Page 12 of Tangled

“That was in case she goes missing, so I know who to send the police after,” she smiles evilly before gathering up their drunk friend and kissing Red on the cheek. “Be careful and have fun. You deserve it. Love you.”

Red reciprocates the affection and nods at her. “Oh, I plan on it,” she confirms and then turns back to me, lifting her beer to her lips. “Now where were we…”

Chapter 6

Olivia

“Well, you were about to tell me about all the songs you should never interrupt…” Mr. Mysterious replies, holding his beer in his hands between his legs.

“That’s easy. All of them,” I shrug and then smile wide at him. I’m definitely buzzed, but the alcohol isn’t the only thing that’s making my mind fuzzy.

He laughs at me, a deep belly laugh that shows his brilliant smile as pearly white teeth peek out from under his perfect lips framed by that rugged beard.God, that beard. I’m not usually one who gravitates towards men with facial hair, but something about it makes me even hungrier for him.

The vibrations that resonated from the bottom of his stomach as he let out one of the most jovial but deep laughs I’ve ever heard traveled all the way down to the tips of my toes, making them curl just slightly in my black boots as my feet perch on the rungs of my stool.

This man—Mr. Mysterious—was like a sinful, fluffy, covered in maple syrup and sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon stack of pancakes—loaded with regretful carbs that you try to convince yourself you don’t need, but have to have just one bite of.

Only these pancakes are covered in red and black checkered flannel, dirty washed jeans, the perfect amount of dark facial hair to constitute a beard, and served to you on a platter of thick muscle and corded forearms showcasing those sexy veins that really shouldn’t be sexy but are, scented with the smell of pine and fresh rain, like he just stepped out of the forest.

Rugged, rustic, and enough to put you in a sugar coma if you decide to dive in fork-first, soaking up the sugary river of sweetness, basking in the flavor of the bronze liquid and meltiness of the cake as it hits your tongue.

All of a sudden I have the strongest craving for a stack of pancakes served up on the naked chest of the man in front of me.

I swallow hard, desperately trying to fight off the need to sink my teeth into his muscles, or better yet, that plump lip that’s taunting me as he pulls it between his teeth, studying me while I study him. All I feel is a physical need, the need to forget everything that’s gone wrong in my life this past week and lose myself in some much needed physical pleasure.

It’s all there, and tonight, I feel like maybe—for once in my life—I might need to give in to the carbs.

This man is nothing like Trevor.

No. Stop that, Liv.

No comparing.

Not tonight.

Go with your gut.

Well, my gut is telling me I’d like to ride this man’s face.

“So clearly this is some rule of yours then, Red?” He asks once our staring match has ended.

“I just hate when a good song gets interrupted, especially one you know all the words to. When that chorus comes on and you know you’re going to nail it, but then someone or something cuts you off, it’s more infuriating than getting interrupted during a good orgasm.”

Mr. Mysterious chokes on his beer as he looks up and me and laughs, shocked by the words that just came out of my mouth.

“Did you just compare singing a song to an orgasm?”

“I mean, everyone has the things that they feel passionate about. For me, that’s music and orgasms.”

My flannel-covered pal shakes his head and laughs at me before swallowing hard. His eyes peruse my body before settling back on my face.

“I guess I can appreciate that,” he says, the deep rasp of his voice coating my body in tingles. I wonder what kind of orgasms this man can hand out.

God, Liv. You sound like a slut right now.

No, I’m just drunk and horny. Sue me.

Shut up and for the love of God, stop drinking.

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