by LK Farlow
“That I am.”
Big Red pretty much melts into a puddle of silicone. “You’re so brave. Do…do you carry a gun and everything?”
Jesus. The sad thing? Before Jenny, this is exactly the kind of woman I’d have gone home with. Now, the mere thought of sitting here, pretending to listen while she fawns all over me, pains me.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Standard issue.”
She shivers exaggeratedly and runs her right hand over my shoulder. “Mmm. And so strong.”
I bring my hand up to cover hers, intent on pushing hers away, but the sweet sound of Jenny’s voice distracts me.
“Y’all need anything else?” She damn near has to shout to be heard over the crowd.
A few of the guys call for a refill, business as usual. Until Jackson’s dumb ass hollers out above the rest, “Yeah, baby, your number!”
I shake out of Red’s hold and turn to my boys just in time to see Jackson wag his brows while making a crude gesture behind Jenny’s back.
Oh. Hell. No.
In two seconds flat, I have his scrawny ass pinned to the edge of the bar. “Not fucking happening, rook.”
He tries to laugh me off. “Tight little ass like hers? Why not?”
I inhale deeply through my nose, expelling the breath slowly as I run through all of the reasons I can’t tear this disrespectful little shit limb from limb. I can feel the vein in my forehead throbbing. I probably look like the Incredible Hulk with the amount of unchecked fury thrumming through my veins.
“Oh, I get it. You want to keep her for yourself.”
“I swear to God—”
I’m rearing back to deck his ass when I’m pulled off of him. I try and throw my weight around, ready to unleash on whoever’s behind me, but they’re quicker than me and pin my arms at my sides.
“Chill, brother,” Duke hisses in my ear. “Kid’s not worth it.”
I instantly deflate and take a cleansing breath. He’s right. What in God’s name was I thinking?
Duke releases me from his hold, and I shove past Jackson, stepping up to the bar, where Jenny hovers with a slightly mortified look painting her delicate features.
“I’m honestly not sure if I should be pissed off or telling you thanks,” she says, passing me a bottle of water.
“Thanking me, definitely. Dude’s a twit.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Something I could see perfectly fine with my own eyes, Captain Obvious. I had no intention of giving him my number.”
“I might have overreacted.” I pinch my thumb and forefinger together, leaving barely any space between them. “Just a little.”
She laughs again, and damn if it’s not the best sound I’ve ever heard.
chapter twenty
Jenny
I’ve always scoffed at the saying boys will be boys, but after Nate’s caveman display, I can’t help but to see a little truth in it. He doesn’t want me, but he doesn’t want anyone else playing with his toys, either. If that’s not the very definition of that saying, then I’m not sure what is.
Too bad I don’t much like being equated to a Hot Wheel car he doesn’t want to share. Not to mention, I’m a grown-ass woman and perfectly capable of taking care of my own damn self.
Over Nate’s shoulder, I catch the tail end of what looks like Duke reaming out their scrawny friend. The kid heads out with slumped shoulders, and Duke rejoins the group.
“All good?” Nate asks.
“Ordered him an Uber.”
Nate holds out his hand for a fist bump. “Thanks, brother.”
“As exciting as that was, I need to get back to work. Do you boys want anything to drink?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Duke declines at the same time Nate says, “One more. Do your worst, GG.”
A smile splits my cheeks as I catalog the girliest drinks I know. My smile doesn’t last long though, because the gorgeous redhead who’s held Nate’s attention all night comes up behind him, standing entirely too close for my comfort.
But I will be polite and professional, even if it freaking kills me. “And what’ll your friend have?”
Busty Barbie scans me from head to toe, dismissing me as a threat almost immediately. “A cosmo,” she says, her voice a sultry rasp that makes mine sound childlike in comparison.
I give a tight nod to the trio. “On it.”
With my heart no longer in teasing Nate, I decide to send an entirely different message with his drink—one that says I think he’s kind of an asshole. I quickly whip up a specialty shot for Nate—a Mad Dog, made up of raspberry syrup, vodka, and a splash of hot sauce—along with a cosmo for his flavor of the night.
“Here y’all go. Enjoy.” I shoot them a saccharine smile before moving on to help other patrons.
I greet the group of newcomers crowded in next to where Nate and his friends are, fully aware that they’ve been waiting on me. “Sorry for the wait, y’all.”
