by Amy Daws
She pulls her lip into her mouth and snaps her head to the guy who’s suddenly tightened his grip around her shoulders. He leans down so she can whisper in his ear and my eyes follow his other hand as it cups her hip. His thumb is dangerously close to the underside of her breast, and the familiarity of their embrace has my blood running hot.
What. The. Fuck?
“Jesus man, what’s up? You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off!” Sam says from beside me as he shoves a beer into my chest.
“What?” I nearly growl, wrapping my fingers firmly around the cold bottle.
“What’s going on? You look like…” His voice trails off as he sees where my steely gaze is focused. “Is that the same redhead?”
I nod, my jaw tight.
“I thought you were just friends with the girl.”
“I am,” I snap, sneering down at him.
“Well, then fucking cool it, bro, because you look like you’re itching for a fight.” He stands up off his stool and tips his chin up to rumble into my ear. “You look how you used to when Joce was fucking around.”
His words are like a bucket of ice water tossed in my face. I instantly sag against his hand clasping my shoulder and turn away to take a big gulp of my beer. Exhaling heavily, I hunch over and prop my elbows on the bar, running a hand through my hair.
Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me? I barely know Mercedes. I’ve only seen her outside the shop once. That doesn’t mean I can go all beast mode on her when I see her with another guy.
A gentle tap on my shoulder has my head snapping to the right.
It’s Mercedes.
My adorable redhead.
Up close and personal like this, she’s not adorable, though. She’s super fucking sexy. Her eyes are lined with a thick black pencil. Brown eyeshadow on her lids makes her blues irises brighter than ever before. Her glossy, red lipstick emphasizes her lips. The plumpness of them reminds me of the time I watched her wrap her mouth around that breadstick and—
“Hey, Miles,” Mercedes says, tucking a strand of silky hair behind her ear.
“Hey, Mercedes,” I husk, clearing my throat and standing to my full height.
In her heels, the top of her head reaches my chin, and I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo from this vantage point.
“Fancy seeing you here!” She laughs awkwardly and gives me a chummy punch to the shoulder. She glances behind her at where Sam has retreated to give us some privacy. “I thought you were going camping?”
“I thought you were writing,” I retort and look over her head to see Sam sliding his pointer finger across his neck, silently telling me to cool it.
Her cheeks deepen in color, but she holds her chin up high and replies, “Well, as you said, I need to take a break on occasion.”
I nod, clenching my jaw as my gaze finds the dude she came in with. He’s staring us down like we’re the live entertainment tonight instead of the DJ up in the booth.
“That your boyfriend?” I ask, nodding to Mr. Fancy Pants.
Mercedes looks over her shoulder and begins laughing. “God, no. That’s Dean. He’s my friend. And that’s Lynsey standing next to him, my other friend. We’re all neighbors, kind of?”
I nod, narrowing my eyes at the guy in annoyance. Whatever he’s trying to communicate is a different language than the one Mercedes is speaking right now. He’s certainly not watching her like he’s just a friend.
Turning away, I point over at Sam, who’s doing a poor job of pretending to look for something in the giant barrel of peanuts while eavesdropping on our conversation. “This is my buddy, Sam.”
Sam’s head pops up like he hasn’t been listening to every word we’ve said so far. Smooth move, Sam. In one giant step, he’s next to Mercedes and shaking her hand.
“Hi,” she says with a genuine smile.
“Nice to meet you…”
“Mercedes,” I finish when she doesn’t look like she’s going to. I look at Mercedes and add, “Sam works with me at the shop.”
Mercedes nods slowly, clearly more cautious of him now that she knows where he works. “Nice to meet you.”
“We’re going camping tomorrow,” Sam offers, clearly trying to make up for my current lack of social skills. “We head out in the morning.”
She looks up at me through her thick mascaraed eyes and smiles. “I’m heading to the coffee shop in the morning.”
I offer a half-smile back to her, and our eyes hold each other for a long moment. It feels like we’re both thinking the same thing at this moment. A thought resembling the question, why have we not hung out again?
But for some reason, I think we both know the answer to that.
Mercedes breaks the silence. “Well, I’ll lea—”
“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask quickly before she makes her great escape. I know it’s stupid, and I know it’s probably not wise, but I’m not ready to see her go yet.
That dimple in her cheek catches my eye as she glances back at her friends for a split second. “A drink sounds good.”
“Please, take my seat,” Sam rushes out, turning his stool to her and all but shoving her down into it. “I’m going to go say hi to my friend. He’s the DJ tonight.”
“Thanks,” Mercedes says, and he runs off like an overeager puppy dog retrieving his mommy’s slippers.
I exhale heavily and take the seat adjacent to her that I’ve been propped on this entire time. “What’s your poison? I can ask if they serve coffee in an IV drip if you’d like.”
My familiar teasing has her laughing, and she swats my arm comfortably. “I’ll take a beer. I’ve been drinking liquor already, and it’s never good for me to stick with liquor all night.”
Our knees brush together as I angle myself to her. “And why is that?”
“Well, I either get mean, or I get slutty.”
“Slutty?” I cock a brow at her and slap my hand on the bar. “Bartender! Let’s get this girl a shot!”
