by Harlow James
I flash him a polite smile and a slight head nod, and then place my steak in the basket of my cart. Pushing towards the front of the store, my mind convinces me to catch one last glimpse of the tasty treat behind the meat counter, so I do. I twist my neck in his direction, surprisingly pleased to see him watching me walk away. His grin stretches open as he winks at me and then turns around to get back to his job, leaving my legs unsteady and my heart racing in my chest.
I make one more attempt to search for a meet-cute, even scouring a few aisles to see if I can catch the hipster couple from before, but I have no such luck.
That night as I’m cooking my steak at my stove, my mess of curly red hair piled high on the top of my head, I can’t help but think of Dylan as my steak sizzles in the pan.
I wonder what kind of meat he is packing behind that display case, the body he’s hiding beneath his uniform. The muscles of his forearms, the strength in his hands, and the boulders of his shoulders in his shirt all allude to the fact he’s hiding a nice body underneath those clothes. He’s a tad cocky and confident, but not in an off-putting way, and he’s easy to talk to. He’s perfect book boyfriend material, which then gets me thinking… what if he’s the key to my writer’s block? What if Dylan is the hero in my story—the man working at the grocery store falls in love with a customer instead of two customers hitting it off over cheese or ice cream?
Scenes start to spark, excitement blooms in my chest, and my brain starts firing rapidly as I remove my steak from the pan, place it on a plate to rest before I devour it, and then I run into the other room to grab my notebook, frantically writing down ideas and details that crash into my mind like the waves of the ocean.
With my brain full of inspiration and a full stomach, I prop myself up against my headboard in my bed and type furiously into the wee hours of the morning, high on the adrenaline that after almost a month of not writing, I finally have something that’s getting my creative juices flowing, and I couldn’t be happier.
Chapter 4
McKenzie
“You were up until three in the morning?” Brooke eyes me over the rim of her drink, waiting for me to answer her.
“Yup. I couldn’t stop. I know I’ll crash and burn later, but I couldn’t stop typing. It was like a switch had been flipped. My heart was racing, my fingers wouldn’t move fast enough. God, it felt good.”
“That’s amazing, Mac. I’m so glad.”
“Me too. I was getting worried there for a while. A part of me wondered if I had tapped out my creativity, kind of like the theory that women are only allowed a set number of orgasms in their life.”
Brooke scoffs and then downs the rest of her drink. “That theory is preposterous. If that were the case, I’m sure I’ve used up most of mine by now with just my vibrator alone.”
I chuckle. “Agreed.”
“But I don’t think creativity is the same thing. You can’t force it. Sometimes, your mind can be spinning with ideas, and next, it’s standing still. I think all artistic people can relate. Maybe your brain just needed a break. Nevertheless, I knew you’d find your story eventually. One of the things I love the most about your writing is that you don’t just write the same old thing. You look for fresh ideas and make them your own. Your readers know they’re getting that from you too. You just needed a good dose of inspiration, and even though your meet cute over food didn’t pan out, it seems this idea came to you while you were in the grocery store at least, so your time spent there wasn’t all a waste.”
“So I take it you liked what I sent you then?”
“Um, yeah. The idea of some hunky young guy giving me the look over a case of meat… sign me up,” she says while fanning her face.
“Well, honestly it was after I spoke with the butcher in the grocery store that helped spark the idea.”
“Wait.” Brooke leans across the table. “This wasn’t just an idea that popped in your head? You actually talked to a hot butcher?”
I can feel heat rush to my cheeks. “I talked to a butcher. His name is Dylan …”
She sits back in her seat now, salivating with a slack jaw. “Oh boy, this just got even better. Tell me everything.”
The waitress comes by before I can get a word out and Brooke and I order another round of drinks.
It’s our usual Friday night happy hour meeting at Perry’s Pub in our little southern town of Castle, North Carolina. The crisp fall air is drawing people in from the elements as the orange and yellow leaves fall to the ground outside from the wind whipping through the branches.
