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Chapter 9
Brody
I had an un-fucking-believable dream about Alyssa last night. She was wearing a skimpy, black dress, cut extremely low, with her br**sts pushed up high and threatening to spill out. High-heeled shoes made her toned legs look miles long, especially since the dress barely covered her ass.
I imagined those shoes giving her just the height I’d need to bend her over and take her from behind.
In my dream, she was at Last Call and the bar was packed with people. She was in the middle of the room… dancing. It was to some music I never heard before but it had an erotic, bass beat that pulsed inside of me. She was dancing just for me, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt and threatening to drag the material up a little higher so I could see what lay beneath. I stood behind the bar, my gaze helplessly pinned to her, while she gyrated for me, pursing her lips in a sexy pout. She stared back intently… her eyes knowing what she was doing to me, and she loved it.
I had woken up suddenly, Alyssa having done nothing more than dance for me, but in my dream… it was just for me. My breathing was harsh, and I was sporting a raging hard-on. Closing my eyes, I was still able picture her in my mind… moving her hips, dragging her skirt upward. I let my imagination take over and I completed the fantasy while I wrapped my hand around my cock, twisting and stroking in fluid pulls while Alyssa got down and dirty for me behind my eyelids.
I came so hard… harder than I had in years, and I was able to fall back asleep almost immediately.
And now… I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off her, because f**k if she didn’t show up with Gabby, Casey, and Savannah, all four women dressed in tiny dresses and f**k-me-standing shoes, clearly intent on partying their way through Friday night.
The coincidence that she is wearing a skimpy, black dress has me shaking my head. All at the same time, I’m trying to keep my dick in a submissive posture while I tend bar.
Glancing at the clock, I’m relieved to see it’s almost two AM. Hitting the mute button on the speaker system hooked into the jukebox, I kill the music and yell, “Last Call”. Everyone boos at my proclamation, all in good jest, but then I’m stampeded as everyone comes to the bar for their last drink as I turn the music back on.
My third customer is none other than the hot little heiress turned animal avenger and she about kills me when she steps up on the ledge that runs along the bottom of the bar, resting her forearms on the wooden top. This, of course, squeezes her br**sts together, deepening the cle**age that was already on spectacular display.
I will not look at her br**sts. I will not look at her br**sts.
“I’ll take another vodka tonic, Brody,” she says, grinning happily at me. She turns briefly to say hello to someone standing to the side of her, and I use the opportunity for a quick peek at her chest.
No apologies. With my eyes raised back up, I ask, “None of your cronies want a last-call drink?”
She turns back to me, her eyes sparkling. It’s clear she’s having fun tonight, is a little buzzed, and while I don’t necessarily like all the guys that have been checking her out, I do like that she’s able to let loose. She’s works hard, so she should be able to play hard, too.
“Nope,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “They’re leaving now. I’m going to stay and play pool a little longer. Rory Stanson is willing to put some money down, and I feel like robbing him blind tonight. And on second thought, make it a double vodka tonic since it’s last call. ”
I raise one eyebrow at her, but she just stares back at me with a determined smile. Shrugging my shoulders, I turn to make her drink, thankful not to have the temptation of her br**sts mocking me and knowing, without a doubt, they’ll star in my dreams again tonight.
***
As the eight ball sails smoothly across the green felt and lands assuredly in the corner pocket, Alyssa throws her stick on the table and pronounces, “I’m done. Can you call me a cab, Brody?”
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s almost three AM and a yawn overtakes me. After the bar closed, I let Alyssa and Rory continue to play pool while they sipped on bottled water and I sat on a barstool to watch. Alyssa was killing him and I’d like to say I wanted to give Rory a chance to earn his money back again, but in all honesty, I enjoyed watching Alyssa bend over that pool table way too much to stop them.
“I’ll take you home,” Rory says as he downs the last of his water, and f**k… rakes his eyes down her body. “I’m fairly sober. ”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
“I’m taking Alyssa home. I’ll call you a cab, Rory,” I tell him. By the tone of my voice and the glare I give him, he keeps his mouth shut. Alyssa gives me a brilliant smile and grabs her purse, while I go make that call for Rory.
We all walk to the front of the bar, and I shut off lights along the way. After setting the alarm and locking the door behind me, we step out into the muggy summer air and I head for my car.
“Bye, Rory,” Alyssa says with a wave as she follows me. “It was great playing with you tonight. ”
“You mean it was great taking all my money,” he grumbles in return, heading for the cab that is pulling into the lot.
Alyssa only manages to take three steps before she stumbles. I reach out instinctively, not from any gallant desire to protect her, managing to grab ahold of her elbow and straighten her out.
“Damn shoes,” she mutters as she takes another wobbly step.
“How about ‘damn vodka’,” I suggest, not hating the feel of her skin against my palm.
Pulling her arm out of my grasp, she bends over while hiking up one leg, grabbing at her high heel to pull it off.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I grab ahold of her elbow again to steady her.
