My phone buzzed, hopefully not her backing out. It wasn’t, but seeing my mother’s name was just as frustrating. A text this time. I’d deleted her emails, considered blocking her number. She could beg me to visit their new apartment all she liked, but I wasn’t stepping within a mile of the place.
A few more customers left, only the diehards lingering. A crew from the neighborhood talked over one another as they finished their pints. Rick, the ironworker, was talking shit to Mel as she bussed tables, a tango they’d perfected. It usually ended with her flipping him the finger, and him begging for a date. She was thirty years his junior.
As I wiped down the bar, the front door swung wide. I straightened, fisting my towel and crossing my arms. No one entered. A few second passed, then a few more. I was about to stride over and poke my head outside, when Rachel stepped in. Her eyes darted from the classic rock albums on the wall to the ceiling fan that looked a minute from falling. She brushed at her jeans, tugged down the edge of her black top. Her brown hair fell loose around her shoulders, her freckles not as visible in the dim light. She was a vision.
A vision who wasn’t alone.
Two escorts followed on her heels, flanking her like bodyguards. I remembered her friends from the night we’d met, but hadn’t paid them much attention. Not when Rachel was all I could see. The tall one with the shorter hair and bangs looked tough enough to take Cris Cyborg in a fight, her tank top showing off toned arms. Her face was all business as she studied the room. The other one had Rick’s jaw hitting the floor. She was shorter, cleavage and curves for days. Mile-high heels. All she was missing was a Chihuahua tucked into her purse.
The tough woman took the lead, arms swinging as she headed for me. “Jimmy?”
“As I live and breathe.”
She held out her hand, her expression stern as she waited on me. I tossed the towel and gave her hand a shake. She caught my fingers in a vise grip. “I’m Gwen, this is Ainsley, and you of course know Rachel. We thought it would be fun to get acquainted.”
Looked more like an ambush.
Ainsley fluttered her fingers. Rachel was a fidgety mess. I fanned a hand toward the bar stools, inviting them to sit. Better to face the firing squad head on.
Ainsley and Gwen sat in front of me, Rachel to the side, but as Gwen opened her mouth, Rick sauntered over and leaned on the bar, facing Ainsley. “My Malibu is parked outside. How about a ride, beautiful?”
Ainsley flipped him the bird. “How’d you like to ride this?”
He sighed. “I’m losing my charm.” He plunked down his empty glass and dragged his sorry ass to the door.
“He’s harmless,” I said.
Ainsley cocked her head at me. “He’s old enough to be my grandfather.”
“He just likes to talk to the ladies. Makes him feel young.”
“If I wanted to hear an asshole speak, I’d set up residence in the bathroom.”
Chuckling, I leaned against the back counter and slid my attention to Rachel. “Having a nice night?”
“Peachy,” she replied, her top button quivering with her shaky breaths.
I didn’t know how the current situation had transpired, what had gone down for Gwen and Ainsley to show up at my work, too, but if it brought me a step closer to ripping off Rachel’s clothes, I was all in.
Until Gwen said, “Are you a player?”
The gloves were off. “I don’t gamble, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know what I mean.” The woman didn’t mince words.
I could have claimed I was too busy and spent the next forty-five minutes closing the bar, waiting them out. I could have asked to speak with Rachel alone, gotten to the bottom of the ambush. Those were both easy outs. But I’d been serious when I told Rachel I wanted more, and that came with the truth. “I’ve had a number of one-night stands, but the women I’ve been with always knew the score. So I’d go with no, I’m not a player.”
The next shot came from Ainsley. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “Single.”
Then they alternated fire.
“Are you on any dating websites?”
“None.”
“Has a woman ever slapped you?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Have you ever hit a woman?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that? And the answer is hell no.” I lowered my hands over my nuts just the same. These girls weren’t messing around.
At least Rachel’s friends cared. When Sophia had left me and my life imploded, my acquaintances had thinned, until none were left. They’d either tired of my sullen moods or weren’t genuine. It made me more self-sufficient, a state of being I craved. Or used to, at least. I was glad for Rachel, though. Happy she had people in her corner.