One thing about small towns is that everyone has a routine—the places they go, the people they see, the friends they keep. Each week Brooke and I meet up here, unless I’m on a deadline, and then we see the other familiar faces in the pub we’ve grown accustomed to seeing every Friday.
Except tonight, there’s one face that just walked through the door that I’ve never recalled seeing—but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been here. Maybe I’ve just been blind to his existence until he said something to me last week.
“Oh my God, he’s here,” I whisper, as Brooke’s head twists towards the door where my eyes were just focused.
“Who? Where?”
“Dark green flannel,” I mutter as I reach for my empty glass, tossing it back to catch an ice cube, crunching on it just for something to distract me from the guy that’s been on my brain for the past twenty-four hours—something I’m not willing to admit just yet.
“Hot damn, Mac!” She smacks the table and then turns to face me again.
“Jesus, Brooke. Calm down! You’re drawing attention to us.” I look around the room as I watch several people give us looks of confusion as Brooke laughs across from me.
“Uh, I can’t. I have no chill. That is the butcher?”
“Yes,” I answer through gritted teeth. “And if you don’t stop speaking so loudly, he’s going to know that we are talking about him.”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asks as the waitress comes by with our next round. I mentally remind myself to cut Brooke off after this one since the alcohol seems to be going straight to her head. I know she’s buzzing when she gets louder than normal.
“Uh, I kind of like my grocery store and don’t want to have to find another one.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not a crime to find a man attractive, Mac.”
“I don’t find him attractive,” I say, lying through my teeth as I avoid her eyes.
“You’re a horrible liar, McKenzie Daniels, and I know you too well, you seem to forget. He’s a hunk and I think not only did he give you inspiration for your book, but maybe he’s inspiring other fantasies for you as well.”
“Ha. Okay. That’s enough alcohol for you,” I mock as I reach for her glass but she swipes it away.
“You know I’m right and that’s why you’re deflecting. Why don’t you call him over here?”
Sweat forms between my shoulder blades and starts gliding down my back. “Uh, that would be a no.”
“Why not?” She looks back over her shoulder and my eyes follow as Dylan walks up to a group of guys, one of which looks like the guy that was working behind the meat counter with him last week. “He’s hot, Mac. It’s not every day you see a guy like that.”
“He’s too young,” I answer, ruminating on how rattled I feel by his presence. Why am I borderline hyperventilating after just seeing him? I feel like I’m back in high school when Bryan Thompson, the star quarterback of the football team, would walk into U.S. History class and wink at me. He was always friendly, but I wasn’t even a blip on his radar.
I’ve definitely found confidence since then, knowing when to put myself out there with a man. But seeing as how I’m approaching my thirty-fifth birthday, I don’t have time to waste on some younger guy who’s probably still sowing his wild oats. If I’m going to find my forever, I need to keep my eye on the prize—a man in his thirties, solid job, good family, and someone who can make
me laugh—is that too much to ask for? He doesn’t have to be a model or previously unmarried. Hell, I’d even accept his children into my life if the situation were right. But I need a grown up, someone who wants the same things as me.
I’m sure a few rounds of sex with Dylan would satisfy the other things I’m looking for, but there’s no future there. Doesn’t mean I can’t find the man attractive though because lord knows, I do. I would lick every mountain and valley of muscle on that body and then ride him into the sunset. And with the outfit he has on right now, all he needs is a cowboy hat to make that fantasy come alive.
“Earth to Mac.” Brooke waves her hand in front of my face, pulling me from my inner thoughts. “Are you back on Earth now? Jeez, where was your head at just now?”
Somewhere down in Texas where you can ride the men in droves like horses. “Uh, nowhere.”
