Cocktales

by K. S. Adkins

  “Get off,” I scream as Detroit's finest watch with wide eyes and a few hard-ons.

  “Trying to,” he grunts fucking me harder.

  “Don't just stand there!” I yell to the crowd. “Roll him off me!”

  Finally noticing the audience, Tim asks, “What's with the police?”

  “I thought you were dead, asshole!”

  “Not dead,” he says shallow thrusting which I won't lie, I didn't hate. “Narcoleptic.”

  “Shut up,” I wheeze out. “You didn't think to mention that at dinner?”

  Before he could answer, a male office steps forward to explain, “It seems his Apple watch,” he says pointing to Tim's wrist. “Alerted 911 to your uh, distress.”

  “Oh.”

  Once that tie bit sunk in, I realized two things very quickly.

  1) We truly have no privacy and 2) I needed a husband

  Fuck these randoms.

  Diva. Was. Done.

  'Vegas is gonna hate us'

  Since swearing off casual hook ups, aka dick, until marriage, I've been in a serious relationship with vodka that I don't see ending anytime soon. Because men have a habit of disappointing me whereas booze always lives up to the hype. The hangovers don't last long, doesn't ask questions and is ready for me at a moment’s notice.

  Not that men were totally to blame for my bleak outlook on love and sex.

  I am fully aware of the role I played in the destruction of each relationship and hook-up I've tried.

  But it boils down to: I'm too old for this hump-n-dump crap.

  And what a shitty spot to be in.

  On top of that, the unexpected success of Cocktales had my publisher breathing down my neck for my follow up novel. While the novella was crushing it, the thought of writing about my life right now was...depressing.

  Also, for the last few months I've been on the receiving end of having myself a persistent mega fan. That's the eloquent way of calling him what he really was.

  A stalker.

  His name was Travis Cole and I know this because for every gift he sends, voicemail he leaves, or comment he posts on my social media, he signs his name.

  What I gathered on my own was he very handsome, uber wealthy and extremely lonely.

  By wealthy I mean he's some big shot investor. By lonely I mean he's determined to marry a woman he's never even met. He claims he can change my mind about single life by making me fall in love with him.

  While I wanted a husband someday, this guy wasn't it.

  So Travis sending his employees to bribe me into a date with him was not only pissing me off but, creeping me out. Seriously, if he didn't knock it off, I was going to feel really bad when I hired someone to kill him.

  But not tonight, tonight I found a bar top that screaming my name.

  See, a few years back I heard about a rowdy-come-as-you-are-bar and fell in love with it.

  Appropriately called The Hole, it lived up to its dirty reputation.

  Loud music, louder people and heavily poured drinks was too good to pass up.

  Besides, next to my bed this was the safest place I could be.

  Plus, the owner Drew and her super alpha husband, Axle, were couples goals.

  They owned several bars and restaurants including Legends that I love to frequent.

  Oh god and their love story? One for the record books, seriously. Unfortunately their story has already been told but I still envied the hell out of it.

  Now there was a man who loved his woman for who she was. And holy shit was she something.

  I had never met anyone who liked starting fights for the sake of entertainment like Drew does.

  She's a tiny shit stirrer that carries around a fucking ball bat she calls Wilson.

  If I was into women, Drew would rank number one.

  So when I was home, this was my go-to spot.

  Accepting Shane's hand, I step up top and nod to him that I was good.

  I should explain that Shane was Drew and Axle's unofficial son. Unofficial because he was a legal adult but, those three were a tight family unit. Shane didn't have it easy growing up but over time the happy couple took the pain away, replacing it with love he never had.

  The kid never looked happier.

  When my song comes on, I took a long pull of my drink, and let it all go.

  Whipping my hair, shaking my ass and spilling a lot of vodka, I danced my face off.

  When someone handed me a shot, I took it. Embracing the burn, I toss the cup over my shoulder when I notice him. Easily the largest man in the room. Who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here but couldn't look at anyone but me.

