’d never noticed before, and what she was certain Diego would never admit. He wasn’t staying late because he had work to do. He stayed behind because of her.

  She smiled through the biting of her lip.

  Though she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, her insides warmed at the thought of Diego sticking around to make sure she was safe.

  To keep an eye on her. To watch out for her.

  Chapter 6

  Stressed from almost being picked off the highway when a speeding motorist sideswiped his truck after he and his entire team went to the scene of a multi-car accident, Diego welcomed the relaxing chaos and noise of Dilligan’s Sports Pub. This wasn’t his usual hangout, but the bar he and his cousin used to frequent was shut down for health code violations.

  Damn shame, too. He missed their spicy wings.

  “Oops, excuse me.” A waitress with curly black hair bounced against him and sloshed beer on his arm.

  “That’s okay,” Diego said. The place was crowded, but that made the second time she bumped into him during a fifteen-minute period. She was either the clumsiest waitress he’d ever met, or she was making a pass at him.

  She swiped the spilled beer off his wrist with her thumb and sucked the finger into her mouth. Tossing him a come-hither look, she strutted away with an extra switch in her walk.

  Okay, then. Mystery solved. The next time she passed his way, he was getting her number.

  Monitors on the tables and giant TVs on the walls displayed sporting events taking place around the country, but tonight the main attraction was the NBA playoffs. The six-four shooting guard for the Miami Heat shot a three-pointer in a battle for the Eastern Conference semifinals title against the Atlanta Hawks. The play cut the lead to five points.

  Diego pumped his fist in a loud cheer. His cousin, Tomas, cursed in Spanish beside him. Tomas was taller than Diego, with his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail by a leather strap.

  “I can’t believe it,” Tomas muttered, whiskey-colored eyes flashing in annoyed disappointment. He shook his head in disgust. “Goddammit, they had a twenty-one point lead in the first half.”

  Diego laughed and took a sip of Coke. “We’re going to stomp all over the Hawks on our way to another championship.”

  Ryan, Tomas’s best friend, looked past Tomas to Diego. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he had garnered the attention of two women sitting in a booth across the room. They’d sent a waitress over to invite him to their table for a drink, but he shot them down from a distance when he flashed his wedding band.

  “You live in Atlanta now. You should be cheering for the Hawks,” Ryan said.

  “He has no loyalty,” Tomas muttered.

  “This isn’t about loyalty. It’s about championships, and once we take the lead, it’s over.” He swiped a hand across his throat like a knife. “The Hawks can’t take the heat.”

  The game broke for commercial and Tomas turned his back on the television. Leaning across the antique bar’s gleaming surface, he asked, “What’s the latest with D&M Towing?”

  “Good so far. Business is steady, and I hired someone to work on a proposal to handle the towing for a shopping plaza five miles from the company. Hell, I’m even getting along with my neighbor now.”

  “The mechanic?” Tomas asked, a smile of amusement crossing his features. He thought it was funny Diego couldn’t get past Ronnie’s icy exterior, no matter how hard he tried.

  “She’s been a lot sweeter lately.” In all honesty, he loved messing with her and purposely provoked her. When she came at him, hands on her hips, brown eyes flashing, she made his nuts ache. All he could think about was fucking all that hostility out of her.

  One time. All he needed was one time with Ronnie Taylor, and he’d have her purring like a kitten instead of scratching like a lioness.

  “Hey, fellas, can I get you anything else?” The perky bartender with cocoa skin and a tousled pixie flashed a smile at the three of them, but her gaze settled on Diego, the only unmarried one of the trio.

  “I’m good,” he said.

  She didn’t wait for a response from the other two, and walked away.

  Tomas elbowed him. “She’s obviously interested. What’s the matter with you?”

  What was the matter with him? She was definitely stacked. His eyes dropped to the way the snug jeans fit over her big, beautiful ass.

  “Guess I’m not in the mood.” Lately, a pervasive restlessness plagued him. More and more he bypassed the easy lay, causing his mind to be unsettled. He set his glass on the bar top. “I need to take a leak.”

  He took off toward the bathrooms and worked his way to the back of the bar, passing two other rooms filled with occupants. A roar w
ent up from the group inside one of them. He glanced in and saw a bunch of men crowded around a pool table. Must be a great game.

