One Last Shot (Cupid's Conquests) Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Danielle La Paglia

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-167-1

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Natascha Jaffa

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Carlos, I love you always

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I have to thank my family above all else. Thank you to Carlos and my beautiful Monster for always believing in me. Without your love and patience and unyielding support, I would be nothing.

  Thank you to Ian O’Neill for being a constant source of encouragement, wisdom, and friendship. Your unflinching critiques brought my writing to life. I owe you so much more than this simple note. Thank you to Seleste deLaney, for your critiques, your advice, your friendship, and for creating this awesome series that I’m so proud to be a part of. Big thanks to my other critique partners on this project: the amazing PJ Schnyder for your enduring support and for always making me order dessert; and to the sexy Angela Addams for all your help. And a special shout out to my fellow Rebels, without you guys I’d just be a crazy woman still talking to the voices in my head.

  ONE LAST SHOT

  Cupid’s Conquests

  Danielle La Paglia

  Copyright © 2012

  Prologue

  Eros hopped onto the barstool and ordered a double shot of tequila. Drained of the adrenaline rush from his latest match, he was left feeling numb and empty. His charm and grace had been diminished to this pudgy, balding frame and now his only respite came in the form of a stiff drink. Of course he’d much rather share something stiff with the leggy brunette a few chairs over. His eyes caressed the swell of her calf, the tender bend of her knee, and trailed up to her lush thighs. The dangerously tight skirt and her crossed legs left a dark pocket just big enough for him to slide his hand into and find the greatest treasure known to man.

  “Eros, my friend!” A shark of a man clapped him on the back and slid onto the stool beside him, effectively blocking his view of the brunette. The man leaned in close as if sharing a secret. “Or do you prefer ‘Chris’ these days?”

  “Hey, Dionysus.” Despite interrupting the fantasy he’d been having about the girl at the end of the bar, Eros was glad to see a somewhat friendly face. Dionysus’s hair was pulled into a slick ponytail at the base of his neck and he was dressed in all black, collar unbuttoned, and sporting a close-trimmed goatee. His toothy grin was equal parts charming and feral, and the playful glint in his eye was always one step away from madness.

  “Ah, I see you’re paying tribute to me?” Dionysus nodded to the glass of liquid gold in Eros’ hand. “Drowning your sorrows or celebrating a victory?”

  Shoulders slumped, he answered, “Both.”

  “Well, drink up, I’ve got a task for you.”

  Eros swallowed the shot; the burn not quite enough to lift his spirits, but it was a start. Any undertaking brought to him by Dionysus would most likely require several bottles of hard liquor, but at this point, he had nothing to lose.

  “What can I do for you, D?”

  “It’s more along the lines of what we can do for each other.” Dionysus waved at the bartender and held up two fingers. A moment later, two more shots of tequila were delivered to the waiting gods. “You see, I’ve heard about your little tiff with the big man.”

  “I’m sure you have.” The gods were nothing if not expert gossips. Word had traveled at the speed of Zeus’ bolts when Eros had been kicked off Mt. Olympus. The state of love on earth had deteriorated while Eros had delved into the finer arts of ecstasy and Zeus had banished him until he could make enough love matches to earn his way back.

  “I’d like you to help one of my faithful followers, a bar owner in fact. Not only is she stunning, she’s got a temper to match. And you know how I love my women with a touch of madness.” Dionysus’ raised brow hinted more at lust than love. “It should be an easy enough shot for you since they’re already in love, they’re just too stubborn to see it right now.”

  “You’re not usually one for encouraging lovers to settle down to the whole monogamy thing.” Eros knew enough of Dionysus not to trust his motives. The gods were nothing if not self-serving. He could use another match, but not one that would backfire and take him further from his goal.

  “True as that may be, she’s also a facilitator of my followers and I can’t have her losing hope and closing down one of my favorite establishments. Besides, there’s enough passion and chaos with these two to keep us both happy.”

  “I’m sure, but reuniting old lovers isn’t always easy. Too much time and resentment can sometimes make the relationship impossible to repair.”

  “And that’s where your trusty little arrows come in. I have faith you in, Eros. And as a bonus, if this works out as spectacularly as I imagine, I’ll throw in an evening with that one.” Dionysus gestured to an ethereal beauty on the dance floor.

  “One of yours?” Eros asked.

  “Of course. And she has a thing for your type.”

  Only then did Eros glance at the man dancing beside her. He was stocky and even more balding than himself. Eros watched her hands slide across the man’s square shoulders and down the front of his broad chest. He was nearly a head shorter than her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she bent and whispered something in his ear, sending a wave of crimson up his face and across his bare head.

  “I accept,” Eros said, forcing his eyes from the maenad on the dance floor.