  With his enormously muscular arms over his even more enormous chest, he stood in the corner, watching me.

  Memorizing me.

  So I returned the favor.

  From his jet black cropped hair, to his strong jaw with a serious five o'clock shadow, the gorgeous scar that zig zagged across his cheek to his full lips, what I decided were hazel eyes and the largest chest I have ever seen in real life.

  I soaked him up.

  His thick, sturdy thighs, distressed jeans and combat boots. Even his t-shirt was straining against his giant frame. I licked my lips imagining his cock was a python eager to eat me.

  Never have I felt like this before, so I did what any woman with a buzz would do.

  I pinky wave his way only he didn't wave back.

  He smirked.

  Which was way hotter.

  As he watched, I made sure to put on the show of the century.

  When he shamelessly adjusted himself, I got wet, my stomach dipped and it hit me.

  This wasn't love and lust at first sight.

  It was poetry.

  He was too good to be true.

  Then the harsh reality of this stranger showing far too much interest in me clicked and I felt my love and lust fizzle out. Because he carried himself like the others did.

  Actually no, he carried himself like a god damn roman soldier.

  He was a leader.

  This dark gorgeous man was here for me, true.

  But not because he wanted me.

  He was ordered to be here. I was a paycheck.

  Fucking Travis.

  The cockblocker.

  So much for husband material.

  After spending far too many years in years prison, I hated being around crowds.

  So I can safely say bars were not my gig.

  Drunks also not my gig.

  Retrieving a female hell bent on pushing me to the brink of insanity, really not my gig.

  Yet, here I was standing in the corner of a dive bar appropriately called The Hole in Detroit, Michigan, watching my mark dance on a fucking bar top.

  Actually, I wasn't sure if what she was doing could be called dancing.

  More like she was issuing a mating call begging every male in here to heed it, to fight for her, claim her.

  Fucking breed her.

  The weight in my heavy balls was proof she had quite a potent effect on me, which was not an easy thing to do.

  I was not a man prone to the wiles of females except for this one apparently.

  She was that potent.

  But I already knew that since I'd spent the last two weeks watching her from a distance. And I have yet to find a single thing about her that didn't do it for me.

  I didn't like these random fucks lusting after her, even if I couldn't blame them.

  The only reason there isn't a body count is because when this song is over, she's coming with me.

  The little minx knew I was watching, she even sized my big ass up in return. She even had the guts to pinky wave at me. She had no idea the beast she provoked, but then again, maybe she did and she just didn't care. She struck me as the type of woman who threw caution to the wind, often.

  Which made my being here even more ridiculous.

  Then again, who the fuck knew what Travis was thinking when he sent me to retrieve her. Let me amend; sent me
here to steal her.

  As long as I've known him his tastes have run strictly vanilla, bordering on boring as fuck. This spitfire was superman flavor with fuck you sprinkles.

  As her song ended, she was helped from the bar top and I ignored my fists clenching while some young but good looking punk helped her down. Smacking him on the ass, she accepts cheers from the crowd with a curtsy.

  So yeah, this chick and Travis?

  She'd eat him alive.

  Strutting right over she gets in my space, cocks her pretty little head up and to the side and says, “Travis really stepped up his game sending you in didn't he? But I feel it's only fair to warn that you picked the wrong girl and the wrong bar.”

  “Have I now?” I ask looking down at her. She wasn't a tall woman. Thick, yes. Gloriously fucking thick. But not tall. Nowhere close to tall. But her personality was larger than even I was.

  And I was pretty fucking large. And she clearly had Travis' number.

  “And you really picked the wrong asshole to work for.”

  “So you know why I'm here,” I smile enjoying the standoff. Where most females feared me, this one looked ready to deck me. More than anything I wanted to know what in the fuck he had on her in the first place. Because it had to be damaging for a successful woman like her to be in debt to him. Hell, if the internet was to be believed she had triple the money Travis had and he was no fucking slouch.

