Sin In Blue Jeans Read online

“So, what’s eating at you?” The tall, leggy blonde next to Ryleigh probed.

  Ryleigh sighed and stirred the Cuba Libre in front of her as she lounged on the bar stool. Around her, the crowd at O’Malley’s was a noisy chaotic mass of laughter and cue balls hitting solids and stripes, with the occasional thud of darts, as the patrons had a good time on a Friday night. She finally shrugged before meeting her best friend’s gaze. “Same old shit, just a different day.”

  “Don’t give me that shit.” Emily nudged her with her shoulder. “You’ve been like this for the past two weeks. Something’s obviously bothering you. So spill.”

  “It’s nothing — work has just been a bitch ‘cause of the bug that’s going around. Half of my unit is out on sick leave and…” she took a sip of her drink, savoring the sweet taste of Coke and fiery burn of the rum as it slid down her throat. She debated briefly how much to reveal to her friend, then decided she wasn’t about to open that can of worms tonight. “...look, I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s depressing and I let you drag me out to blow off some steam, not bitch about how overworked I am.” Or commiserate on how I should’ve looked up Mason before now and scratched the itch he caused. Maybe then I wouldn’t be sitting in a bar on Friday night wondering if he would’ve actually rocked my world as promised.

  Emily rolled her eyes, obviously not buying Ryleigh’s bullshit excuse. “Fine, be that way. Don’t tell me. It’s not like you get to drool over yummy construction workers every day.” She took a large swallow of her draft beer.

  “Thank you.” Ryleigh sighed, grateful her friend had dropped the conversation about her job. But in hindsight, she probably should’ve just talked about her job, because Emily took the subject change too well.

  A crafty look crossed Emily’s face. “Since half naked sweaty men are off the table, I got an idea.”

  “Ah, hell.” Ryleigh slowly lowered her drink, after taking another swallow.

  “Relax, it’s an old but goodie.” She arched a brow and lifted her frosty mug of beer up in a mock toast. “Let ‘Operation Get Ryleigh Laid’ re-commence.”

  Ryleigh nearly choked. “Ah, hell no. The last time you tried that you nearly got a man arrested by my uncle. There will be no resurrection of Operation Get Ryleigh Laid.” Which Ryleigh considered ironic, considering the victim of Emily’s scheme had been a recurring visitor in Ryleigh’s dreams since the DeLuca inspection a couple of weeks ago. She kept trying to tell herself it was because the follow up was scheduled for next week, and not because Mason still drew her as much now as he had five years ago.

  “Aw, come on, girl-friend.” Emily pouted. “There’s plenty of prime grade A meat running around tonight. Did you see the crew of guys that walked in a little bit ago?”

  Ryleigh shook her head. “Unlike you, I’m not on the prowl tonight. I just wanted a drink, and maybe play a game of pool, before heading home to Tobias.”

  “Damned stick in the mud. I can’t believe you actually want to go home to your cat when you could be doing the horizontal mambo for once in your life.” Emily stuck out her tongue. “Never hurts to look — even if you’re not gonna partake — especially….hot damn!” Emily nearly fell off the barstool she was perched on when the bell rang above the door, admitting another group of people. “I call the blond. He’ll be the perfect Ken to my Barbie.”

  “At least for the night.” Emily rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if Emily wasn’t a teenage boy trapped in a twenty-six-year old woman’s body. “And you say I need to get laid. Down girl.”

  “Oh, I’ll go down.” Emily grabbed her beer. “If he's a good boy.”

  This time Ryleigh did laugh. Sometimes she thought that her friend was a dominatrix in a previous life or something. It wouldn’t surprise her. “Go get him, girl.” She picked up her own drink and slipped off her own stool. “I’m gonna go see if I can rustle up a game.”

  “Good luck with that.” Emily chortled. “Half the guys here know a pool shark when they see it.”

  “We’ll see. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in. I’m sure there’s always a bit of fresh blood around.” Ryleigh chuckled, not watching as her friend disappeared into the crowd. Weaving her way through the crush of bodies, she headed toward the back of the bar where three pool tables were set up. A hazy memory of a time long past, where she’d suckered the unsuspecting Mason into a pool game before whipping the pants off him, tugged at her. She shoved it away. She’d spent enough time this week thinking about something that was never gonna happen. Her family would have a coronary if she brought home an ex-con.

