Page 2 of Brewbies
He was too warm—no, hot. Keyed up. Tense and edgy. Sick of the shit. Ready to be reckless for once in his forsaken life.
And just at a time when he needed to be more vigilant than ever against such toxic traits.
Tonight, he might select someone who could really take it. Who shared his hunger, and his need for anonymity. Who shared his distaste for the apps and the texting games and just wanted to get naked and sweaty with him for a few hours.
Ethan returned a promising smile from a woman in a red tank top with skintight black jeans and motorcycle boots. His hand itched to grip her ponytail and use it as leverage…
Then there was the girl next door out with her friends. Tight white tee and flattering slacks her only concession to party attire. She belonged in this place about as much as he did, and she returned his penetrating gaze with a few shy glances as she played with her hair.
Maybe her? She’d want the gentleman, which would remind him to be one.
A husky, melodic laugh burst over the entire room like shards of a shattering chandelier, audible even above the constant thump of the bass.
Ethan gave the pink-haired woman with pin-up curves a salty glance. She’d been holding court at the other end of the bar for a while now. Surrounded by a pack of panting wolves who talked and tumbled over themselves for the dubious reward of her attention.
Puppies,he scoffed to himself.
They wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like her. She’d grab them by the ankles and force them to make a final wish before tearing them apart.
Had to admit, from behind a sip of his beer, that she had a captivating presence—a sensual one that seemed to ripple across the room. She knew how to move her sinuous limbs in a way that drew the eye. How to use her body against men.
She had an arsenal of weaponized sexuality. Eyes of indeterminate color emphasized by charcoal-black liner. Curves for days. Tits that belonged in the hall of fame. If there was such a thing.
Desire surged through his blood, but he turned the firehose on it. He was looking for someone uncomplicated and easy.
Besides, she was flirting with some biker-looking motherfucker who looked like he’d have to hit her up for bail money later.
As if sensing his regard, she glanced over, flipping a tousled, bright pink lock of hair over her shoulder with a saucy move.
Ethan held her gaze, telling himself hewas notwilling her to come over. Or daring her to.
She broke eye contact first, pasting on her sultry smile before she threw her head back and rewarded her captive audience with another wild laugh. The motion shook the abundant cleavage hauled up to her chin by a dress held together by silk straps and a prayer to Satan’s sticky brimstone.
Cady wouldn’t be caught dead here.
The thought punched through him like a bullet, and he indulged in another swig.
Sweet, sensitive Cady, with her golden hair and genuine heart might as well not exist beneath this wall of neon. She belonged to her dusty bookshelves, her collection of misfit taxidermy animals, and Roman Fawkes, her dangerous disaster of a boyfriend.
No shade on Cady. If she wanted to throw in with someone who would serve life with a side of weird, who was Ethan to judge?
He was the county fucking sheriff, that was who. The heir to the family who’d founded Townsend Harbor, Washington a full six months before ground was even broken across the Sound in Seattle.
The first son of Washington’s second incorporated city.
Who couldn’t keep the town sweetheart from falling for a walking, talking red flag.
Lifting his pint, Ethan all but opened his gullet to down the brew, hoping to drown all boner-killing thoughts of his ex.
Could she be considered an ex if they’d never made it to bed?
Who cared. He’d find someone in his bed tonight.
It’d taken an hour drive, an hour ferry ride, and another hour drive to reach this bleak neighborhood in Canada, and he wasn’t about to waste the trip by getting plastered and passing out in his hotel room.
The third time was never the charm.
Okay… Enough brooding. To business.
