by Josie Kerr
“Do you always wander around someone else’s house, buck naked?” Charlotte huffed and tried to seem offended, but dang if he did not look good, stretched out, with all that glorious, tattooed skin on display.
Tig winked at her—winked. “Not usually, sweetheart, but I do sleep in the nude,” he drawled. “Do you always wear such naughty underthings?”
Charlotte’s mouth fell open more. “My underthings are not naughty,” she huffed. “They’re demure.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart, those panties right there? Those are the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He looked at her appreciatively, scanning her body up and down with his eyes while his tongue darted over his plump lower lip. “Oh, now, why’d you do that?”
Charlotte grabbed a pillow and held it in front of her. “I think you need to leave so I can get dressed and get out of Colin and Bailey’s hair before their day gets started, and I would suggest you do the same.”
“Charlotte, you’ve never been around fighters or little kids, have you? They’ve probably been up for hours.”
Charlotte squeaked again as Tig sat up and leered at her some more. “Then we definitely should . . . get going.”
And, of course, Bailey picked that moment to knock on the door and call Charlotte’s name before peeking in the room.
“Oh my God. Tig? I could have sworn Colin said he put you in the other roo . . . Charlotte? Charlotte. Oh.” Bailey covered her eyes and ran out of the room, leaving Charlotte blushing furiously and Tig roaring with laughter.
*****
Charlotte wondered how in the world she ended up driving Mister Sexy Cowboy Fighter home after breakfast, a breakfast during which she was sure that she was going to die of embarrassment. So she pretended to ignore said Mister Sexy Cowboy Fighter, who was leaning against the passenger door, grinning at her.
“Can I help you?” she huffed.
Tig chuckled. “Possibly.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, but Tig could tell she was not as irritated as she pretended to be. Or at least he hoped that she wasn’t.
“So, you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Husband?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Wife?”
Charlotte shot Tig a look, and he grinned at her.
“So, you might be available if someone was to ask you out then, right?”
“Perhaps.”
Tig grinned some more.
“I’d like to see you again, Charlotte.”
“I’m sure you will, seeing as we’ve got mutual friends. . . .”
Charlotte pulled into the DS Fight Club parking lot and put the car in park, and when she turned, Tig was hovering next to her, in her space, his face close enough to hers that the brim of his cowboy hat brushed the edge of her forehead.
“I’m serious, now, Charlotte. I’d like to see you again.”
Charlotte leaned back a bit and looked at Tig, who squinted and then grinned wider.
“What are you grinning at now, you goofy cowboy?” Charlotte said with a little laugh.
“Your eyes.”
Charlotte frowned. She had never had that sort of response.
“They’re so . . .”
Charlotte unconsciously batted her eyelashes, and Tig exhaled.
“Man, they’re beautiful. Such a stunning color.”
Charlotte blushed at the compliment and then mentally chastised herself because she had nothing to do with her eye color.
“Okay, I’m gonna get out of your car before I make even more of an ass of myself.”
“I’d like that.”
She would not look at him, but she knew he was grinning again.
“You’d like what, Charlotte? For me to not make even more of an ass of myself?”
“To see you again. To see more of you.”
Tig leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, “Now, honey, you know you saw about all there was to see of me this morning, but yeah, I definitely want to see more of you.”
He leaned closer and pressed his lips to her cheek in a soft, sweet kiss.
“I’ll see you soon, Charlotte. You can count on it.”
And Tig winked at her again and got out of the car.
Charlotte stood in front of what she mentally called “The Wall O’ Lettuce,” trying to decide if she was going to be adventurous today or go with her usual baby spinach. On the one hand, she really liked spinach. On the other, maybe this was the perfect time to try something new. After all, this weekend she had gone to a party and woken up next to a naked, tattooed kickboxer, which she counted as pretty darn adventurous.
Charlotte huffed a quiet laugh. Tig was something else. Brash, fearless, quick to smile and joke, he was so . . . different from just about anyone she had ever met. Definitely different from anyone she’d ever dated.
And definitely younger than anyone she’d dated previously.
She shook her head to clear it. He had not contacted her for a date even though he had insinuated that he would like to go out, and it had been a week since she dropped him off at the Fight Club. She kept her promise, though. She called him the next day, just to say hello, and they had talked for a few hours; they had been trading texts ever since.
“Ugh, Charlotte, you’re being ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.
“If you’re going to pay that price for a little bag of spinach, yes, you are,” came a familiar voice from behind her.
Charlotte turned around, and there he was, Mister Sexy Cowboy Fighter himself, standing in the produce section, cowboy hat on his head, belt with a huge buckle fastened around his slim waist, and those beat-up jeans covering his long legs, grinning at her.
“Hey, Tig,” Charlotte said with a smile. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Baby spinach reminded you of me? You think I’m that green? Or do you think I’m a baby?” Tig stepped into her space as he spoke, crowding her, looking at her with his head cocked to one side. “Tell me.”
“None of the above. I was wondering if you really wanted to see me again.” Charlotte’s eyes widened at her own confession, but instead of seeming insulted, Tig just grinned wider.