  Spotting a game that was close to ending, she circled the table while watching both players’ techniques. Both were decent players but wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her. Not that it mattered. She came here to play. She had loved hearing the crack of balls against one another ever since she’d been tall enough to peek over the edge of her Uncle Danny’s pool table. Fishing out a handful of quarters, she stacked several on the edge of the table. “I’ll play the winner.”

  Both men glanced over at her before the larger of the two chuckled. “Sure about that sweetheart? It would be a shame to beat up on a pretty little girl like you.”

  Ryleigh’s grin grew. She loved guys like him. Chauvinistic pricks who thought they had the world pegged. She hoped that he won — just so she could put him in his place. It’d be the perfect way to blow off some steam before heading home. “I’m sure. I won’t cry too hard if you win.”

  * * * *

  “Come on, boss!” Charlie goaded as he pulled open the door to O’Malley’s. “If anyone deserves a cold one, it’s you.”

  Mason laughed at his second-in-command words. In the two weeks since he’d taken over the job site things had decidedly improved — at least at work. He wasn’t about to even touch on the drama in his personal life. His sister, Diane, once again sporting bruises from what he hoped was her soon-to-be ex-husband, had shown up on his doorsteps last week with her two kids. Despite the strain between them since his arrest and conviction, it’d taken a stronger man than him to turn away from the all-too-haunted eyes of his niece and nephew.

  Lisa and Johnny shouldn’t have to suffer because their mother had chosen their wife-beating father over their uncle. Part of him got it. Kids needed their dad - until said dad started in on the kids. So, his once quiet bachelor pad was now cluttered with toys, and he had two noisy kids sharing his pull-out sofa. So, a chance to get out of the house for a few hours, was a blessing in disguise - even if he wasn’t interested in anything more than a game of darts.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” He entered the noisy bar, already hopping at eight o’clock on Friday night. He could already taste the cold bitter bite of hops as he moved towards the bar. “First pitcher’s on me.”

  Behind him a couple of the other guys hooted. “We’ll go claim a dart board.” Charlie replied. “Make sure it isn’t any of that crappy light shit either!”

  Flipping Charlie the bird, he squeezed between a couple of gals perched on bar stools and waited to get the barkeep’s attention.

  “Hey.” The brunette gave him a coy look. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

  He shrugged. “Not my usual stomping grounds.” He smiled as the bartender bustled over. “A pitcher of whatever you have on tap — long as it’s not light. And four glasses, please.”

  “Gotcha.” The young man grabbed a clean pitcher, placed it under the tap and began to fill it.

  “So, what brings you to Brooklyn?” The brunette obviously wasn’t getting his hands-off vibe, as she leaned a bit closer, invading his personal space.

  He tried to back up a few inches but found himself now closer to her companion, who took the opportunity to brush her fingers along his shoulder. “Just out with some of the boys from work. A cold one sure sounded good after a long hot day in the sun.”

  “You work construction?” She wet her lips, before running her gaze up and down him like he was a fresh piece of meat. “Real
ly? I bet you’re great with your hands.”

  “So, I’ve been told.” His cheeks warmed a bit. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to women propositioning him, but the girl was laying it on thick — and a bit early in the evening for him to bite at her not so subtle offer - if he were so inclined. Which he wasn’t. When he wanted female companionship, he did the pursuing. Call him old fashioned. Taking the pitcher and glasses from the bartender, he slid a folded bill across the polished surface. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, man.” The man grinned as Mason turned with his order and attempted to leave the bar.

  “Aw, come on, sexy thing.” The brunette hopped off her bar stool. “Why don’t you let me help you out?” She attempted to take the glasses from him. “You never know when you could use an extra hand.”

  “I got it.” He managed to hold on to the pitcher, glasses and his temper - barely. “Look, no offense, but I’m just not interested in hooking up tonight. I want a cold beer, to play some darts, and then to go home - alone.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Jesus. You married or something?”

