Tripped Out: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella, Page 2

  “Inhale?” Junior said on a laugh. “Just jokin’ with ya.” He lit a cigarette and studied Liam through the smoke. “Your hours got cut, huh? So you’re lookin’ for more work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I could use a kid like you to make a couple of deliveries for me a week.”

  Don’t even consider going to work for a drug dealer!

  Again, Liam told his conscience to shut up and boldly said, “I’m listening.”

  “Smart of you not to say no right off the bat and hear me out.”

  Liam swallowed hard. What if Junior wouldn’t give him a choice?

  “You’d be…shall we call it…a courier,” Junior continued, “taking package A to location B. Maybe eight hours a week total. Maybe a few more.”

  “Why me?” he blurted out.

  “For one thing, you ain’t a user so I don’t gotta worry you’re gonna fuck me over because you’re jonesing for a fix and start stealing dope from me.” Junior puffed on his cigarette. “The other thing…a geeky, glasses-wearing kid who looks like a damn Boy Scout ain’t gonna raise suspicions. People will smile at you and believe you’re just out doing more good deeds.”

  For the first time ever being a nerdy brainiac might pay off. “How much does it pay?”

  “Depends on how far you gotta take the package across town. I’d guess it’d be around two hundred a week to start. And to sweeten the deal, I’ll discount Granny’s biweekly weed order by twenty percent.”

  Holy shit. A reduced price for Gramma’s medicine and double the money he earned bussing tables? Fewer hours meant he could thoroughly research his options for college scholarships and get his applications in early.

  “One time offer, kid. What’s it gonna be?”

  “I’m in as long as I can be out as soon as I turn eighteen.”

  Junior flashed his teeth. “Good to see you ain’t such a pushover. But bear in mind, there’s risk. If you get caught while couriering said packages, I expect you to play that innocent Boy Scout card.”

  Liam offered his hand. “You got yourself a deal.”

  * * * *

  Stirling Gradsky, age sixteen…

  “Jesus, Stirling. Pull the stick out of your ass, stop being such a damn goody-goody, and take a hit. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  Stirling Gradsky glared at her older sister London, then at the joint London brought to her mouth and inhaled from.

  Again.

  London held the smoke in for several moments and blew it out. Then she smiled and cocked her head, sending her long auburn hair cascading over her shoulder.

  Resentment surfaced. Her older sister had the charisma that made boys and men want to gather around her. London was carefree, rebellious, sometimes reckless, but it all came naturally to her. After a full day of trail riding in the dust and muck, London looked beautiful. The glow from the campfire had her hair shining like spun copper. Even with that old, holey, smelly horse blanket draped around her shoulders, she managed to look both elegant and wild.

  Stirling pulled her own blanket tighter, hoping London would forget about her and return to flirting with the cowboys surrounding the campfire.

  But London wouldn’t let it go. “Come on. Drop the holier-than-thou attitude, baby sis, and try some.” London shoved the joint in Stirling’s face.

  She managed to bite out, “No, thank you.”

  London’s eyes narrowed. “What is your problem?”

  “Besides the fact that what you’re doing is illegal?” she snapped. “I prefer to have all of my brain cells intact. Apparently that doesn’t matter to any of you.”

  Laughter rippled around them.

  “Or are you afraid you’ll get the joint stuck in your braces?” London said with a snicker.

  That mean comment just made Stirling angrier. “Maybe I’m concerned about germs. I don’t want to put my lips on that thing when I don’t know where any of their lips”—her derisive gaze encompassed the group of four guys and one other girl—“have been.”

  “God. You are such a pain,” London complained. “Why are you even here if you don’t want to have a little fun?” She took another drag, locking her eyes to Stirling’s. “Oh, right, Mom made me take you.”