A loud huff leaves her lips. “You’re delusional and obviously fantasizing about the man. Why does age matter, Mac? You obviously have a thing for the guy …”
Sighing, I reach for my drink and take a sip, the tequila hitting my tongue like a shot. “Wow, that’s strong.” I stir the frozen concoction with my straw as I contemplate my answer. “Okay, he’s hot—like panty-melting, make all of your sexual fantasies come alive hot, Brooke. Is that what you wanted to hear? There, you happy?”
A deep laugh filters over us and I freeze, internally screaming because I’m pretty sure the owner of that laugh is also the man I was just talking about.
Mortified and feeling the urge to puke, I close my eyes and then pop one open to see Dylan standing at the end of our booth with a thoroughly pleased grin on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets.
“I don’t know that it matters, but I am very happy with knowing that information.”
“Oh, Christ on a cracker,” Brooke mumbles, drawing a sip of her margarita. “You are hot.”
Dylan chuckles again and then looks over at me. “I see you’ve been talking about me.”
It takes me one moment to debate how to handle this situation, knowing that I don’t want to cower and hide, but nothing can ever come of something between Dylan and myself. He works at my grocery store and doesn’t fit my checklist of what I’m looking for in a partner. Besides, I’m a woman who can own her sexuality. Hell, I write sex for a living. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Plus, it might be fun to mess with him.
I shrug. “You came up in conversation. But I was actually talking about your friend over there.” I point across the pub to the table of men he was just sitting with, eyeing the guy I recognized earlier.
Dylan twists to find who I’m pointing at and then slides his attention right back at me. “Kyle?”
“Uh huh. The peach fuzz really does it for me.” Poor kid. He’s probably in his early twenties and his facial hair sprouted late. He’s got one of those mustaches that looks like a shadow and really just needs to be shaved off completely.
Dylan eyes me skeptically and then runs his large hand over the scruff on his face, drawing attention to the fact that he can clearly grow a beard, and a perfect one at that. It’s just the right length, the same shade of brown as the hair on his head, which my eyes find next, realizing I’ve never actually seen his head before since he’s always wearing that white paper hat.
Dylan has great hair—short, yet still longer than an inch, and styled in that just-been-fucked look that makes women want to drop their pants. And he has a fantastic smile—bright, easy, genuine. His eyes are a deep blue, but as I discovered the other day, have flecks of yellow in them. And the way he dresses—dark jeans, flannel shirt, dark brown boots that make him look like he’s about to get dirty—damn, I definitely have a problem here. He’s too freaking good-looking.
“Shame. I was gonna offer to help fulfill those fantasies of yours.”
“Oh, yes. I think that’s exactly what Mac needs,” Brooke chimes in, studying our locked gazes on each other.
Dylan turns to face Brooke and then motions to sit next to her on her side of the booth. “Is that so? I’m Dylan by the way.” He moves to shake her hand and she reciprocates.
“Brooke. The best friend,” she states proudly.
“Mac, huh?” He turns back to me and raises one eyebrow.
“Only a select few can call me that, so don’t get any ideas,” I declare, shooting a death glare at my best friend who’s about to have the title revoked.
“Nah. I wouldn’t dream of it. I like Cookie Monster far more.”
Brooke snorts. “Oh, my God! You call her that?”
Dylan grins in my direction before shifting to face Brooke. “Yup. I remember seeing our friend here walking around the store shoveling cookies in her mouth one day. And then the next time I saw her, she was doing it again. Seemed like a fitting nickname.”
Brooke claps her hands. “I freaking love it!”
“Hey. You’re supposed to be on my side,” I chime in.
“Oh, I am, Mac.” She twists to face Dylan again, who is staring at me, the intensity in his eyes searing along my skin as if he has x-ray vision. “Dylan, are you single?”
“Brooke!”
“I am,” he answers, chuckling beside her while bouncing his eyes back and forth between the two of us.
“Wouldn’t you like to take this woman on a date?” Brooke puts her palm out in my direction like she’s offering me up on a silver platter.
“I actually would like that very much, Brooke,” he answers, startling us both.