  “To my job.” He gave the woman his standard answer, because it was the truth. After the fiasco with his sister, he wasn’t about to let another woman fuck up his life, no matter how horny he got. He had a hand and it would do in a pinch. When she opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, he cut her off. “But if you’re that desperate, come on. I’m sure one of the other boys might take you up on your offer.”

  Instead of taking offense, the brunette glanced around before spotting Charlie and a few of the other DeLuca boys standing nearing one of the dart boards. A slow smile crossed her face and replaced her frown. “Lead the way.” She glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “You coming, Cindy?”

  “Sure, why not?” The blonde grabbed her White Russian and joined them. “I can always use a little bit of fun.”

  Mason wanted to groan as he easily maneuvered around a couple clusters of people with both of the women hot on his heels, to join his co-workers. So much for his night out with the guys. As he approached Charlie raised a brow in question, and all Mason could do was shrug. As a married man, Charlie was on the same page as him about tonight’s activities. It was supposed to have been a boys’ night out. Luckily, he could keep Mason company if the other horn dogs on their crew decided to take the gals up on their not so subtle offer.

  “First round’s on me.” He set the pitcher down along with the glasses. “You fools can debate who’s getting the next one.”

  Charlie reached for a frosty mug with a grin as the gals introduced themselves. “I nominate Chavez.” He bumped shoulders with one of the grunts from the job site. “He skated the last time when it was his turn to buy.”

  Emilio Chavez, a fair ginger haired lanky youth, actually flushed. “Can’t help it. My momma called and you don’t want her hot-headed Irish ass coming down to the bar to get me.”

  Mason chuckled as he filled his own mug. He’d actually met Rosalee Chavez one afternoon after the boy had an accident on the site that had required five stitches. When the feisty spitfire had stormed into the E.R. to demand exactly what happened to her baby boy, Mason had been floored. He hadn’t expected to get ripped a new one by a woman who only came up to his sternum. “Too true.” He tugged out the battered dart case in his back pocket. “We playing cricket?”

  Charlie sighed. “Cricket? Again? Whatever happened to a simple game of 501?”

  Mason arched a brow at his friend. “Gone - since you started crying about getting your ass kicked every time we played.”

  “Fuck me. That’s right - no one in their right mind challenges Bullseye to a straight up game of 501.”

  “Bullseye?” Cindy, the blonde glanced over at Mason, obviously lost.

  “We quit playing straight up, cause Mason here can shut down a game in like three rounds if we let him. Damned double bullseyes.” Charlie wiped his hands on his jeans. “Cricket it is. At least give us mortals a chance to drink our beer before you wipe our asses.”

  “Now where’s the fun in that?” Mason asked as he attached the flights on his darts.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Eight ball, corner pocket.” Ryleigh lined up her last shot, letting the pool cue slide through her fingers in a smooth, almost silky motion. Across the table from her, her unlucky opponent seemed to be mesmerized by the slow, erotic stroke of wood through her nimble fingertips. She gave a slow smile before following through with a gliding stroke. The sharp crack of the cue ball hitting the black ball was barely audible over Larry’s curse. Straightening, she smiled in satisfaction as the ball sank neatly into the predicted pocket.

  “Shit.” Larry, as he introduced himself, looked away in disgust.

  “Still think it’s luck?” She couldn’t help but taunt. This was the third game she’d trounced his ass at. Picking up the small stack of bills, she pocketed them. Since her game with Mason, she no longer wagered anything on the outcome of her games - preferring to simply enjoy the sport of billiards. But Larry had insisted, and well - who was she to refuse his demand? She figured her favorite soup kitchen could use a little extra money. But then again he probably didn’t think that little old me would so thoroughly kick his ass.

  “Bitch,” Larry muttered under his breath.

  Refusing to rise to the bait, she propped the pool cue against the wall. It was obviously time for her to go - before he decided to do more than trash talk - and find out why a wise man never fucked with a cop’s daughter. “Well, it’s been great. Thanks for the donation. Sister Mary’s greatly appreciates it.”

  Leaving what was left of her watered down Cuba Libre on the small table next to the pool table, she slid into the crowd. All the while hoping that the fool would drown his misery in a few more beers and give her time to escape. She’d almost made it past a pod of electronic dart boards, when her luck ran out.

