Trick by Lori Garrett

to me. “To our mamas. Two of the best damn women who walked the earth, gone too soon.”
    My throat goes tight, but I clear it and clink glasses. “To our mamas.”
    It’s a strange toast, but it makes sense for the two of us. The first time we met, Harlow told me about her mother and how much she missed her. I remember thinking that this loved, petted, perfect rich girl and my lowly, stinkin,’ wrong-side-of-the-tracks self had one thing in common at least. Once I got to know her, I found out we were actually more alike than I thought possible.
    It’s a damn shame that with all the things we had in common, a few differences destroyed any chance for us to be together. But that’s life. It sure as hell isn’t fair, and Harlow and I both learned that when we buried our mamas as kids. Sometimes life kicks you when you’re down just for the fun of it. That’s why you gotta get tough or get your ass handed to you.
    “C’mon, gorgeous.” I tip her chin up with my finger and kiss her, the sweet of her mouth even sweeter against the bite of the liquor. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed, the lashes so long, they brush her cheeks. “I promised you a dance. Don’t make a liar out of me.”
    The music picked up since Harlow fed the jukebox and started the place hopping, so we get to do our fair share of quick two stepping before the tempo slows down. As soon as it does, Harlow nestles close, her head leaned on my shoulder, her arms around my neck. If I dip my head, I can smell the amber and pomegranate.
    Snooping around her room years back, I found the little bottle of perfume she wore. A few months after I walked away from her, I had a moment of weakness and bought myself a bottle of it, just to try catch the smell of her.
    Didn’t fucking work. Straight out of the bottle, it smelled cold and heavy. I realized it was the smell of the stuff on Harlow’s skin that drove me nuts. To this day, it’s the one and only smell that can make me instantly turned-on.
    “I don’t remember the last time I felt so damn good,” I tell her, stroking her soft hair.
    She glances up at me, her smile so wide and happy, it sets off every alarm bell in my head. I shouldn’t be leading her on. One shot of Southern Comfort sure as hell isn’t enough to get my tongue stupid-loose like it’s being.
    “It’s dancing,” she says, pointing down at our feet. “It releases endorphins and they make you happy.”
    “I don’t know about endorphins,” I say. “But I know a little bit about being happy. And I think I’m feeling it because I finally have you in my arms again.”
    She stops again, mid-dance and her lips tremble. “I have never felt so right, Gunner, as I have these last few days. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for you to come back to me.”
    “Here I am,” I say, cursing the words the minute they leave my mouth.
    As if I’m not already headed for enough damn trouble, I start to whisper in her ear, things I want to do, and exactly how I want to do them until she’s shaking in my arms, begging me to take her home.
    I shut down my last few working brain cells, the ones that are screaming that I’m sinking myself deeper into the kind of trouble I’ll never be able to get out of.
    Maybe I don’t fucking want out. Maybe I want to go back to that time, three years ago, when it felt like I had a chance with Harlow. Maybe I want to make good on the promises I made to her, then broke. Maybe I want to finally make my mama proud and fight for the right girl.
    She holds on tight while I take her home, back to my house, a few hundred feet from the barn where we fucked like crazy when we were hardly more than kids.
    I can’t get her in the house fast enough. She walks in and sits on the stairs, crooking a finger at me. I shake my head and scoop her into my arms.
    “Gunner?”
    “I’m taking you up to my room. To my bed. I’m not going to stop touching you until your throat is raw from screaming my