She laughs that deep, rich laugh, and I can already feel my growly demeanor disappearing. “Beer!” she corrects, pointing at what I have in my hand.
The bartender nods and pops the top off a beer and slides it down the bar to land perfectly in her hands. She takes a sip and smiles her thanks at me. “So what have you been up to since I saw you six hours ago?” she asks.
“Oh, I cured cancer and decided to go out and celebrate with my buddy, Sam. You?”
“Same.” She shrugs with a serious look that she’s having trouble maintaining. “Do you live downtown?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I live nearby, in Jamestown. I bought a fixer-upper there last year.”
She splays her hands out on the bar and drops her head with a groan. “Oh man, you’re one of those painfully handy guys, aren’t you?”
I chuckle at her question. “I don’t know about handy, but I can usually figure most stuff out. Or I google it after screwing it up and then figure it out.”
She props her stunning face in a hand. “I bet you clean your own gutters too, don’t you?” she says with a speculative look and takes another long pull of her beer.
“Yes, I do. But I usually end up cleaning them out in the rain because I only remember to do it when it’s pouring outside, and the water is spilling over the top of them.”
She nods and bites her lip like she’s really deep in thought. “So you’re all wet on a ladder and digging into your gutters to get the leaves out?” She uses her hands to gesticulate the action, then shakes her head.
“Yes.” I chuckle. “What the fuck are you doing? Why does your face look like that?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m painting a pretty picture in my head.”
I roll my eyes. “Am I shirtless in this picture?”
She giggles knowingly. “Noo, you’re wearing one of those tank tops you wear under your coveralls.”
“You’re very observant,” I murmur around the mouth of my bottle. “Always plotting.” I shoot her a w
ink as I take a sip.
She shoots one back.
By the time we’re on our second round, neither of us is feeling any pain, both clearly having indulged prior to this moment.
Mercedes licks her lips and turns her body to face me straight on so her legs are pressed together between my sprawled out ones. “Miles,” she states with a twinkle in her eye.
“Mercedes.”
A peculiar look shoots over her face, but she brushes it away and sets her beer down. “Why have you never asked me to hang out again like you did that night we had pizza together?”
She must be tipsy to be coming in hot with questions like that. I eye her for a moment, noting that her eyes are a bit more hooded than before, but I’m not exactly sober either, so I’m not one to judge.
I shrug nonchalantly and hit her with honesty. “Tire Depot seems safer.”
“Safer,” she repeats, grabbing her bottle, but pausing before she takes another drink. “Meaning, I won’t run into you again and catch my flip-flop under your boot?”
“Something like that.” I chuckle, picking at the label on my beer with my thumbnail. “Which is probably for the best because, in those sexy shoes, I’m pretty sure you’d end up breaking an ankle or worse.”
Her posture straightens, and the corners of her mouth turn down in a pleased smirk. “You think my shoes are sexy?”
She lifts the black strappy sandal up between us, causing her skirt to ride up dangerously high. I see a whole lot of tanned thigh and a flash of black panties, and instantly, my dick pushes up against my zipper.
Mercedes notices what she’s just done and quickly drops her leg and turns toward the bar. Pursing her lips together, she demurely shimmies her skirt back down her thighs.
I lean in to whisper in her ear. “Really sexy.”
She clears her throat and turns to look at me. “So what are your real plans for tonight? Were you really just here with your buddy to hang? Or were you on the hunt?”
“On the hunt?” I question her phrase because it sounds funny coming from her.
“For tail!” she chirps, twirling in her seat to look at the bar that’s now filled to the brim. “For chicks. For a one-night stand that gets super awkward in the morning because she wants to make you pancakes and you want to chew your arm off and sneak out before she wakes up.”
I belly laugh at that very apt description. “Well, considering I was with my ex for the better part of my twenties, yeah, I guess I’m looking for casual.”
She nods intently, eyeing me down her nose. “I could tell that about you.”
“How?” I ask, disbelieving.
“You wear those T-shirts that show off your biceps.” She reaches out and snaps the material around my arm. “This can’t be comfortable. Why do you wear shirts like this?”
“This is how most shirts fit me.” I look down at her creamy legs. “And that little skirt you’re wearing is for comfort, I suppose?”
She shrugs innocently. “It’s stretchy.”
“Well, so are my shirts.”
We both laugh and take another drink.
“So what’s your type? What draws your eye? Gimme a hair color, something to work with.” She’s looking out at the people again like she’s seriously going to help me find someone to bang.
My gaze lingers on her hair, sliding down the smooth strands that fall softly over her chest. I clear my throat and reply, “Brunettes. My ex was a blonde. I’m over blondes. They do not have more fun.”
“Brunettes, it is. Let’s see.” She claps her hands and analyzes the crowd until her eyes land on someone. “Not my friend, Lynsey. She already dated our friend Dean, and it was so awkward for months after that.”
I eye her friends who are at a table with a few other people, and they don’t seem the least bit concerned that I’ve monopolized their friend for the evening. “Okay, friends are off-limits. That’s fair.”