  A wave of heat washed over her. She hated how much her sister had changed in the last year since she’d graduated from high school and started running wild with the rodeo crowd. London had no time for her anymore. So Stirling had begged their mom to make London take her on this trip, hoping they’d have some time together to talk, even if it was at night in their shared tent. But London had brought her own pup tent, leaving Stirling to bunk alone. And Stirling wasn’t stupid; she’d heard her sister’s giggles and groans coming from one of the guys’ tents the very first night.

  So this trip sucked, even before everyone started getting high.

  “Stop naggin’ her.” The guy next to London snagged the joint, took a big drag, held it in, and blew it out. “That just means there’s more for us.”

  Dale, the good-looking cowboy on London’s other side, had his turn with the joint. “Man. That is some good shit,” he said on a long exhale.

  Everyone murmured their agreement.

  Then they were all laughing about something dumb that one of their friends had done—a guy Stirling didn’t know—so she literally sat there like a bump on a log.

  An invisible bump on a log.

  Story of her sixteen-year existence. She knew she was awkward. She also knew it wasn’t a “stage,” as her mother had assured her. No. This was the real her—the socially inept, brainy geek with goals beyond getting baked every weekend.

  “Hey, I’m at the end of this joint,” Lizzie said. “What do I do?”

  “Give it here.” London pulled a bobby pin from her hair and skillfully turned it into a roach clip, which just proved this wasn’t her first go-round with weed.

  When the laughter gave way to singing, Stirling had had enough. She slowly stood, wincing at the muscles screaming in her back, legs, and arms from spending hours on horseback. Just another reminder that she had ambitions beyond working in the family horse breeding and cattle business. She dreamed of a job where she could wear silk blouses and sky-high heels, not boots and jeans.

  No one noticed her leave.

  In her tent, she buried her head in her sleeping bag, trying to block out the animal howling contest the stoners started when the coyotes began their nightly yowling. She felt a little smug when a collective paranoia set in that maybe the coyotes would bring the wolves in closer and they all scattered to their tents.

  Or maybe they all had a bad case of the munchies.

  Stirling snorted. No wonder they used to call it reefer madness.

  Then she promised herself to steer clear of marijuana forever, no matter what.

  Chapter One

  The first rule of being a prankster?

  A killer poker face.

  And Stirling Gradsky had that down pat.

  The second rule of being a prankster?

  Learn your opponent’s weak spots.

  Maybe Stirling didn’t have that rule down entirely. Her pranking prey, Dr. Liam Argent, remained as much a mystery now as he’d been when he’d waltzed into High Society ten months ago and declared himself emperor.

  Okay, maybe not emperor, but he definitely acted like the laboratory was his private kingdom.

  His appearance hadn’t been a surprise. Stirling’s brother Macon, her business partner in High Society—a cannabis operation that included a retail store, a medical dispensary, and an onsite grow house—had informed her that he’d hired a guy from California, a cannabis expert, to work in the lab.

  After dealing in euphemisms regarding all things cannabis related, Stirling believed “the lab” was Macon’s shorthand for the grow house. She imagined the California dude to be an older version of the iconic stoner character Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.


  Turned out she had been wrong on both accounts.

  Macon had indeed meant he’d created a full-blown, state of the art laboratory, complete with a beefed up security system for their resident cannabis expert. And the “dude from California” turned out to be Dr. Liam Argent, stuffed shirt extraordinaire, with advanced degrees up the wazoo.

  The man drove her crazy.

  Crazy.

  From day one he’d refused to tell her what he was working on in his fancy-ass lab. When she’d complained to Macon about Dr. Argent’s secretive manner, he’d instructed her to leave Dr. Argent alone.

  Her brother may as well have waved a red flag in front of her.

  She’d tried being friendly…to no avail.

  She’d tried being bossy…to no avail.

  She’d tried every “employee relations improvement” tactic she’d learned in her years in the corporate world…to no avail.

  Hence her oh-so-mature decision to prank him until he cracked. She’d worked with men like him before. At least if you got them angry enough, they’d yell at you, which nine times out of ten led to an actual conversation.