“You would?” I question, registering this guy’s candidness.
“Yeah. But I don’t think you’re ready for that yet,” he says to me as his cocky smile returns, which just confuses me even more.
I’m speechless, sitting across from the two of them with my mouth hanging open. Brooke is staring at me like I just won a million dollars and Dylan looks the most confident I’ve seen him yet.
“You want to take me out?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He narrows his eyes at me as if I’m crazy. “Because you’re beautiful and intrigue me. Does there need to be another reason?”
“You don’t even know me …”
Brooke leans over the table, shielding her lips behind her hand even though she speaks at top volume. “That’s kind of the point of a date.”
I glare in her direction before shifting my focus back to Dylan. “I’m sorry, Dylan. Truly. I’m flattered, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I figured you’d say that.” He grins with a little too much cockiness for a man that was just turned down. Standing from the table, he smiles down at my best friend. “It was nice to meet you, Brooke.” And then he turns to me. “And McKenzie, this isn’t over. I’ll talk to you soon. Good night.” His face shifts into that smirk again that’s beginning to irritate me and then he flashes me a wink as he shoves his hands in his pockets once more and walks back to his friends.
Brooke stares at me with a slack jaw as I watch him walk away. “Well, that was …”
My eyes find hers now, my blood boiling with irritation. “Yeah. Christ, Brooke. Why did you get involved?”
She shrugs, reaching for her margarita again. “Because I know you better than anyone else and you need to be pushed sometimes. That man is fine, Mac. He won’t be single forever, and he’s interested in you. You might have turned him down tonight, but I think he’s right. It’s only a matter of time before you give in.”
“Really?”
She nods confidently. “Yup. Besides, don’t you think dating him would be great research for your book?” Damn, I hate when she has a point. “You could pick his brain, find out all about him, and model your character after him. He’s a real life book boyfriend, Mac! I mean, did you not shiver at his confidence? I’m all hot and bothered just thinking about it.”
“Oh, I saw it alright.” And I’ll probably replay his smug response over and over again tonight while I’m lying in bed, reaching for my vibrator while vis
ualizing him standing in that flannel.
“You’re only hurting the story if you don’t take him up on his offer.”
“But I don’t want to lead him on, Brooke. That’s not fair to him.”
“Why would you be leading him on? It’s just a date. Besides, tell me,” she pauses, smacking her lips together. “When’s the last time you had sex? Or better yet, went on a date?”
The fact that I can’t recall that information off-hand is depressing. “It’s been a while …”
“Exactly. So even if you don’t see forever with this guy, at least get some action, woman. You have needs and hey, maybe he can help with research for that part of the book too.” She bounces her eyebrows at me.
“Brooke, you are shameless.”
“Girl, you know it.” She clinks her glass with mine and then we shift gears, talking about the Fall Festival coming up in a few weeks. Brooke’s insurance office is one of the sponsors, so she has several things to get in place before the event comes.
I get home that evening and as predicted, lie in bed, staring at my ceiling, envisioning Dylan standing in front of me, replaying what he said.
How can he be so confident? He definitely seems younger than me, and yet, he wasn’t phased in the slightest when I turned him down. More importantly, he seemed sure that eventually he’d be taking me on a date anyway, which leads me to question—would dating him be so bad? He might not be my forever, but could he be my right now? It has been a long time since I’ve gotten any action, which makes writing sex scenes feel monotonous and uninspired after a while.
Could Dylan pull me out of my dating funk just like he helped with my writing funk?
I’m still not so sure, but as I drift off to sleep, scenes in my story start to play out in my head again, and now the leading man definitely has a face—a face I can’t seem to stop picturing even when I’m awake.
Chapter 5
Dylan
“Hey, hand me those chuck roasts please,” Kyle calls to me from the other end of the metal counter.
I shove the meat in his direction and then spray the disinfectant on the steel before wiping up the blood.