  “You tell Travis I said I'm not Joan Wildering this shit no matter how many books he buys or gifts he sends and then punch him in the dick. He'll know who it's from.”

  Taking her by the elbow gently, I was about to usher her out when the young punk butts in to ask, “You good, Diva?”

  Grabbing his face she kisses him on the cheek promising, “Better than good, Shane. Tell Drew I'll see her for brunch tomorrow.”

  Pulling her closer to me and further from him, I add, “Tell Drew she's busy until further notice.”

  Smirking, the kid says, “Yeah, big man, that's exactly what I'll do. Why don't you wait right there while I go relay the message.”

  “Shane,” she says slowly and with true affection. “While I love your menergy, I need you to walk away for a moment.”

  Grinding his jaw, he stays put and I had to give him credit, he had guts too. Must be the water...

  “No can do, Diva. House rules. I fear Drew more than I fear him.”

  I decided that this Drew must be a super hero because no one was scarier than I was.

  “You're young, somewhat impressionable given your taste in guardians and I really didn't want you to see this but...” she mumbles and right as he was about to ask what it was, Diva socked me straight in my swollen balls. “Nuts up, buddy,” she says kneeling down to pat me on the cheek much harder than necessary.

  Stepping over my body, she sashays out of the bar and out into the night waving to the cheering crowd as she exited.

  The woman was...amazing.

  Travis was paying me to watch her, learn about her and take her but he didn't give me permission to fall in love with her. That, I did all on my own. The second I saw her.

  Mine.

  All. Fucking. Mine.

  I was sitting outside on the patio of my hotel sipping my drink when I heard a massive set of exhaust pipes roaring up the street. When I saw who it was, I felt the gush in my panties.

  Which depressed me because one look at him… I felt like I'd come home.

  Was so ready to be his home. Only I wasn't. Would never be.

  And to be honest, it broke my heart.

  Fucking Travis and his games were grating on my last nerve.

  Rolling my eyes at my stupid feelings, I pick up my phone pretending to text friends I didn't have because while I can't confirm it, I think K.S. blocked my number.

  So when Mr. Tall-broad-dark and dangerous-never to be mine-scaled the steps to join me, I set my phone down asking, “How much is he paying you?” Because I'd triple it to keep you.

  With a heated stare he says, “It's not about money.”

  Did he have to have a sexy gravelly voice? Did he have to be big and menacing? My damn kryptonite...

  “Eargasm,” I mutter under my breath, because holy shit.

  “What?”

  “I said, you don't sound happy about it.”

  Flexing his massive shoulders he says, “No, I'm not happy about it. I don't know any man that could find happiness forcing a woman into a situation she doesn't want to be in. But neither of us has a choice in this and I have three days to get you to Travis.”

  “What's he got on you?” I ask and when his jaw sets I continue. “Okay then, how's your balls?” At his grunt I push with, “Did Travis do that to your face or did something actually cool happen like a knife fight in an alley?” Because his scar was delicious and looked angry, like the man.

  “You really a famous novelist?” he asks conversationally. Dammit, why didn't I affect him?

  “Didn't Travis debrief you?” I counter batting my eyelashes adorably.

  “Woman,” he sighs in mock annoyance because truth, I was amazing. “You are a pain in the ass.”

  “And mouths are the assholes of the face. Facts are facts.”

  “You are not his normal type.”

  “I find it impossible for you to be anyone’s type,” I lie because he was all kinds of my type. He was husband material, I knew it. I just didn't know what to do about it. “And I am not going anywhere with you.” Pausing for dramatic effect because I totally wanted to go with him, I finish with, “Until you tell me what he has on you.”

  His growl should have concerned me but, it didn't.

  This guy was a teddy bear and I felt extra cuddly.

  “So what's your name?” I ask leaning closer. “I didn't catch it.”