The next shot came from her. “Have you ever shoplifted?”
Not the question I expected. “Once. A pair of sunglasses on a dare.” That’s what happened when sixteen-year-old boys had beer and too much time on their hands.
Rachel’s third degree continued. “Do you do drugs?”
“Does getting high on you count?”
“Have you ever been in jail?”
“I’m in purgatory now, waiting on you.”
Ainsley snickered. “I like this guy.”
Rachel rolled her eyes.
It was time to start steering the conversation. I gripped the bar and leaned toward Gwen and Ainsley. “Why is Rachel fighting my advances?”
A smug smile slid across Gwen’s face. “You’re not exactly her type.”
Finally, we were getting somewhere. “What is her type?”
Ainsley held up her hand and ticked each finger. “Smart. Driven. Un-inked. Family man. Great job. She basically wants to date her dad.”
Rachel waved from her seat. “Remember me? The girl you’re gossiping about? I’m sitting right here.”
I ignored her, the intel too juicy to quit. Not that Ainsley’s descriptions surprised me. The way Rachel worked at life—her pens lined up, wardrobe appropriately conservative, careers tried and failed—she was forcing a square peg into a round hole. She needed to tap into whatever it was that drove her, fed her soul, or she’d chase her tail forever. Her “type” needed an overhaul, too. She’d reacted to me the other day, deeply. She just couldn’t admit it.
I slid my forearm on the bar, angling my back to Rachel. “I am clearly not her dad. So how do you suggest I get her over to my place?”
Gwen’s face lit up with amusement, then she studied me, narrowing her eyes as the moments passed. She opened her mouth to reply, but Rachel beat her to it. “I’m not after anything serious. If we hang out, you have to promise it’s casual.”
I spun to find her sitting taller, chin raised, confidence in her strong posture.
I’d pegged Rachel as a relationship girl, only dating to find Mr. Right. Either my instincts were off, or this was her testing the waters. Feeling me out before opening up. I still didn’t know if I could trust a woman fully, not after Sophia. Giving someone your heart only to find out she’d been using you was a hard pill to swallow. Rachel didn’t seem the type, but my character assessment had proven shitty once.
Still, I’d thought about her since Thursday, restlessly, imagining our kiss deepening, instead of her holding stiff. I’d stroked myself to the memories of our one wild night. I wanted to hear her ridiculous laugh, feel her thighs bracketing mine as we toured wine country on my bike. Sit with her under the sun, wine sipped, cheese nibbled, her hair tickling my neck.
I wanted us.
If that meant agreeing to a casual affair, so be it. The sex had been unreal, and once I jogged her memory and had her gripping my scalp and screaming my name, she’d have to admit our connection was deeper than a fling. If not, I’d at least get another taste.
I slapped the bar. “Done. We hang out, nothing serious, just two people having fun.” I shifted toward Rachel, her lips within biting distance. “That good with you, Sunshin
e?”
She crossed her legs. She made me wait for it. Finally, she said, “Deal.”
I grinned. “Excellent. Can I get you ladies anything for last call? Drinks are on me.”
“Something colorful in a martini glass,” Ainsley said.
“White wine,” Gwen replied.
“Red?” I asked Rachel, and she nodded.
I fixed Ainsley a cosmo and poured a glass of white for Gwen. I chose our only decent Cabernet and slid it in front of Rachel. Her fingers brushed mine, and my thighs tensed, electricity passing between us. She held my stare, neither of us moving, both breathing fast, until duty called. But my mind was an hour ahead, to us groping each other, our clothing littering the floor. Damn, did I want her.
The regulars filtered out, leaving only Mel helping me close up and the girls chatting. Rachel nursed her wine, heated glances shot my way. I had half a mind to kick everyone out, lock the doors, and bend her over a table. I settled on teasing the little minx.
I approached her from behind, collecting the pretzel bowl beside her and bending toward her ear. “You’re coming home with me tonight. I will undress you and lick your pussy and fuck you hard, and then you can decide if you want to sleep over or leave. But make no mistake, I will be inside you tonight.”