  “Hey, get back here.” Larry grabbed her from behind, catching her upper arm in between hard fingers. “You gotta give me another chance to win back my money.”

  Shrugging off his grip, she continued past the first bank of boards. “No, I don’t. I already gave you two chances. You’re not getting another.” She glared at him. “You lost to a woman. Get over it, dude.”

  “You mean pool hustler.” Larry spat out. “Where I come from, we don’t look kindly on your kind. In fact, the last guy who tried to swindle me out of my hard-earned cash, ended the night at the E.R.”

  She sighed. “Threats now? Seriously?” She rocked back on her heels. “Look, you don’t want to go down this path. I’m the youngest girl of the Irish Fagins.” Usually when a guy heard her last name, they decided it would be better to run the other way. Which was why, when she wanted to hook up for a little meaningless sex, she never revealed her identity. Or wanted to indulge in a little hustle.

  “Irish bastards.” Larry spat out. “One of your kin arrested my brother a while back. Should’ve realized that you were related to the Irish bastard. You have the same color of hair.”

  Ryleigh wanted to roll her eyes at the fool’s theatrics but resisted. No sense in throwing fuel on an already raging fire. “Hey, I don’t want any beef with you. Why don’t you…” she tugged the wad of cash out of her pocket and tucked two twenties back into his front shirt pocket. “...have a couple more on me, and we’ll forget this ever happened? Okay, hmmmm?” She barely managed to step back from him when he grabbed her again.

  “Forty bucks isn’t enough.” He hissed in her ear. “Give me the rest of it.”

  She stiffened, as anger coursed hot and heavy through her veins. “Get bent.” Her patience was shot. “I’m not giving you a damned thing - other than a black eye if you don’t keep your damn hands to yourself.”

  “Fine,” he dropped his hands from her waist to grab at the front pocket of her jeans where she’d stashed the rest of her winnings. “if you’re not gonna let me win my money back, I’ll just take it.”

  She smacked at his hands while s
lipping out of his reach. She couldn’t believe he’d actually thought she’d allow him to slip his grimy fingers inside her jeans. So not happening! “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She didn’t really expect an answer from the idiot. “I didn’t ask you to touch me.”

  Larry snarled at her, before lunging again. A quick twist of her body had her dancing just out of his reach. Was this idiot for real? Was he honestly trying to get physical with her in front of a bar full of witnesses? Evidently so, because frustrated with his lack of progress, he grabbed a half empty mug of beer and threw it at her. She grunted as the glass bounced off her shoulder. It stung but thankfully didn’t shatter as it hit the floor.

  “Calm down.” She held her hands up as he reached for another glass. This one she barely avoided by ducking behind the corner of the dart machine. The glass, of course, shattered as it hit the tall console.

  Larry actually screamed. “Bitch, give me my money back!”

  She was almost tempted to do so when he grabbed an empty pitcher that had been discarded. She was reaching into her pocket to do just that, when Larry’s arm was caught by another bar patron.

  “Drop it, man. I don’t know what your issue is with the lady, but you’re not doing this.”

  Larry glared up at the interloper. “And who’s gonna stop me?”

  “Me.” The steely tone sent a shiver of awareness up her spine.

  Like years before the deep, almost dark, timbre of Mason’s voice had her thighs clenching and her body aching to be possessed by a true bonafide bad boy. It didn’t care that she was a good Irish girl. She wanted to sin in the worst way - even more than Eve had in the Garden. She was only afraid that like Eve, the world as she knew it would change. Heaven help me.

  * * * *

  Mason growled under his breath, as the roughneck trying to manhandle Ryleigh cut his gaze Mason's way. The last thing that he'd expected to see when he'd looked up from the dart board was to see the woman who'd relentlessly been on his mind for the past two weeks scoot around the corner of the machine he'd been playing. In fact, he'd planned on staying completely out of the situation. But when the fool had started trying to manhandle her before throwing his half-drunk mug. When the idiot grabbed the just-emptied pitcher Charlie had bought, it woke up all of Mason’s protective instincts. No woman deserved to be treated the way the idiot was treating Ryleigh. Enough was enough. Even if she'd more than likely ran a game or even a whole set on him, like she did me.