  “I didn't throw it,” he counters taking the seat right next to mine. “I don't see you packing.”

  “I can't go, sorry. I need to study for my drug test tomorrow.”

  Smirking he crosses his legs at the ankles and asks, “Are you always such a smart ass?”

  “Look,” I say sweetly, “I just want to go to bed and be ugly in peace, okay?”

  Leaning into my space now he grunts, “No.”

  “No?”

  “I said, no.”

  “You don't get to say no, I get to say no,” I argue trying to ignore how good he smells.

  “I say no because there hasn't been a day since you were born that you've been ugly. You,” he says leaning closer. “Are pure beauty.”

  At this, I went mute.

  It's been so long that I had forgotten what is was like to enjoy conversation with someone. Prison doesn't count and I have even less play with the females considering I've been in lock for my entire adult life.

  Though, any words I shared with a girl prior to doing time were far from romantic or going to get me laid, females I found, were never easy for me to speak with.

  They didn't get me anymore than I got them.

  But I knew it was unique to her, Diva.

  She was unlike anyone I had ever met before.

  Successful, creative and a bit of a loner from what I could tell.

  The deep, ragged, scar on my face don't seem to bother her. My large size, constant scowling and nearly nonexistent people skills don't faze her either.

  To sit and talk like this was new for me and already she had a tight hold on me. I didn't want to give her over to Travis. I didn't want to take her away from her work and her life.

  I wanted to keep her.

  For myself.

  And even though I couldn't make her mine because of fucking loyalty, I told her the truth, “Travis offered me a job when I got out of prison.”

  A normal woman would run indoors or call the cops, Diva simply shrugged citing, “Sounds like something Travis would do, the fucking opportunist. This is also a you problem, not a me problem.”

  Not, did you do it? Are you innocent? Nothing. This fucked with my head. Because I did do it,
I wasn't innocent. I had taken a human life and I'd do it again too.

  “You gonna tell me what he's got on you?”

  “Nope,” she smiles beautifully making my damn chest ache. “But since I've changed my mind, I will go pack my bag.”

  When she attempts to pass me, I take her hand halting her. “This gonna fuck up work for you?”

  Looking down at our touching skin she whispers, “Nah, it's good material for my next book.”

  Releasing her, Diva glances over her shoulder asking, “You want to come up and keep me company while I pack?”

  Nodding, I follow her inside the hotel, up to her room and sit on the chair closest to the door in case she tried to run for it. But she didn't run. In fact, she was packing her bag while I stared at her perfectly fat ass.

  “Big man,” she says catching me mid-stare. “Where are we going?”

  “Vegas.”

  Rolling her gorgeous eyes she snorts, “Of course it's Vegas.”

  Tossing her bag at me, I catch it and gladly open the door for her.

  Climbing into my truck, I was buckling her up when she asks, “What's your name?”

  Close enough to kiss her I offer, “Ty.”

  Leaning in a little closer she says, “Vegas is gonna hate us. Tallyho!”

  This woman was a wildcat and god’s honest, I wasn't sure Vegas or I, would survive her.

  'Fuck Size'

  While I'm working on being the world’s best adventurer, I really dislike flying. So I can't share much about our flight because I was passed out for ninety percent of it.

  I'll be honest, when Ty said Vegas, I assumed coach seats and a hotel that charged by the hour.

  Totally not the case.

  Between flying first class and renting a freaking Lambo the very last thing I expected was a villa.

  Oh, and not just any villa, but The Nobu Villa at Caesars Palace!

  I've been hyperventilating for the last thirty minutes because this obnoxiously luxurious Japanese-inspired palace was over ten thousand square feet, had a sky deck, bar, Zen garden with an outdoor set up overlooking the strip. Which reminded me that I really needed to start spending my money on glamorous shit. Even if it wasn't in my nature to be careless with money, had I known places like this existed, believe me, I would have done it sooner.