I bit the bottom of her ear, and her answering moan sent my dick pressing against my zipper, eager for more. The next twenty minutes couldn’t go fast enough.
Twelve
Rachel
Jimmy had the dirtiest mouth I’d ever heard, and it turned me on. Like whoa turned me on. I didn’t know dirty talk got me hot. Everything about him jacked up my temperature: the roughness of his ripped jeans, his tattoos, the brush of his callused fingers against mine. Jimmy sent my pulse thrumming, and the past ten minutes had ticked by too slowly.
Ainsley sipped the last of her cosmo and perched higher on her stool. “So, Jimmy, have you ever seen River Monsters?”
He stood from organizing something below the bar and scratched his neck. “Is that the fishing show?”
Gwen’s smirk was all mischief. “Yeah. They travel all over to find terrifying species of freshwater fish. Have you ever seen the Candiru episode?”
“Never seen any. Don’t watch much TV.”
I swallowed my laugh, knowing what was coming. A few months ago, when I’d texted the girls from a horrific date, they showed up, feigned surprise at the sight of me, and had proceeded with their Candiru performance. My date, Liam, had turned a shade of green I can only describe as rotten avocado, then made an excuse about having to get home.
I sat back to enjoy the show.
“So anyway,” Ainsley said, “they found this crazy species of fish called a Candiru. It’s a thin, slippery little sucker.”
“And it’s attracted to urine,” Gwen continued, her face glowing with excitement. “In this one episode, there was this guy urinating in the river, and the fish”—she paused for effect—“swam up his penis.”
Jimmy paled.
“If it gets too much,” I said, “just tap out.”
He shot me a worried frown. “It gets worse?”
“Much.”
“I can take it.”
The man was a trooper.
Gwen swirled her wineglass, always one to accept a challenge. “The fish has these gnarly spines, so once inside it anchored itself to him. Sucked his blood. Gnawed on his flesh. He tried to pull it out, of course, but the things are slippery as a wet bar of soap. It wouldn’t budge.”
Jimmy went from pale to ashen, his jaw clenched tight.
Ainsley leaned on her elbows, dropping her voice to a whisper. “They raced the guy to the hospital, and he was there for, like, two hours. The fish just hung on. They debated cutting him open to retrieve it, but decided on inserting pincers through the tip to—”
Jimmy shot his hands in the air. “Tapping out!”
He gave a shiver and strode away, muttering to himself.
Ainsley called after him, “I have a friend in marine biology. Mess with Rachel, and you’ll regret it.”
He didn’t glance back, but I cackled.
Man, did I love my girls.
Once they’d said their goodbyes, I waited for Jimmy to finish, my last few minutes spent in a lust-induced haze. His dirty promises echoed in my ear.
Undress you. Lick your pussy. Fuck you hard.
Please, and thank you.
My body was alive with want, awareness pulsing through my blood. My calves tingled against my jeans, the breeze of the ceiling fan like feathers through my hair. Even my fingertips prickled. I sensed Jimmy behind me before I felt him. He ran his hands down the outside of my thighs, his heat flowing over me. “Sorry it’s taking me so long. You okay?”
“Yeah.” My voice was nothing but a whisper. “I’m okay.”
His concern melted something in my chest, though. I could no longer deny my pure need for Bad Boy, but the gentleness in his soothing tone threatened my plan. Our time together would be research and nothing more. I would explore my sensuality and take pleasure for myself. I wouldn’t fall for him.
He squeezed my legs. “I’ll be done soon. And for the record, your friends are terrifying.”
I would have laughed, offered a witty reply, but my rising body heat burned a path up my lungs. He kissed the top of my head and returned to cashing out.
Breathless, I waited.
Ten minutes later, his hand was on my lower back as he guided me toward his Harley, all that black and chrome glinting with danger. The bike I’d always wanted to ride, with the guy I would be riding shortly. He passed me a helmet and stared a beat too long. “You really are beautiful.”
I almost dropped the helmet.