She gives me a quick glance and a grin. “Proving it’s the shoes and not the vodka. ”
“You can’t take your shoes off. Your feet will get shredded on the gravel. ”
Alyssa’s eyebrows draw inward as she digests that tidbit of info. Before she can think of a means to argue against me, I take the decision out of her hands and sweep her up in my arms.
She gives a startled yelp but then settles in nicely, her arms winding around my neck as she giggles. “My knight in shining armor. ”
“I’m no knight in shining armor. ” I grumble at the moniker, but I love the way her bare legs feel under my hands. “I only picked you up because I didn’t want you to get blood in my car when your feet got cut. ”
Alyssa laughs, then snorts, and then buries her face in my neck—presumably because she’s embarrassed she snorted. But then she pulls back and says, “You’re hilarious, Brody. ”
Walking over to the passenger door, I manage to open it up while still holding on to her. “Yeah, I’m a real funny guy. ”
“You’re adorable,” she says with another giggle, and I lean forward to deposit her in the seat. I try to avert my eyes because her skirt has practically ridden up to her hips, but damn if the peek of white lace panties isn’t burned into my brain. I start to get hard.
Looking Alyssa in the eye so my eyes don’t stray back down south, I tell her, “Adorable is absolutely not a word you’d use to describe an ex-con. ”
I meant it half-joking, half-serious, but I am curious to know how she’ll react. I don’t talk about my life as a felon.
She doesn’t disappoint and sets me back on my heels.
“You’re right,” she says with a grin. “Ex-cons are definitely not adorable. Smokin’ hot? Yes. But not adorable. ”
I just stare at her and she returns it, cocking her head to the side and smiling as big as a truck, so pleased she is with herself that she seems to have struck me dumb.
Call it the spirit of competitiveness, but I shake my head to clear it and decide to give it back to her as good as she’s teasing me. “What could a woman like you possibly know about smokin’ hot ex-cons?”
; “I only know what I see,” she says coyly, and her smile softens. “And you… Brody Markham… are one smokin’ hot guy. ”
I’m back to just blinking at her, struck hard again by her words. She thinks I’m hot? Is she crazy? My hair hasn’t been cut in five years, I don’t shave, I dress like a bum, and I’m mean as hell.
But then it becomes clear. Alyssa is drunk, she’s feeling flirty, and I’m the nearest target. They’re nothing but big words fueled by vodka and her own carefree nature.
“You’re blind… and drunk,” I mutter as I stand straight and shut the car door.
Walking around to the driver’s side, I take a deep breath and let it out before getting in, hoping like hell Alyssa will just keep quiet the rest of the way to her house.
As soon as I get seated and turn the ignition, Alyssa says, “I’m not drunk. Buzzed? Yes. Inhibitions lowered and I’ll probably be embarrassed in the morning? Yes. But not drunk. And I’m most certainly not blind. ”
I turn my head to look at her, which is a mistake. She’s not giving me that dopey grin, and her eyes are deeply serious. When she knows she has my attention, she says very carefully, “You are one seriously gorgeous man, Brody. Every woman that comes in Last Call drools in your wake. I can’t believe you don’t know that. ”
Do I know that? I mean, women hit on me… yes. But half the time I assume it’s because I’m considered a “bad boy” or “dangerous”.
Regardless, it’s not like I sit around looking in the mirror, wondering if I’m good looking or not. Hello… dude here that hasn’t cut his hair in five years.
Although, I guess it could be time for a trim, I think to myself as I rub my hand along my beard.
“Is that one of those things you say when your inhibitions are lowered, and you’ll be embarrassed about tomorrow?” I ask her, because I don’t know what else to say to her revelation.
“No,” she says simply. “Nothing embarrassing about telling someone they’re hot. ”
I c**k an eyebrow at her.
“Seriously,” she affirms with another giggle, and I know this is the alcohol talking. “Try it yourself, and you’ll see it’s not embarrassing. Go on… tell me I’m hot. ”
I don’t know what possesses me to do it. Probably because Alyssa is bordering on drunk and will forgive my actions, or maybe because I’m an ass and I want to get under her skin the way she’s gotten under mine.
I turn toward her, bringing my right hand up to the top of her seat. I lean forward slowly, until my face is just inches from hers, and I can feel her breath against my lips.
“Words can’t describe how stunningly sexy you look tonight,” I murmur to her smoothly. “You’re a f**king wet dream. ”
“Seriously?” she whispers, her eyes round with surprise.
“Absolutely,” I tell her, because it’s the truth.
“Embarrassed you told me that?” she asks with a grin.
“Nope,” I tell her, very much aware our faces are still very close to each other and even more aware of the way her eyes keep straying to my lips.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she asks softly.
It would be so easy for me to say yes, because at this moment, I want nothing more. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone this badly before. But I can’t ignore the fact that Alyssa has vodka swimming in her veins, she’s a rich heiress, and I’m a labeled murderer.
I start to tell her no but she surprises me and brings her hand up, laying it against my cheek. Even through my beard, I can feel the heat of her skin burn through. She strokes her thumb over the bristles of my beard, and I have to fight against the sensation of wanting to close my eyes in pleasure. I can’t remember the last time someone has touched my face.
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