“See, I knew I liked you. That was refreshingly honest.” Tig took one step closer to her, crowding her even more. “And I definitely do want to see you again. I mean, more than right now.”
“Yeah?” Charlotte whispered.
“Definitely. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Tonight?” A tinge of panic seeped into her tone, and Charlotte hated herself for it. She was a planner, someone who wanted to be prepared for anything. A last minute “What are you doing tonight?” ranked right up there with Pap smears and mammograms on her list of “Things Charlotte Panics About.”
“Charlotte?”
Her eyes snapped back to Tig’s, who had his head cocked to the side and was watching her expression carefully.
“Oh, I didn’t have any plans in particular. This—grocery shopping—and maybe watching a movie or reading.”
Tig casually looked in her basket and then did a double take.
“You don’t cook, do you?” he asked.
With a sheepish grin, Charlotte shook her head. Her eyes followed Tig’s as he surveyed the contents of her basket: a week’s worth of frozen diet entrees for lunch and dinner, cereal, and some frozen vegetable mixes.
“Let me cook dinner for you, Charlotte.”
“You want to cook me dinner?”
“Uh-huh. Of course, I have to cook at your house because I only have access to the community kitchen, and I don’t want those idiots at the Fight Club to ruin our date.”
“A cooking date? You want to cook me dinner? At my house? In my kitchen? For a date?”
“You don’t even have pots and pans, do you?”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’ve got pots and pans. I actually have a nicely outfitted kitchen. I just really don’
t know how to cook, and it seems like such a hassle to cook for only one person.”
“Well, hell. I’ll cook you some dinner, and there will be enough for leftovers for both of us. How does that sound?”
It sounded nice, really nice.
“Sure.”
“You sure you’re sure?” he asked with a grin.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Charlotte hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
“All right. Now, let’s go put all this frozen shit back, and I’ll give you your first lesson.”
“Oh . . . all right.”
Tig shook his head, grabbed Charlotte’s basket with one hand and grasped her other hand with his free one, and they made their way back to the frozen foods section.
*****
Tig whistled through his teeth. Charlotte’s apartment was not anything like he had imagined. Yes, it was spacious and full of light—hell, he thought his whole studio apartment would probably fit in Charlotte’s kitchen—but even though he really did not know her that well, the sterile space did not fit impression of Charlotte at all.
“What’s wrong, Tig? You have a really funny look on your face.”
Tig shrugged. For the first time, he felt very . . . shabby compared to Charlotte. He looked at her in her high-tech kitchen, all stainless steel and marble. She had not changed out of her work clothes—another little ballerina-pink suit that probably cost about the same amount as his truck. Her hair was still back in a tight roll that sat above her collar, the only glimmer of her true personality a small sparkly pink clip.
Charlotte was pouring cool water from a fancy glass jug into two fancy mason jars, and a frown marred her pretty face. “Tig, what’s wrong?”
He had not fibbed to her since he had known her, and he was not about to start now. He took a deep breath and confessed.
“I’m feeling just a little bit intimidated by all this right now.” Tig had his ever-present cowboy hat clutched in his hand, and he was scratching at his head, mussing the short blond burr as much as it could be.
Charlotte fidgeted behind the cold counter. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. . . .”
“Charlotte, this is on me, you know? I generally don’t give a fuck about what I have or don’t have, but this apartment? Wow. It really hits home how out of my league you are.”
Tig looked at Charlotte out of the corner of his eye, standing behind that counter, looking beautiful and lonely.
“Why don’t you change clothes before you start cooking? I’d hate for you to get something on that suit.”
“I start cooking?”
Tig grinned. “I’m helping and showing, but yeah, girl, you’re gonna cook.”
Charlotte blinked, opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, and turned around to go in the bedroom. “Make yourself at home, Tig. I’ll be right back.”
He almost swallowed his tongue when she came out of the bedroom wearing a T-shirt that pulled just the tiniest bit across her bust and a pair of little exercise pants that cupped her ass just perfectly.
Tig was not a big guy, especially compared to most of the others at the Fight Club. At just under six feet and rail thin, he had often been teased in school because of his size, or lack thereof. But he towered over the woman he stood beside in the kitchen. She was a little bitty thing when she took those heels off. She could not have been more than a little over five feet tall.
Tig felt Charlotte’s hand on his arm, and he looked down at her as she stood next to him. He grinned. “Shall we start?”
Charlotte blew out a breath. “It’s you that’s gonna be hungry when I burn the snot out of dinner.”
“Hopefully there won’t be any snot anywhere near dinner,” he grinned.
“Oh yeah, no. Yeah, hopefully not,” she giggled, somewhat nervously. “So, what first?”
*****
“I cannot believe how easy this was,” Charlotte said as she snapped the top on the last plastic Tupperware container and handed it to Tig. “And so much better tasting.”
“Yep.”
