Page 6 of Maid in America

“Surrrrrre.” She giggled, tapping her forehead against the hollow of his throat.

“You know, Aphrodite,” he said, holding her closer, “I’mnot one to beg, but if you give me a chance to show you what I can do off the dance floor,” he flashed a cocky grin, “youjust might.”

That kind of confidence was her secret weakness. Her spine went rigid, knees unsteady. She felt any possible witty retort evaporate the instant he uttered it.

Barrett could swear she was blushing, could feel her weakened gait as they danced. The thought of having that kind of effect on her made him even more aware of his growing erection, one starting to rage against the stiff barrier of his tight jeans. One he was sure she could feel as he dipped her backward, feeling her thigh sink between his.

“Suppose I said ‘yes,’” she said. “Where would we go?”

“My place.” His hands trailed down her arms.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” She bit her bottom lip.

Without another word, he slid a hand behind the small of her back and whispered, “Get your things.”

In the parking lot, men cackled in the distance, deep in some sort of intoxicated conversation with one another. Barrett pointed to his black Jeep, one with mud-encrusted tires in desperate need of a good scrub-down. “You wanna ride with me or follow?”

“I’ll follow. I don’t do sleepovers,” she said, unlocking a sedan a few vehicles away with the key fob in her hand.

“Honey,” he grinned, pausing to devour every inch of her with his eyes, “With a body like that in my apartment, I wouldn’tfathomsleeping.”

2

The door to Barrett’sstudio apartment swung open to reveal a modest loft with red support beams and exposed brick walls. It smelled faintly of sweat and cologne. The open expanse was decorated with mismatched leather furniture and littered with laundry, cowboy boots, and half-full water bottles. The counter was full of strewn papers, surfaces speckled with bits of food and water rings from perspired glasses.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut, Barrett hung his keys on one of the prongs on his mounted jackalope head by the entrance. The taxidermied rabbit’s head adorned with glued-on antlers stared back at them, a gift his grandmother had given him as a housewarming present years prior.

Barrett grabbed Aphrodite’s hands and pinned them over her head against the brick wall just inside the front door. He pressed his mouth to hers for a deep kiss and then trailed smaller, softerones down her chin and neck, skimming across her collarbone with his eager mouth.

She panted, arms slackening in his grasp as he softly nipped at her jaw and bottom lip. She moaned, loud and fierce.

Barrett thought about his neighbors down the hall and how they were desensitized to the female voices coming from his apartment by now. Their averted, bashful gazes in the laundry room were something he took pride in.

“Mmmm. That fucking moan, girl. Do that again. I liked it,” he groaned, voice gravelly. His eyes grew dark, hooded by a thick veil of desire.

“Make me.”

The taunt sent a bolt of heat to his groin.

“I do like a feisty woman,” he said gruffly, the corner of his lip twitching up onto a half-smile. He released her hands, backed away, and headed toward the kitchen.

“Wow.” She made her way to the center of the apartment, looking around at several hung paintings of the nude female form and the occasional framed photo. “I like your place. I love these old buildings; they have such avibe.”

“Avibe?” he asked from the open kitchen. “What kind of avibeare you getting from this place?”

“It has a sort of stylish industrial charm to it. I bet it gets gorgeous light during the day.”

He watched, unable to take his eyes off the way her colorful hair danced against her shoulders.

She circled his weight bench in the corner, still racked with fifty-pound weights, clacking her nails against the metal bar as she passed it.

She stopped in the middle of a bank of windows, soaking in the town’s main thoroughfare below. A few run-down cars peppered the roadway, and drunken patrons meandered downthe sidewalks. The lights of Jackson twinkled like fireflies in the dark night sky.

“It’s a great view,” Barrett said, making his way to her, pressing himself softly against her back and wrapping a strong arm around to offer her a beveled glass of booze.

“No, thanks.” She shook her head, only peeling her eyes from the stunning view long enough to decline.

Barrett shrugged and poured her drink into his. He set the empty on the brick sill and leaned against the window, staring at her as he sipped.

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