  “Excellent.” Dionysus handed Eros a shot glass and took the other for himself. “To the chaos of love,” he said, lifting his glass.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Chapter One

  Shelby popped the tops off five long necks and poured three shots, passing them to the waitress standing next to the bar. Carrie Underwood blared from the speakers, mixing with the din of the crowd—a typical Saturday night at Shooters, a simple bar with plain wood tables, hardwood floors, and even harder liquor. Three pool tables lined one side of the open room and a small stage stretched across the wall opposite the bar—a showcase for local bands and small town musicians.

  The last notes of “Before He Cheats” filled the smoky room as a group of hometown boys took the stage and counted down to the start of a Tim McGraw cover. Shelby washed another round of mugs, keeping her eye on a few hot-tempered regulars to make sure no trouble was brewing, while half-listening to the orders being called out at the bar.

  “Well, shit. Look what the damn dog dragged in,” Crystal said, topping off a mug and handing it to another waitress.

  Justin Tanner walked through the door, followed by an entourage of over-dressed wannabe cowboys and scantily clad girls barely old enough to set foot in the bar.

  The blood drained from Shelby’s face and the mug she was washing slipped from her hand, bouncing off the rubber mat lining the floor behind the bar. “Shit.”

  “You gonna be okay? I can handle things out here if you want to go take inventory or something.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide from.” Even though that’s exactly what she wanted to do—crawl beneath the bar and disappear until long after last call.

  “You sure?”

 
Hell no. “Yep.” Shelby snatched the mug from the floor, tossed it in the sink then grabbed a bottle of tequila and filled six shots for the gaggle of girls celebrating their friend’s twenty-first birthday.

  “Take a shot with us!” one of the girls squealed.

  “I’m working tonight, ladies. Next time,” Shelby said with a wink. It took a sober bar owner to keep an eye on all the drunks, but these girls certainly weren’t her type of drinking partners anyway. She turned back to the dirty glasses, sloshing more through the hot water as she watched Justin and his party from the corner of her eye. She’d heard he was back in town, but she never figured he’d set foot in her daddy’s bar. Not that there were too many choices in a town of thirty-thousand and Shooters was the cleanest by far. She’d just assumed he’d make the drive into Dallas to celebrate, or whatever it was he was doing. It was hard to tell with the swarm of people buzzing around him, asking for autographs and pictures. He’d be on a hundred Facebook pages before the end of the night.

  And there he was in the center, soaking up all the attention, flashing the million-dollar smile that still sparked a flame inside her that licked across her skin, igniting every nerve. She cursed her body’s reaction. It had been ten years since those hands caressed every curve and crevice of her body. No, not those hands—the nervous, but determined hands of a boy, exploring a girl for the first time. Heat gathered between her thighs. Fuck! How could he still affect her after all this time?

  “Leah, can you bring some more Buds from the back?” Crystal called.

  “I’ll get them,” Shelby offered. She hoped the girls couldn’t see the desperation she felt, but if she didn’t get a minute to calm herself down, she was going to do something she’d regret.

  “It’s okay, Shel,” Leah said.

  “Go clean table seven. I’ll get the beers.” Shelby ducked into the back room, leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the liquor shelves and tried to catch her breath. Damn him all to hell and back! I can handle hundreds of liquored up patrons a night, but one smile and I’m hiding in the freaking store room.

  #

  Justin smiled to cover the wince as one more ex-classmate clapped him on the back, sending a stab of pain through his torn shoulder. He blinked away the flash from another camera and caught a familiar face out of the corner of his eye—and his heart nearly stopped. Shelby Stephens. Forcing himself to breathe, he glanced through the crowd as often as he dared. She’d lost the softness of youth, but there was a tightness to her features that only made her more striking. He got an eyeful as she leaned across the bar, handing two beers to a cowboy. Her black Shooters t-shirt curved over her breasts and hugged her flat stomach. His fingers flexed at the thought of running across her bare skin like he’d done so many years ago.

  “You okay, Justin?” Sean asked.

  “Sure, I just wasn’t expecting all this.”

  “You’re the hometown hero.”

  “Yeah.” Justin tipped back his beer, swallowing until the bottle was empty. He’d come home to get away from the attention, and, he had to admit, this was better than the blur of paparazzi, fake tans, and even faker friends that littered the landscape in L.A. He just hoped the novelty of his presence would wear off sooner than later.

  “Dance with me, Justin.” Cynthia pouted and wiggled her manicured nails in his direction.

  Sean must have read the distaste in Justin’s face because he leaned in and said, “She’s yours for the night. You might as well take advantage.”

  The last thing Justin wanted was to have this girl climbing him on the dance floor in front of the entire bar, but he bit his tongue and accepted her hand, leading her to the edge of the dance floor. Sean couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Justin wanted to be challenged by a woman, not offered a free ride.