She looked so pretty with her hair back in a loose braid and a calm, relaxed expression on her face. They had chatted all during the dinner preparation, talking about everything and nothing, just getting to know each other. Charlotte felt a little thrill every time Tig placed his hand over hers, guiding the movements of a knife or the circular motion of a spoon. She looked up at him, grinning, her eyes bright and sparkling with mischief.
Charlotte stretched up onto her toes and gave him a sweet, soft kiss that was full of promise. She began to step away, but Tig moved to embrace her, grinning as he felt the tips of her nipples harden when he stroked her arm. He wondered if anything else was reacting.
“Charlotte.”
“Hm?” Charlotte blinked at Tig. He had a serious look on his face, like he was considering something.
He put his hand on her hip, stroking it, and then moved a finger along the edge of the waistband of her pants.
“Charlotte,” he repeated. He stopped by her navel and dipped one finger tentatively below the waistband.
“Yes,” she breathed. Charlotte’s eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, her mouth open just a bit.
Tig slid another finger under her waistband.
“Charlotte,” he said a third time, stepping fully into her space. He inched his fingers lower, more fingers joining them, until he cupped her mound with his big hand, applying just the right amount of delicious pressure.
He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “Charlotte, let me take care of you.”
She turned her head toward him. “You’ve taken care of me, Tig. You cooked me dinner. You showed me how to . . .” She gasped as a small wave of pleasure started to reverberate in her core. Sweet Jesus, those calluses are wondrous things. Oh Lordy. “You . . . you don’t have to do anything else.”
“What if I want to? Need to?”
He slid his hand lower and found that nub, the collection of the most sensitive nerves in her body, and applied just the right pressure. Charlotte sighed as he stroked her, and when he bit her neck as he rolled her clit between his callused thumb and forefinger, she cried out before falling against him, clutching at his shoulders.
Tig chuckled against the spot on her neck that he just bit, and then he kissed it. And before she knew it, he had picked her up and plopped her on the counter.
“Didn’t want you to fall down when your knees gave out,” he said, and he kissed her again, on the mouth, taking his time and savoring everything that was Charlotte.
“What . . . what . . . ?” Charlotte was still fogged by the brief but deliciously strong orgasm.
“Remember that, Charlotte. That’s just a preview of what’s to come when we get a proper night together.” Tig kissed her on the cheek, then the mouth, and then the cheek again.
“I gotta get going, sweetheart. Junior’s got me running the five o’clock session tomorrow morning. I’ll call you tomorrow evening, all right?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, still dazed.
Tig petted her braid and bent down to place another soft kiss on her mouth. Charlotte felt his mouth bend into a smile as she leaned into him to kiss him back.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said after he forced himself to break the kiss. “I really gotta scoot because I don’t think I can mind my manners much longer. Goodbye, Charlotte. I’ll see you real soon, sugar.”
And Charlotte watched, still stunned, as he nodded, picked up his cowboy hat and his bag of leftovers, and sauntered out the door.
Charlotte saw Tig before he saw her. It never ceased to amuse her that when he said he had a bike, it was an actual bicycle, not a motorcycle.
He was wearing his usual T-shirt and jeans and cowboy boots, but had traded his Stetson for a helmet. She could she him grinning at her as he coasted up.
“Hey.” Charlotte, suddenly nervous, wiped her hands on her skirt, she hoped discreetly, and took a deep breath.
“Hey, pretty lady,�
�� Tig said with a grin and a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for giving me a call.”
“Well, the day is nice, and I thought you might like to get out of the gym for a bit.”
“This is great.” He gave her another kiss, this time on the mouth. “Boy, you look prettier every time I see you, Charlotte.”
Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and she dipped her eyes shyly down. “You don’t look bad yourself, Tig.”
She ran the tip of her finger along the edge of his belt buckle, seriously contemplating asking him to skip the food truck and go back to her apartment to have a completely different kind of meal.
“What is going through that head of yours?” he murmured in her ear. “Something tells me I’d like it.”
Charlotte stepped into him, sighed, and rested her forehead on his chest. Tig automatically put his arms around her and pulled her close. He felt her take a deep breath and then hug him around the waist before stepping back and shaking her head as if to clear the cobwebs from it.
“Are you hungry?” She cocked her head at Tig, making the sun spark off the rhinestone clips she had in her hair.
Tig grinned at her and nodded. His eyes shot up, and he grinned again and took his helmet off. “Sure am. What’s good?”
They walked through the Food Truck Park, and Charlotte pointed out her favorite options, though Tig was not really listening. He felt giddy and not just because he took off from the fight club without having his post-workout protein. He knew he was grinning like some sort of simpleton but did not really care. He was just happy she called him.
After settling on some sort of spicy Asian thing, they sat at a table under an umbrella and talked and ate, trading small, flirtatious touches all throughout their meal.
Tig was on his second serving of shirataki noodles after wolfing down three wraps, and Charlotte was gaping at him. “What?”
She laughed. “Where in the world do you put all that food?”
“Mama always said I have hollow legs.” Tig shrugged and slurped another noodle down. “I do have two sets of britches, though: one for training and one for non-training. These are my non-training britches.” Tig winked at her.