Page 12 of Playing With Fire
It’s official. I need to get laid worse than Knox.
I’m lusting after a very married, very new mother, who is not only off-limits, but so far out of my league, she might as well be on a different planet.
The phone rings twice before Phoenix picks up. Not my first choice for a wingman, but Knox is working at the fire station tonight, and Jake and Dylan are going to a car show. I’m jealous of their honeymoon stage bliss. The fuckers rarely hang out with us because they’re too busy hanging out with each other. I want that so badly I can taste it, but it’s not in my future anytime soon since my priority has to be Monica and the kids. At least until Cam and Ally start school and Mon gets into the swing of working again.
“You free tonight?” I ask instead of saying hello when Phoenix answers. No need to waste time. I’m desperate.
“I can be. This sounds serious.” Ihearhis smile.
“If I don’t get my dick wet from something other than my own spit, I’m going to blow a gasket.”
“Are you suggestingmyspit? Because that’s a no.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I grumble.
“That’s also a no.” Phoenix laughs.
I roll my eyes as I pull on my jeans. “Trust me, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be getting it from you.”
“Well, now I’m offended,” he scoffs.
“No, you’re not. Besides, you’ve seen Jake’s husband. Dude’s fucking hot and I’m not even into guys. Dylan’s obviously who I’d call. Now are you coming out with me or what?”
Phoenix groans slightly before answering. “Where are we going?”
“Tomahawk,” I answer curtly.
“See you in twenty,” Phoe says, hanging up the phone.
I back my truck next to a black Ferrari, laughing at the pretentious asshole who parked his precious vehicle in the back of the lot, hoping to keep it safe. My raised Chevy 2500 didn’t cost as much, but it’s far more functional. Right now, it’s got mud halfway up the sides thanks to the soggy dirt road I traveled down when I took Cam and Ally fishing last week.
When I enter Tomahawk’s, I smile, seeing Wendy behind the bar.
Now we’re talking.
Phoenix is already seated in front of her and I make a beeline for them.
Wendy raises a glass to me. “The usual, Hud?”
“Please.” I flash her a knowing smile.
Wendy and I have gonethereseveral times. She’s a transplant to the area who insists she’s just passing through and not looking for anything serious—even though she’s been here forthree years. We mesh well because there aren’t any expectations, but thereismutual respect.
A minute later, she slides an old fashioned my way and then leaves Phoenix and I alone to get into trouble.
Tomahawk is a dive bar. Everything’s cheap and the appeal of the place is you never have to wait to be seated. I’d never eat anything from here, but I assume the liquor is safe enough because…well, it’s liquor.
The clientele is an eclectic mix. Everyone is local because tourists prefer the million-dollar views offered three streets over on the water, which makes me scan the crowd, trying to spot the owner of the Ferrari, but no dice.
Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover as they say.
“You know, if you really wanted to get laid, we should have gone waterfront. You sleep with someone in here, you run a pretty high risk of seeing her again.”
“That’s true, but hitting it and quitting it isn’t really my style.”
Phoenix eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You claim you don’t have time for a relationship, but you feel bad after one-night-stands, and yet you want to get laid. I don’t get yo…oh. You came here for Wendy.”
I waggle my eyebrows at him. Wendy’s solid and she gives as good as she gets.
