Page 3 of Possessive Cowboy

Bridget is even better to look at in person. My eyes go to her tits pretty much right away.

Ordinarily I’d try to at least pretend to be interested in making eye contact with a date, with getting to know her before trying to sleep with her. But this isn’t an ordinary date, and she knows that.

I only suggested that we meet at a bar because it seemed wrong to go straight to a hotel. But now that I’ve gotten a look at Bridget up close, I’m regretting this. I’m wondering how long she’ll want to stay here, how long she’ll want to talk before she lets me take her to bed. Therealreason we’re both here tonight.

“You must be Maverick,” Bridget says, twisting on the barstool to look at me.

“Mav,” I reply curtly.

I take the shot glass from her hand, my fingers briefly brushing against hers, and bring the drink under my nose to smell. Tequila. Not my favorite, but a stiff drink of any kind will help me shift from working mode to relaxing. I down the shot and put the glass on the bar.

“Would you like another?” she offers politely. “I have a tab open.”

Shit. This girl is talking to me like we’re at a job interview or something. I’m surprised she didn’t try to shake my hand. And what the hell is she doing, offering to buy me a drink?

“You don’t need to buy me a drink,” I say gruffly. “I’ll pick up that tab, too. When you’re with me, you’ll spend my money, not yours.”

“That’s…that’s really not necessary. But thank you.”

For the first time, I tear my eyes away from her body and look at her face.

The app doesn’t let you share photos of your face - I guess to prevent creeps from identifying women or something like that. And to be honest, I didn’t even wonder what Bridget’s face would look like. I saw her body, and that was enough for me.

I’m a cowboy on his night off looking to blow off some steam. I’m not looking for my goddamn soul mate or something.

Hell. I don’t evenbelievein soul mates.

But now I’m looking at Bridget’s face and see that she’s pretty.Reallyfucking pretty. Girl-next-door kind of pretty, with large blue eyes and soft brown hair framing her face. She’s got freckles across her cheeks and her nose, and her lips are pale pink. Young looking, younger than I expected, and way too innocent for a guy like me.

“No makeup,” I mutter absent-mindedly, taking her in.

“Excuse me?” she raises a brow, the polite smile dropping from her face.

Nice one, Mav. Took you 5 seconds and you’ve already offended her. That’s got to be a world record.

“You’re not wearing makeup,” I say a little louder. “Not much of it, anyway. Don’t worry. I like that. I hate when females wear all that gooey shit on your lips.”

There. That should fix it. Nothing to be offended about now, right?

Wrong.

“Females,” she repeats, her brow furrowing.

“I meant that as a compliment,” I say, shifting back on my heels and putting my hands in my pockets.

“Glad you approve,” she says.

She’s not looking at me now, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. She looks past me, at the exit.

“Look, I appreciate you coming all this way to meet with me but I’m sorry. I think this was a bad idea. I have to go.”

She stands and I watch her walk to the exit for a moment before following her out.

The parking lot is well lit by the streetlights and neon signs of the bar behind us. I catch up to her in no time.

“Now, wait a damn minute,” I say when I get to her car. She’s digging in her purse, looking for keys, and her back stiffens when she hears my voice. “I say one wrong thing, and you’re leaving?”

She turns and aims her big blue eyes at me. Even when she’s pissed off, they still have an innocent quality about them.

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