Page 6 of Mountain Man's Flirty Farmgirl
Did anybody even use that word anymore? I’d probably heard it in a movie. But this guy was in his thirties and seemed to be perpetually serious, so I was guessing, unlike my friends, he wouldn’t make fun of me for using an old-fashioned word.
“There’s a good diner across the street,” he said. “But aside from the pancake place, the closest restaurants are a twenty-minute drive up the interstate.”
I nodded. “The diner’s perfect.”
We didn’t need a grand exit. We were already standing in the doorway, and nobody was paying attention to us anyway. Everyone was caught up in drinking and chatting and laughing. We were an afterthought.
So we just walked out.
The night air hit me with a soft chill—cool and fresh, scented faintly with pine and the last threads of kettle corn smoke drifting down from the market grounds. I sipped my beer and fell into step beside him as we crossed the quiet street.
His hands were in his pockets. Mine were wrapped around the bottle. And the space between us practically crackled.
Halfway across the street, I glanced over at him. “You ever get diner food to go?”
He looked at me. “Sure.”
“What if we did that now? Took it up into the mountains? You could show me around. Give me the longtimer’s tour of Wildwood Valley.”
He raised a brow. “The what?”
“Come on,” I said, nudging his arm. “You’ve lived here your whole life, right? You’ve got to have a favorite spot. Something with a view. Or a story. Or at least a good picnic table.”
He didn’t answer right away. We reached the diner parking lot, stepping up onto the curb under the flickering yellow light.
Finally, he said, “You’d actually rather sit outside in the dark with a grumpy guy and a foam box of fries than stay at a cozy party with free drinks?”
I smiled up at him. “Depends. Does the grumpy guy know a place where I can see stars?”
His jaw worked like he was trying to argue, but then he shook his head. “You’re trouble.”
“Yep.”
That one word hung between us, heavy with promise.
He opened the diner door, holding it just long enough for me to step inside first, and I had the strangest feeling—like this night was going to change everything. Like maybe that crush on Bryce Goodman had just become the most distant memory in the world.
4
BLADE
“Did you make a wish?”
Sienna’s question jerked me out of a very vivid fantasy of her naked on top of me, riding my hard cock. It had felt like a safe enough fantasy. We were both on our backs, staring up at the sky, after all. But her question shone a spotlight on me, making me feel like I’d been busted.
“A wish?” I asked.
“On the first star you saw. Or maybe you have everything you could ever want.”
There was one thing I wanted that I hadn’t had yet. She was lying just a few feet away from me. I could reach out my arm and touch her shoulder. A few scoots to the right, and I’d be touching her breast. Yeah, that idea might have run through my mind at least a half dozen times in the past half hour or so.
“I don’t wish on stars,” I said. “I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”
That made me sound like an asshole. Whatever. It was the truth. And besides, Iwasan asshole.
“You’ve never made a wish?” she asked. “Not even when you blow out your birthday candles?”
“Nope.”