  Except Dr. Argent hadn’t shown the slightest chink in his armor. In fact, he’d joined in on her prankfest and one-upped her on occasion.

  Which was why today’s prank ranked as one of the better ones he’d pulled on her.

  It was also why Stirling was massively annoyed.

  Her assistant Shanna said, “Stop huffing around. You brought this on yourself because of the feud you and Dr. Argent are currently engaged in.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Shanna rolled her eyes. “Right. This is his retaliation for you leaving him a message to call Mike Hunt last week.”

  Stirling snickered. “Come on. Having him call a gynecologist’s office asking for Mike Hunt was classic. The only person who didn’t see the humor in it was Dr. Tight Ass.”

  “I recognize that demonic look, boss,” Shanna accused. “You’re already planning payback.”

  “Or maybe I’ll do nothing. Him waiting and worrying when I’ll strike next will freak him the fuck out.”

  “You wish. The man is an enigma. A hot enigma.”

  “Did I hear you say he needs an enema?” Stirling retorted.

  “Omigod, you are impossible. I’m probably wasting my breath, but I’ll ask you to please consider ending this feud.”

  Shanna was probably right. Stirling should take the high road.

  But where was the fun in that? And although she’d never, ever, ever admit it to anyone, this back and forth she had with Argent was the most fun she’d had at work in years.

  “Anyway, now that you’ve done your duty giving the Weed Worshipers the tour of Mecca, what’s next for them? They’re waiting.”

  “I’ve got a special surprise lined up.”

  Shanna shook her head. “Oh no. Please tell me you’re not planning—”

  Stirling whirled around and forced a smile on her group. “For the divine intervention that brought you to the tour today, you’ll receive twenty-five percent off purchases in the retail store.”

  That started an excited buzz.

  Please don’t start genuflecting again. The minute the Weed Worshipers had seen the thousands of plants in full flower, buds heavily coated in sticky crystals, two weeks from harvest, they’d fallen to their knees like true believers.

  “And no tour would be complete without visiting our state-of-the-art lab, run by our very own mad scientist. A man who works behind the scenes to build better buds for the whole world.”

  The Weed Worshipers whispered among themselves.

  “I have a favor to ask of all of you. Today is our scientist’s first day back to work after successfully kicking his sexual addiction. He hasn’t made whoopee with his blow-up doll for a full week. So could we sing him a chorus of ‘He’s a Jolly High Fellow’ to show support for his struggle?”

  Jeff, the Minister of Marijuana, the head…head of spreading the good word about weed, stepped forward. “For he who fills our coffers, it’d be our honor, ma’am.”

  “Great! Follow me.”

  Normally the back section of the facility was restricted. She escorted her group down a narrow hallway, pausing with her keycard in hand at the laboratory’s glass door. She flashed back to the time Dr. Asshat had restricted her access to his lab—by installing an electric shock device on the door handle. The longer she touched it, the stronger the current. The man taunted her by holding up a sign that said BUZZ OFF from behind the window beside the main door.

  He could get her riled up like no one else she’d ever met.

  She swiped the card and the green light flashed.

  Stirling led her charges into the mad scientist’s domain. Mad being the operative word.

  The instant her nemesis appeared she felt that roiling drop in her stomach.

  No denying that Dr. Liam Argent had the rockstar look down. His hair—the color a mix of dark brown and sun-kissed gold—fell across his forehead in artful disarray. Her gaze moved to his square jaw, coated in dark stubble, and back up to his high cheekbones that were gaining color by the second. His glasses were heavy black frames that’d look ridiculous on anyone else, but on him they only magnified the intensity of his eyes, the color somewhere between liquid silver and matte gray, depending on his mood.

  He’d worn his customary white lab coat, khaki pants, and boots. Ordinary dorky-scientist garb. But the colorful tattoos visible beneath the collar of his lab coat, tattoos that started on his right hand and traveled up his wrist, were anything but ordinary. She’d never gotten more than a glimpse of his tats, since they were sworn enemies and all.