“How about that one?” She points at a girl sipping on a cocktail in a corner booth. She’s trapped in by a couple of other girls who look like they are having a major bitchfest about someone.
“She’s swarmed by other chicks. I try to avoid the packs. They get awkward.”
“How so?”
“Well, there’s always one friend who tries to cock block. One friend who tries to steal the guy. And another who’ll make her friend feel bad about herself for being a slut.”
“Man, girls can be mean.”
“You’re telling me.” I take a pull of my bottle. “What about you? Why aren’t you on the hunt? You said you were over your ex, right?”
“Oh, I totally am. He’s vile.”
“And your friend Dean isn’t a prospect?” I ask, feeling annoyed at the fact that I still seek that verification.
“No.” She shakes her head. “He reminds me of my brothers.”
I doubt your brothers touch you the way he did earlier.
She slaps her hand on her knee and bellows gallantly, “But you know what, Miles, you’re right! I should totally find a random hookup tonight.”
“Whoa, I never said anything about random.”
“Well, you’re doing it, so why can’t I?”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t seem like the random type.”
“Maybe I should be.” Her eyes narrow when she leans in and whispers against my lips. “Can I tell you a secret, Miles?”
“You can tell me anything, Mercedes.”
She giggles and crooks her finger for me to lean in even closer. I’m so close I can smell the faint scent of her cherry lip gloss, and it’s not helping the half boner having a party in my pants.
Her lips graze my ear when she whispers, “My writing makes me horny.”
I nearly choke on my beer. “I’m sorry, what?”
“My writing makes me horny.” She pulls back and nods her confirmation. “I’m serious. I have a sex toy that works really well and really fast, but I miss the heat of a man, ya know?”
My eyes scrunch together, and I rub my fingers in the sockets to make sure I’m awake and hearing this all correctly. “I mean…I don’t really ever miss the heat of man, so I don’t think I know exactly what you’re saying.”
“Fine, the heat of a woman.” She rolls her eyes dramatically “You know what I’m talking about. The heat.”
I frown and shake my head. “You’re going to have to elaborate because I think of a lot of things when I think of women, but their body temperature isn’t one of them.”
“You asked for it.” She laughs and leans in so she’s speaking low and soft and directly into my ear. “The heat of a woman is so much more than temperature. It’s the soft, sensual curves of the female form. The way your fingers dig into the meat of her thighs when she’s wrapped around you. Her smooth, sunken tummy when she’s on her back, the delicate bumps of her ribcage when she’s throwing her head back in pleasure. Tight little nipples in pillows of creamy softness. The fact that you could fold yourself around her and envelop her body almost entirely and still want more. You’re saying you don’t miss that kind of heat?”
I blink slowly, recovering from what just happened. Her voice was a sensual, verbal caress straight on my cock. Then there was the warm heat of her breath on my ear. The deep husk of her tone. The way her warm palm rests softly on my thigh.
Fucking hell.
My dick immediately went from a halfy to a fully, and I’m so turned on that I don’t even give a fuck.
“You totally write erotica,” I state, my voice deep and gravelly with arousal. I sit back and shake my head at her.
“Damnit!” She snaps her fingers in front of her, clearly annoyed that she let herself get carried away. “I didn’t want you to know!”
“Why not?” I nearly growl. “What’s the big secret?”
“Because it changes the way you look at me.”
“How so?”
“Well, you’ll either one, think I’m some kind of sex freak who’s super frickin’ experienced in the bedroom.”
“That’s completely accurate.” I laugh.
“See!”
“I’m kidding, go on.”
“Or two, you’ll be embarrassed by what I do and not want to tell anyone.”
“Are you joking?” I bark and lean forward to turn her face so she’s looking at me. She actually looks kind of sad, and that blows my damn mind.
“Well, your buddy doesn’t count. He’s probably a horn ball,” she corrects. “I mean, anyone that’s super important to you.”
“Fuck that,” I argue and shake my head adamantly. “Then you don’t know me at all, Mercedes.”
“I know your kind,” she retorts with a cocky edge to her voice like this doesn’t really bother her. But I can clearly see that it does. “You dudes are all alike. You want a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets.”
“Bullshit.”
She shrugs. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it was a huge reason my ex and I broke up. He asked me to lie to his family about what I did for a living.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
The shamed look on her face has my jaw clenches with rage. “Yeah, I thought it was weird that we’d been together for so long and he still hadn’t introduced me to his family. Then his sister was getting married, and he sort of had to bring me to the wedding. That was when he asked me to tell everyone that I wrote cozy mysteries.”
“What a fucker.” I growl and take a huge gulp of my beer to try to tamp down my rage.
“Well, he is that, but I write some really kinky shit in my books, and that’s not exactly easy to tell your grandma about.”
“Fuck that.” I growl and slam down my beer. “I’d tell my grandma about you.”
“You would not!” she argues with an incredulous laugh. “Grandmas hate me! My grandma hates me.”
“Your grandma can’t possibly hate you. You’re perfect!”
“She hates me. She’s really religious, and every time I come home, she tries to arrange a meeting with me and her priest. She thinks I need an intervention or an exorcism or something.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny.” I reach out and touch her thigh in apology.