  Minutes later, Diego exited the restroom and heard loud cheers from the same room. Once again, he peered in, but this time an unexpected sight snagged his attention. Ronnie held a pool stick in the middle of the men, entrenched in what looked to be an intense game of pool. Brow furrowed, she circled the rectangle with slow strides, sizing up the next shot.

  She stopped with her back to him, so engrossed in the game she never saw him standing outside the door.

  “Eight ball, corner pocket.”

  The giant gray long-sleeved shirt she wore looked three sizes too big, so long the hem landed at the middle of her thighs, and so wide the fabric swallowed her body. Skinny jeans and a pair of tennis shoes completed the casual outfit. Nothing about her screamed sex appeal, but Diego’s stomach clenched as he watched her bend over the table, butt sticking out, to line up the shot.

  The balls cracked against each other and the eight ball flew into the hole in the corner.

  Howls of joy filled the room, and men started smacking Ronnie on the back and shoulders. An urge to shield her from the enthusiastic blows tightened Diego’s muscles and he launched into the room. Catching himself, he pulled up short, frowning at the rough way they handled her. But Ronnie was clearly tougher than she looked. She took each blow without a hint of discomfort.

  All the men laughed right along with her except her opponent—a black male standing across the table from her and wearing a surly expression after being spanked, four of his balls still left on the table.

  Greenbacks started changing hands. They’d obviously placed bets on the game. Ronnie herself received a thick-looking wad she stuffed into the front pocket of her jeans.

  “Who’s next?” she asked, resting the pool stick on its end like a staff.

  “Not me. I’m out,” one guy said, throwing up his hands.

  “No one’s brave enough to play me?” Her eyes swept the room from left to right.

  Each man shook his head.

  Goddamn. Diego curled his lip in disgust. Ronnie intimidated a bunch of so-called men twice her size.

  A heavy-set brown-skinned male, wearing a tight-fitting Atlanta Hawks T-shirt and his worn leather belt battling the bulge around his waist, stood at least a foot over Ronnie. He pointed down at her head. “Anybody else want to challenge my girl?”

  “Come on, you guys,” she needled the men. “Nobody?”

  The man acting like a promoter held up a wad of cash. “There’s money to be made if you can beat her.”

  “Ain’t nobody stupid enough to play Ronnie or bet against her,” one man piped up.

  “There’re a few dummies,” someone else said.

  The men laughed. Three of them grimaced, suggesting they must have been the dummies who bet against her.

  “Nobody’s brave enough to challenge my girl?”

  The men averted their eyes and an awkward silence descended on the room, disrupted only by the play-by-play from the announcers analyzing the NBA game projected on the only television in the room.

  “I’ll play her,” Diego said.

  All eyes turned to him, and Ronnie swung around. Her eyes widened in surprise and he sauntered closer. She watched him warily, and he eyed her right back.

  “You don’t want to do that, bro,” someone said. “She beats the pants off of every man she plays.”

  “She’s never played me.” Diego hooked a thumb in his belt loop.

  “Put your money where your mouth is,” said the one acting like her promoter.

  “How much are we talking?” Diego asked.

  “An even hundred if you want to play.”

  “You’re about to be out one hundred dollars, buddy,” someone near the back cracked.

  There were a series of soft chuckles.

  Diego fished out his wallet and removed five crisp bills. He slapped them onto the green felt and fixed his gaze on Ronnie. “We’ll see about that.”

  Chapter 7

  Ronnie folded her arms and flicked a dismissive gaze over Diego. Clearly, she didn’t think him much of an opponent.

  “I’m the reigning champ,” she said, sticking her nose in the air.

  Her promoter flung an arm around her, and Diego smothered the urge to knock the man’s meaty arm off her slender shoulders.

  “She’s only been beaten once, bro, and that night she had the flu.”

  Diego ignored him, keeping his gaze constant and on Ronnie. “I put up my money—now put up yours.”

  Her mouth turned into a round pucker of deep thought. With difficulty, Diego dragged his eyes from the enticing fullness of those lips.

  Ronnie counted one hundred dollars and dropped it onto the stack of twenties. The promoter swiped up the cash. “Once again, it’s on!” he crowed.

  “I need to make one change to the bet,” Diego said.

  Ronnie raised a brow. “What kind of change?”

  “If I win, I won’t take your money.”

  “Ha!” the promoter interjected. “You were never going to get it.”

  Diego ignored him and zeroed in on Ronnie’s lips. Full on the bottom and the top. He really wanted to know what they tasted like. How they felt. “If I win…” He let the sentence trail off dramatically before delivering his ultimatum: “…you give me a kiss.”

