Page 67 of Strike Zone

Right. My turn. I would love to lick the salt right off her body. I would be satisfied with a small taste of her wrist at this point. Is this the level of pathetic I have succumbed to?

She watches with rapt attention as I lick, swallow, and suck down my shot. I grimace as the tequila burns its way down my esophagus. “How is this your drink of choice?”

“It’s a nice mix of sour and sweet. Just when you think you know what you’re getting it changes on you. I’m also a lot more fun when I drink tequila. Life of the party,” she says in her usual deadpan delivery but with the addition of jazz hands.

Wren may think it’s the tequila, but I’ve never seen her have more than one or two drinks when we’ve gone out before. The tequila is a smokescreen, an excuse. She doesn’t need a drink to give herself some slack. She wants something to blame her behavior on the next day.

I know her. She doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. Tequila happy or not.

“That’s you alright.”

“You don’t think I can be the life of the party?”

“I…” I start to say. I don’t want to offend her but… “No. I don’t. I think you would pick a quiet night at home curled up on the couch, watching a movie, and drinking one of your flavored waters every time over line dancing at a honky tonk.”

She takes a quick sip of her beer. “Dare me to do something. Anything. Dealer’s choice.” She turns her body toward me. Her thigh knocks against mine and my dick decides it wants to say hello. My brain is slow processing her question. The combination of her body near mine and the tequila is hindering the function of my cognitive skills.

She gives me a look that says ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

“Kiss someone,” I blurt out, clearly not thinking with the right head. If I were, I would realize that I’m giving her my permission to put the lips I’ve been staring at all night on someone that isn’t me. Not that she needs my permission to do anything. But I wouldn’t have recommended it if my dick wasn’t trying to monopolize the conversation.

“Kiss someone,” she repeats, her voice soft. She licks her lips. I want to do that. Instead I’m left wondering how sweet that bitter tongue of hers really is.

“Pick anyone you want.”

“Anyone I want?” she questions, her eyes never leaving mine. The neon lights of the bar dance off her white tank top creating a kaleidoscope of colors.

“Yep.” I glance around the bar looking for someone I could stomach her kissing. Pickings are slim. Wren stands up on the rung of the bar stool and uses my shoulders for balance.

Her tits land a couple inches from my nose and I’m desperately fighting the compulsion to shove my face in her cleavage and suffocating myself.

There’s a tiny lift to her lips as she searches the bar for her guy. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I need to check her ancestry report. She has to have the devil in her bloodline somewhere.

Cool air skims the top of my head bringing my focus back to Wren. She’s removed my hat and is flipping it around over my head. When she places it back on my head backwards, I’m a little lost.

Wren’s palms slide down the side of my face until she’s cupping my cheeks. Her thumbs graze my stubble and my eyes close voluntarily, savoring the feel of her skin on mine.

Her lips press gently into mine and my whole world tilts. Anyone I want? Me. She picked me. She’s kissing me. What does that mean? Does she want me? Get out of your head idiot. Kiss her back.

Wren jerks back and I blink my eyes to get out of this haze she’s put me in.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Wren misinterprets my stupidity as lack of interest. She drops down in the stool and covers her hand over her mouth.

“You’re right,” I say. Her sharp intake of breath is like a needle in my heart. I tip her chin up. “I should have done it.” Wrapping my hand around her neck, I pull her towards me and softly brush my lips against hers.

Her hands find my side and she grabs hold of my shirt, pulling me closer to her. I lick the seam of her lips and get her to open up for me. When the sweet taste of her hits my tongue, I want to claw my way closer to her.

Wren tastes bittersweet with the mix of lime and tequila from her shot. Sweet and salty just like her. I need more. I wrestle her for control until she finally yields letting me explore her mouth slowly, savoring every moment of this kiss. It could be the last one I get from her. The only one I get.

I nip at her plush lower lip, playing with her and giving her a moment to breathe before diving back in for more.

She pulls back, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. I rest my forehead against her. “I’m having fun now,” she says. My lips curl into a smile.

“Would you like to have more fun back at my place?” I kiss her again.

Her head reels back. “Does that line really work?”

“I don’t know. Never used it before.” I shrug. “I don’t bring girls home.”

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