“Damn,” Canyon mutters.
“I see her,” Clayton replies.
“Wowza,” Blade adds.
“Fuck off, all of you,” I quickly say. “Settle your dicks.” We’re like our own lonely-hearts club at fucking forty-something, and it sucks. However, these guys are hornier than rabbits most days.
Canyon shakes his head again. “Bull, man, seriously. Here’s your shot. One night. Just buy her a drink. That’s the only commitment. One drink. No rings.” He speaks like I’m carrying around diamonds in my pocket. Here’s one for you, and one for you, and another one for you. I’ve actually never proposed with a diamond ring.
“Keep it slow. No big words like love, marriage, and a baby in a baby carriage,” Blade adds as if I need coaching from the other eternal bachelor.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. The guys chuckle at my expense, and I get it. I do. I’ve been standing at the end of an aisle too many times. “I’m not doing this.”
“Bull, dude. She keeps looking over here. Just say hi. That’s not a commitment either. It’s a way to start a conversation,” Clayton encourages.
“Hardy-har, boys.” These guys are such assholes. I know how this night is going to go. The more they drink, the more they razz, putting them almost on par with Redd and Dillard.
Look at Bull, dairy king handing out another ring.
Our waitress brings another round that I don’t remember ordering. It doesn’t stop me from chugging down the additional beer, though, before Clayton throws out a challenge.
“Milk time for a week.” He tips his head toward the redheaded beauty I keep taking glances at. “Just a drink.”
“For a week?” The boys know I don’t actually mind milking. It’s a repetitive process, and the soft lulls of the cows let my thoughts run their course before the rest of the day needs my attention. I wouldn’t even know how to sleep in as I’m so used to getting up at four in the morning. Still, I double his challenge. “Two weeks.”
“Done,” Clayton says, reaching over the table and shaking my hand.
“Maybe she’s your four-leaf clover. A lucky charm,” Blade adds, rubbing his hands together, and right there, I know he’s jinxed me.
“Hey, Rita.”
My eyes leap to her tablemate and then back to her. Rita has dark hair with faint lines of white, giving away her age a bit.
“Hiya yourself, handsome. How are you tonight, Bull?”
Reaching for the back of my neck, I nervously scratch.
“Just thought I’d come over and say hi.” I glance back at her friend, unnerved by the dark depths of her eyes.
“Uh-huh.” Rita takes a sip of the cola in her glass. “Bull Eaton, this is my friend, Scarlett Russell. Scarlett, Bull.”
Our eyes meet, and I swear my heart does a two-step dance. Struggling to keep myself in check, I slip my hands into my back pockets and rock on my boot heels. I’m a fucking teenage mess looking at her with those large coffee-colored eyes.
“My friends dared me to buy you a drink.” The words rush out, bursting forth like hot air in a balloon. Scarlett laughs, looking like she’s already had a few.
With a large smile curling those purple-painted lips, she says, “Well, I’ll see your hello and one-up you. How about taking me home, Bull?”
“Pardon me?” I stammer, unbelieving my ears.
“I said, I’ll see your hello and raise you to . . . take me to bed, partner.”
I blink. I look at Rita. I glance back at her friend. It couldn’t be that easy.
“How about that drink?” I nod toward her glass.
“Had plenty already,” she states, staring up at me with saucer-sized eyes. Damn, she’s so pretty.
“You drunk?” I have to ask. She shakes her head, and Rita leans over, saying something to her that I miss while taking in the light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. She glances at Rita and then slips off the stool.
“Lead on.” She holds out a hand before me.
Taking her hand, I don’t look up at the guys as I pass them, but I’m certain their mouths are hanging open. Somewhere in the bar, I hope Redd and Dillard are watching. Holding up my hand, I give a raised V salute over my shoulder to whomever might be watching me.
Two weeks, buddy, I intend for Clayton. Or victory, however, they want to read it.
I’m not that crass, though, and once outside, I gently grab her upper arm and swing her toward the exterior of the bar.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, darlin’,” I say to her, leaning in and sliding my hand above her head. As she’s several inches shorter than me despite high heeled boots, she looks up at me, biting the corner of her lip, and I swear I want to look into that swirling chocolate gleam as I enter her repeatedly, but I take a deep breath.
“Darlin’?” she mocks, grinning a little broader. “Seriously?”
“Don’t like that one? How about baby girl?”
“Oh no, not that one.” She laughs, and the tease in her tone tickles down my spine like a featherlight caress. My balls tighten, and I slide my hand down the exterior wall, bringing my body closer to her. Leaning in for her neck, I’ve never worked this fast before. I’m worrying I’m about to blow it as my nose glides up the side of her floral-scented skin, and I inhale.
“How about sweetheart?” I whisper, elongating the endearment as my lips brush the shell of her ear. Her breath catches, and her breasts heave, softly dragging against my shirt.
“That’ll work,” she whispers, and I slide my cheek against hers.
“Sweetheart it is, then,” I say, my exhale hitting her lips like a kiss. Only I’m ready for the real thing, so my mouth takes hers. She’s quick to respond, giving back to me what I’m giving her. Soft sucks and tender tugs, then tongues seek, and I’m pressing firmer against her. She tips her head as I’m quite a bit taller than her. Hands slip up my chest and around my neck, latching onto me, and she uses her elbows at my shoulders to leverage herself higher. The next thing I know, her legs are around my waist, and I have her pinned to the exterior wall.
“How about that bed?” she says against my mouth.
“Anything you want, sweetheart.”
Her lips smile against mine, and we return to kissing for another minute.
Yeah, I’ll be giving this woman anything—for one night and one night only.
Two Mornings After
Scarlett
“Well?” Rita asks, elongating the word and waiting on details. It’s been two days since my one-night stand, and I don’t know what to say.
“What do you want me to tell you?” I impishly ask, lifting my large coffee mug of dark roast. My eyes lower to the maple syrup walnut muffin on the marble coffee table before me. Rita and I sit on a plush peach couch in the Busy Bean Café, a local coffee house on the same property as The Gin Mill.
“Girl, I am living vicariously through you. Give me all the details,” Rita says with a good-natured laugh. I’d love to tell her everything, but for some reason, I won’t. I can’t tell her how Bull took me against the door, over a desk, and on the bed, twice. How his thick fingers, wicked mouth, and amazing penis brought me to climax five times in twelve hours. How looking at that maple muffin on the table reminds me of the maple syrup sample in my rental at the Green Rocks and how Bull used it on me, making me a human muffin of sorts. Or how I woke alone in the morning torn between satisfied and disheartened.