So I decided to lose it to someone who won’t be some long-term disappointment. This way, it can be on my terms. A hot one-night stand or a short summer fling, and that’s it. No strings, no long sappy goodbyes.
No expectations.
That was the plan, at least. But the shine is fading already. Maybe I’ll wait until I start my master’s studies at NYU in the fall. There has to be some hot grad student in the speech therapy program that would happily take the honors.
I peel my thighs from the sticky vinyl seat cushion, adjusting myself as I grip the edge of the tabletop for support.
Our shot-buying benefactors are walking our way as Dolly shoots me a wink, leaning an elbow on the table, cocking her hip and swinging her leg forward and back, scuffing the bottom of her black cowboy boot on the linoleum floor.
“Which one do you fancy?” she hiss-whispers as they come closer. “You get first pick.”
My urge to bolt toward the door clutches at my throat. I look ridiculous in this cowgirl stripper outfit. I tug at the tied-up knot on the front of my shirt, the flesh of my belly pooching out, and there are dimples on my thighs where they push against the seat. I’m happy with my body, but right now I just wish I was wearing something a little less…obvious.
The next half hour is a blur of whipped cream covered shots and awkwardly watching my best friend flirt, while the taller guy with the shaved head tells me I should smile more. I grit my teeth and stay civil, because Dolly looks like she’s in hog heaven. The other guy seems genuinely interested in her and honestly is not a complete douche. He even bowed down and kissed the toe of her boot when she lifted it for him.
In another life, I think she’d have made one hell of a pro-domme.
I, on the other hand, am dreaming of a bubble bath back at the bed and breakfast, with my v-card living to see another day.
“Hey, give me a little smile.” Bald guy leans his meaty forearms on the edge of the table, his entire hulking weight tipping it off balance, spilling my bag and all of our drinks onto the floor around his feet as he steps back. “Jesus, fuck! Watch what you’re doing!”
His hands fly upward, spilled beer drenching the front of his jeans. His condescending sticky-sweet mask drops as anger digs into his ruddy features, red creeping over his face, making him look like a volcano ready to blow.
By this time, Dolly has transitioned to the dancefloor with baldy’s friend, smiling and spinning on her cowboy boots like she’s the hoedown queen of Ompotomic.
“You leaned on the table,” I snap, hopping off my chair and dropping into a crouch in a rush to salvage the contents of my bag from the beer and whiskey dripping down from the tabletop.
I play through the excuses I could use to get away from him—or get him to go away without cock blocking Dolly’s good time.
I swallow down the curses gathering in my throat, as he kicks at the broken glass around his feet, slapping his hands down the front of his grimy t-shirt as I pinch the corner of my dripping wallet on a grimace and shove it inside my bag.
“You’re not even my type.” He scowls on a disgusted grunt. “I was just being nice because my friend had a hard-on for your girl.”
He jerks his thumb toward the dance floor, making no effort to help me pick up the contents of my spilled bag, when a new pair of worn work boots strides into view from my left.
“That’s a shitty thing to say.” A low, gravelly voice that’s attached to the new boots cuts through the chatter and twang of a Hank Williams song. “And pretty sure you aren’t my sister’s type either.”
His sister?
I start to look up when my eyes catch the shimmer of three gold-foil packets lying only inches from the tip of the deep baritone guy’s left boot.
Shit.
I snatch them from the floor, shifting back onto my heels, my canvas bag in one hand, the strip of three condoms in the other, intending to hide them before anyone can see, but when my gaze lifts, I freeze.
There’s not just the size difference in the two men’s feet, but the knees of the guy attached to the boots are a good six or eight inches higher than baldy’s. I continue my visual trek north, taking in thick thighs that fill out worn denim, while further up something equally thick has a heat wave moving over my skin as the award-winning bulge challenges his zipper.
He doesn’t shift when I stare, and suddenly I break out of my trance and look up to see dark eyes inspecting me from under a cinched brow. He lowers his hand with a click of his teeth. His face is hard lines and smoldering intensity, but there’s a softness to his magnificent lips that I want to explore with my tongue.
“Stand up, sis, you’re going to cut yourself.” He moves his tongue around the inside of his cheek, flicking his fingers in a gesture for me to give him my hand. I do, and he lifts me from the floor onto legs as wobbly as a newborn foal.
When I find my feet, I take in the rest of him. Black sort of canvas button-up shirt, open at the neck, showing enough of what’s underneath for me to appreciate he’s clearly a man that works for a living. His hand is rough, just like his low growl.
I strain to look up, taking in his face and the dark, wavy hair left to fall as it chooses. His clean-shaven angular jaw and unwavering gaze have my nipples perking up as dull contractions tighten my center.
“Your sister?” Baldy grunts, narrowing his eyes as I offer a silent shrug and a smile, because I’m not sure what exactly is going on here, but I do know I want more of it.
“My brother is very protective.” I glance at the enormous stranger, playing into whatever game this is and realize his eyes are a dark jade green, such a vivid jewel tone that it looks out of place with the rest of him. “Thanks, bro,” I manage, delivering a playful punch into his shoulder.