  Cynthia pressed in close and teased his ear with her tongue. A shiver trailed down the back of his neck despite himself. Sliding one arm around her tiny waist, he led off, maneuvering her through the circle of dancers. He shifted his eyes to the bar as often as possible, trying to catch a glimpse of Shelby. He started to worry Shelby had left when she stepped through a door leading to the back, her arms weighed down with a case of beer. Even after what she’d done to him, he couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across his face as memories rose in his mind of those summers spent stocking her dad’s back room, hauling cases back and forth, muscles taut, sweat sparkling on her neck. Besides, a body rivaling anything manufactured in L.A., all the lifting had given her a right hook nearly as deadly as any of the guys he’d played ball with over the years.

  The crowd applauded the end of the song and Justin thanked God for short country songs as he led Cynthia back to the table. She didn’t complain, which told him the dance was more about staking her claim in front of the other women in the bar than enjoying the song. Just like L.A., it was more about appearances than substance.

  “Why don’t we take this little party back to your place?” Cynthia asked, leaning her hip against the table, posing like she expected a flash to go off at any second.

  Justin resisted the urge to look around for a camera. “Get me another beer,” he said to Sean. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and stalked to the restroom. It was empty except for a chubby attendant sitting on a barstool next to the sinks. He wasn’t sure Shooters rated bathroom attendants, but he shrugged it off and gave the man a polite smile before leaning over the sink to splash water on his face.

  He was as tan as he’d been all those summers ago. Then it was days working construction and weekends at the lake. Now it was from L.A. traffic jams in convertibles. But when he stared hard enough, he could still see the shimmer of the boy he’d once been, eager to leave this town behind and take on the world. All that felt like a century ago.

  Justin thanked the man as he handed him a paper towel.

  “You look like you’re having a rough night,” the man said.

  “Could be worse.” Justin wiped the last drops from his chin and neck. The air cooled his skin, but there was still a tired, pinched look to his eyes—too many years of being on the road and too many nights spent nursing an aching shoulder.

  “Only if it involves a woman.” There was a playful glint in the attendant’s eye.

  “It always involves a woman, doesn’t it?” Or at least one woman. Every time Justin thought Shelby was out of his mind, another memory would surface, bringing a rush of bittersweet longing.

  “You know what they say, if you love someone, set them free.”

  Justin tossed the paper towel in the trash and dug in his pocket for a dollar. “No, I’m not in love. There’s no one to set free,” he said, handing the man his tip.

  “No?” The attendant cocked his head and Justin found himself captivated by the man’s searching gaze. “Maybe you were the one who was set free, but even freedom has its price.” The man pressed something into his hand and Justin looked down to see a quarter resting in his palm.

  “I don’t need change.”

  “We all need change.” He walked out the door, leaving Justin to wonder if he was really an attendant or just some drunk who’d wandered into the bathroom. He shoved the quarter in his pocket and winced. Jerking his hand back out, he found a single drop of blood welling up in the center of his hand. He tapped his pocket, but only felt the quarter and pulled it out, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. It felt like any other quarter he’d ever held, but something caught his eye and he brought it closer to his face. One of the arrows clutched in the eagle’s claw gleamed gold. He tilted the coin back and forth and when the light caught it again, it was silver, like it probably always had been. Justin rinsed the blood from his hand and shook his head, trying to decide if he’d had too much to drink tonight or not enough. He tossed the paper towel and walked back to the table where three expectant faces waited for him.

  “Have you had enough nostalgia for the night?” Sean asked.

  “I’m in no hurry to go,” Justin said.

  S
ean gave a pointed look to the two women then to Justin who ignored the look and snagged the fresh beer off the table. “I’ll tell you what, Sean. We can leave now, but you gotta arm wrestle for it.”

  “What?” Sean chuckled. “You’re in no shape for that. I can’t have you losing face in front of the hometown crowd.”

  “Not me. Her.” Justin tipped his bottle toward the bar and winked at Shelby, who spun and started rearranging bottles on the shelf behind the bar. She’s nervous. Nervous was a hell of a lot better than pissed. He chuckled and looked back to Sean. “You up for it?”

  “You want me to arm wrestle a girl?”

  “Yep.”

  “If I win, we go?”

  “Yep.”

  “I think all this clean air is messing with your head.”

  “Maybe, but I’ve got a hundred bucks on the girl.” He pulled a bill from his money clip and slapped it on the table.

  Sean looked to the bar then back to the restless women sitting at their table. Justin could tell he’d do just about anything to get out of here and into one of them.

  “Fine.”

  Justin waived Leah over and asked her to get Shelby.

  “It’s your funeral,” Leah said and headed to the bar. Shelby shook her head and Leah continued to talk. He read her lips say, “Son of a bitch,” and he knew she’d come. Sure enough, she tossed a bar rag over her shoulder and marched to the table. His pulse spiked as he watched her move toward him, his cock hardening at the thought of them alone in the bar like all those summers ago. She was sexier than ever with her chestnut hair swept into a loose ponytail and her dark jeans hugging her thighs. Half of him wanted to grab her and scream at her for disappearing ten years ago and the other half, the half below his belt, wanted a very different kind of grabbing and screaming. His palm began to sting again. He clenched his fist and focused on the beautifully angry woman striding up to the table.