  Murmurs filled the room, and Ronnie’s face settled into lines of alarm. “No way.”

  “You picked the wrong one, pal. Ronnie doesn’t swing that way,” one of the men said.

  A few awkward chuckles sprinkled throughout the room.

  Ronnie swung her head in the direction of the joker. “Shut up. Just because I won’t sleep with you doesn’t mean I’m gay,” she snapped. The men settled down and she switched her attention to Diego. “No.”

  “Why not?” Diego asked. She was so adamantly against the idea that he became more determined to get her to agree.

  “No. That’s final. Let’s go back to the money. You win, I give you one hundred dollars. I win, I give you one hundred dollars. You can make other bets on the spread.”

  “I don’t want your money,” Diego said.

  “That’s all that’s on offer.”

  “A kiss,” he pushed back.

  Her lips flattened, and he imagined kissing them again. He wasn’t giving up.

  A solid-looking male, a few inches taller than Diego, came up behind Ronnie and dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You’re not going to lose, Ronnie. Go ahead. I put my money on you.”

  Diego waited for her response.

  “I’m not giving you a kiss.” Ronnie glanced at his lips and then quickly found his eyes again, biting the corner of her mouth.

  Diego smiled. The little firecracker seemed to be having the same thoughts he did. Maybe she wasn’t as immune as she pretended to be. “Then all you have to do is beat me,” he said.

  “Come on, Ronnie, you can take him.” Her hype man squeezed her shoulder.

  Diego held her gaze. She wouldn’t look away, and neither would he.

  Tense seconds ticked by while everyone waited. A roar went up from the crowd in the stadium at the NBA final, but Diego didn’t let the game distract him.

  Ronnie took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said, lips so tight they barely moved.

  “Yes!” Her promoter turned back to the room. “Place your bets, place your bets. Who’s got Ronnie and who’s got—Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Diego.”

  Ronnie eyed him with suspicion. “I’m not going easy on you,” she warned in a fierce whisper.

  Diego angled closer. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he whispered back.

  They held each other’s gazes for a little bit longer as the men around them moved into a flurry of action and her hype man collected the funds, noting who bet on whom, the spread, etc.

  At long last, Ronnie wheeled away and marched over to the other side of the pool table. While
Ronnie’s promoter racked the balls, Diego checked out the sticks on the wall. One after the other, he bounced each across his palm, gauging the weight until he found a suitable one. It wasn’t the same as the one he had at home, but it would suffice.

  Diego waved his hand at the table. “Ladies first.”

  Without a word, Ronnie removed the triangle and bent over the table, lined up the tip of her stick, and with a firm stroke slammed the cue ball into the other balls and scattered them into all corners. Red flew into a hole.

  “Solids,” Ronnie said.

  Eyes narrowed, she sized up the next play. Diego fixated on the tight line of her body bent over the table. Toned arms, pert bottom sticking out. His breathing became shallow, his loins heavy with the idea of stepping behind her, and cupping and lifting her hips against his groin.

  Calling the next shot, Ronnie tapped the blue solid into the side pocket. She missed the next one and stepped back so Diego could take over.

  He swiped chalk onto the tip of the stick and rotated his shoulders, scanning the layout before him. He analyzed the position of the balls and mentally drew lines across the table. Satisfied with his decision, he called a shot and knocked the striped ball into the corner pocket. As the group watched him hit balls into the holes two more times, tension radiated in the air.

  Ronnie took control of the table again, and three shots later, it was Diego’s turn once more. She’d warmed up during the first match up and was better than he expected. He couldn’t prolong the game anymore or risked losing.

  The next shot would be a kick shot, where he bounced the cue ball off the rail cushion and knocked the striped ball into the corner. He called the move and the group around him shook their heads in disbelief, some of them chuckling softly at the unlikelihood of success.

  Ronnie didn’t laugh, though. She watched him closely, perhaps recognizing he was better than he’d originally let on.

  Which he was.

  Diego rubbed chalk on the tip of the pool stick. “Did I mention I made it to the World Pool Masters Tournament?” Bending over the table, he lined up the shot. He was a master of trick shots. “They called me el Brujo. The Magician.” His eyes glided up to Ronnie’s. A hard swallow moved along the length of her slender throat, and his mouth lifted into a slow smile of victory.