He straddled his bike and nodded for me to join him. “You better hold on tight.”
And never let go, I thought. A notion I needed to extinguish. Every second with him became riskier, his compliments and gestures planting roots in my heart. I slung my leg over his metal beast and plastered myself to his back. There was that scent again—leather and spice with a hint of gasoline. Unadulterated man. My mother would have fainted at the sight of us. He paused, tightening my arms around him and resting his hand over mine. My belly dipped. It was an intimate gesture, sweet. Something a boyfriend would do.
Then he revved the engine.
* * *
The kissing began before we made it into his apartment. He slammed my back against the wall, one hand anchoring my neck, the other branding my hip as his lips crushed mine. And the sound I made? I’d never been so filled with longing, so utterly undone. That motorcycle ride had flipped my bad-girl switch—wind in my face, Jimmy between my thighs, the roar of the engine. The trip to his place had been both too fast and too slow.
And we hadn’t made it past his hallway.
I’d never groped a man in a public space, let him suck my neck and squeeze my breast and rock his erection into my belly, but I was lost. Entranced. Absorbed in the feel of him. I latched one leg around his, palmed his ass, whimpered into his mouth. Heat scorched my core. An answering groan rumbled from his chest. His tongue stroked mine, his lips hard yet soft.
“Inside,” he murmured.
“Not yet,” came my reply, because I liked this. I liked that we could get caught. Any moment, someone could happen upon us, all roaming hands and gasping as we explored each other. It only made me hotter. Regular Rachel would never have been so bold; that was a job for Reckless Rachel. With only two glasses of wine in my system, my abandon wasn’t alcohol induced.
I was drunk on Jimmy.
He kissed me harder, his cock like steel against my hip. I did that to him. I was driving the man wild. With a grunt, he gripped my shoulders and pushed away, his full lips puffier and glistening from our kiss. He eyed me hungrily. The thick line of him stretched his jeans, and I gripped his length, stroking and squeezing through the worn denim. He rocked, unsteady on his feet.
Two strokes later, he gripped my wrist, stilling my greedy
movements. He shoved his hand into his front pocket and fished out a key. Working quickly, he led us in, then kicked the door shut, crushing his mouth back on mine.
I tugged his hair.
He bit my neck.
We devoured each other.
He pulled back long enough to toss his jacket and undo the top button of my blouse, but he fumbled, an impatient “Fuck” following. He growled and ripped it open, plastic buttons pinging against his floor.
There went piece seven in the ensemble. “That was an important part of my wardrobe,” I said, bra exposed, goose bumps spreading across my stomach.
He stared, eyes hooded. “Seeing your tits was more important than saving that shirt.”
The man had a way with words.
His apartment came into focus then. It looked the same as last time, just as barren. And lonely. As vacant as the room was, the shadows of what we’d done in here still teased me. I replayed Jimmy’s stories, picturing us uncorking the Screaming Eagle and laughing together, him taking that ridiculous butt shot. We’d had fun, he claimed, and I sensed it, the ease with which I lost myself around him proof enough.
His hands gripped my waist, warm and rough, and I jumped at the contact. He sucked a path down my neck and tugged my bra cup lower, just below my nipple. I dropped my head back on a sigh. His scruff scratched my sensitive flesh…and Jesus, he bit me. A subtle sting, surprising in its pressure. Surprising in how good it felt. He moved, walking me backward, his mouth busy on my breast, my hands in his hair, until the back of my legs hit his bed. With a light shove, I fell onto his mattress, but he didn’t join me. He toed off his boots and pulled off my heels.
Then he looked.
And looked.
He rubbed his hand over his jeans, stroking his cock through the fabric, soaking me in like I was a porn star splayed for his amusement. I wanted to touch myself, too. In private, I used my vibrator (the Dildo Incident had its plus side), but I’d never masturbated in front of a man. Now my fingers drifted across my ribs, a slow drag toward my jeans. But I chickened out. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be as bold as Jimmy, who was basically jacking himself off at the foot of the bed.
Legs (One Wild Wish, #1) Page 11