  He loomed over her, his lips pulled into a flat line. “What is this about, Miss Gradsky?”

  Stirling smiled at him and reached out to straighten his pocket protector. How nerdy that he always wore this ugly plastic thing jammed with stuff. “The Weed Worshipers wanted to personally thank you for your scientific contributions to building a better bud.”

  Was it her imagination or did his lips just twitch?

  Nah.

  “Everyone, this is Dr. Liam Argent. Careful now, he goes Dr. Jekyll when people assume all his job entails is castrating male cannabis plants, deflowering female cannabis plants, and watching them get it on under a microscope.”

  A few people in the group chuckled.

  “As you can see, Miss Gradsky’s sense of humor is on par with that of a thirteen-year-old boy.”

  More laughter.

  “Okay, let’s show the ball snipper and cherry popper our appreciation. On the count of three. One…two…three…”

  “For he’s a jolly high fellow, for he’s a jolly high fellow, for he’s a jolly high fellow… that nobody can deny.”

  His eyes shot lasers at her. “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

  Jeff said, “Good luck with your…you know. We’ll form a smoke circle in your honor tonight. Keep it up.”

  The woman next to Jeff elbowed him and hissed, “You don’t say ‘keep it up’ to a sex addict.”

  “Former sex addict,” Stirling pointed out with sweet malice.

  “The exit is to your left,” Dr. Argent said tersely.

  After the group filed out, Dr. Mad Scientist got in her face. “What part of ‘no visitors in the lab’ is unclear to you?”

  “Oh, that lame-ass rule was totally negated when you dug up the Weed Worshipers and awarded them ‘an exclusive, all-access tour of cannabis Mecca’ given by me—the one true believer in becoming an ‘elevationist’ in the cannabis church movement.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Like you had no idea how the air horn got duct taped to the bottom of my office chair?” she demanded.

  He cocked his head. “I’ve told you to discuss it with the cleaning service. Didn’t you recommend that I talk to them after I discovered Kentucky blue grass growing in my
spare keyboard?”

  She tsk-tsked. “So few people have job pride anymore.” She poked him in the chest. “You should consider yourself lucky that I didn’t demand you do something ‘science-y’ for the Weed Worshipers.”

  “Science-y isn’t even a word, Miss Gradsky. At any rate, I’m not subject to your whims.”

  “You couldn’t satisfy my whims even if I deigned to let you try.”

  “I believe you’re equating the term ‘whim’ with the word ‘fantasy.’ But I’ll admit I have imagined you wearing a ball gag during meetings.”

  “Aha! Then you also admit clipping that ‘Why Men Prefer Submissive Women’ article to my monitor with a dog leash and collar.” She’d actually had to close her door, she’d started laughing so hard when she’d seen that one.

  He blinked at her. “I would never violate the sanctity of your sacred space. Not that you adhere to the same respect for privacy. Was it really necessary to include a case of ‘Self-love Lube’ with my lab supplies?”

  “Since I have no clue what you’re doing in your secret lab, Dexter—”

  “I can assure you that I’m not jacking off all goddamn day.”

  They stared at each other, neither one backing down.

  “And what was the nonsense about me being a sex addict?” he demanded.

  “Ask the blow-up doll in your office.” Stirling opened the door and said, “Peace out, yo,” tacking on “Dr. Dickhead,” under her breath as she escaped.

  Chapter Two

  Dr. Dickhead.

  Liam watched that round butt of hers sway as she walked off.

  He’d tried—God, how he’d tried—to ignore her taunts, but Stirling Gradsky challenged him at every turn. The woman was a menace. A smart menace, a sexy menace, but still a nuisance and a distraction nonetheless.

  When he’d signed on to be the director of research at High Society, he’d anticipated a fresh start. No workplace drama like he’d dealt with at his former position in California. But he’d had a run-in with Stirling on the very first day.

  She’d informed him that he was required to turn in his research notes at the end of every week so she could go over them.