I quickly work through their order, studiously avoiding Nate and his companion. But it’s hard not to glance their way a time or two. From the looks of it, she’s the one carrying the conversation. Probably because he’s too busy drooling to speak.
She is contoured, highlighted, scantily dressed, and at least five inches taller than me. She’s freaking gorgeous, the exact kind of woman I’d imagine Nate with.
Put plainly, she’s everything I’m not. She oozes self-confidence; she’s bold and assertive and not afraid to go after what she wants. Meanwhile, it took me years to work up the nerve to try to get Nate to notice me.
Envy shoots through me like poison when her throaty laugh floats my way. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment, because I look their way again. He’s seated on a barstool with his back to me. He leans back, propping himself up on his elbows like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And why would he, with a glamazon like her standing between his legs, leaning into him like he knows the secrets to everlasting youth.
I’m thankful when a group of older men signal me from the far end of the bar, stealing my attention away from them. I know he has a healthy sexual appetite—hello, he ditched me for a freaking three-way—but seeing him work his magic in person hurts way more than reading about his exploits in a text message.
“Take a break, kiddo,” Mack says as I finish up with my latest order.
I glance around the crowded space. We are crazy busy. I’m talking bodies jammed wall-to-wall, I hope the fire marshal doesn’t pop in for a drink because he’ll definitely shut us down, packed. “You sure?”
Mack shoots me a mean glare that I know he doesn’t mean. “Don’t wanna see you for at least half an hour. Got it?”
I smile at his surliness. “Got it.”
Even though my feet are aching, I freaking love it here. I love the fast pace, the commotion, the hoots and hollers—all of it.
My stupid, traitorous eyes seek Nate out as I untie my apron and stash it under the bar. Only, instead of finding him with his tongue shoved down Red’s throat, he’s kicked back chatting with Duke and another guy—no beautiful, man-stealing women in sight.
Not your man, Jenny.
My plan to slip out to my car unseen is foiled before I can even come around from behind the bar. “Where’re you off to, GG?”
I pause in front of Nate’s barstool. “Taking my thirty.”
He nods. “Want some company?”
It was my intention to politely and cordially decline his invitation. So, imagine my shock when what I say instead is, “You sure your latest flavor won’t mind?”
His boys—save for Duke—all ooh and ahh. The one I briefly met at the wedding—Xavier, I think—helpfully adds, “He struck out. He talks like he has all this game, but our lady killer couldn’t seal the deal tonight.”
Nate’s jaw clenches tight, and I feel like I’m missing something.
“He didn’t strike out,” Duke corrects. “He sent her packing because he wasn’t interested.”
Xavier’s eyes bug out. “Should’ve sent
her my way, man.” I’ve got to say, I’m as perplexed as he is—the girl was a knockout and a sure thing. Why on earth wouldn’t he go for it?
“C’mon, GG, let’s go.” I nod and duck under the bar. Those damn bees flutter to life again when he grips my hand and tugs me behind him toward the exit.
“What does that freaking mean?”
Nate ignores my question entirely as we step outside.
The humid night air hangs heavy around us as we walk to my car, causing a fine sheen of sweat to coat my skin. I slide into my driver’s seat and Nate drops into the passenger side. He’s a big guy in an open space, but here, in my little sedan, he may as well be a giant.
A laugh slips past my lips when he shoves the seat back as far as it will go and still looks cramped. “Small-ass shoebox of a car,” he grumbles as he reclines the seat as well.
“It’s a perfectly normal-sized car.”
“Maybe for a midget.”
I scoff. “I am five-five, perfectly average, thank you very much.”
Nate mumbles something under his breath that sounds very much like ain’t nothing average about you. I chalk it up to my mind playing tricks on me and my ears hearing what they want to.
Reaching into the back seat, I grab my lunchbox as well as what I refer to as my kit—it contains my meter, backup insulin, and all of that jazz. With my lunchbox balanced on my lap, I open my kit and grab everything I need to check my sugar. According to my CGM, I’m in a good range, but it isn’t always accurate, so double checking never hurts.
Reaching down the front of my shirt, I unclip my pump from my bra, leaving it to rest awkwardly on top of my breast. A quick finger prick later, the reading is sent to my pump and I calibrate my sensor to help it achieve better accuracy—though it really wasn’t far off. I bolus for the dinner I packed, reclip my pump, sanitize my hands, toss my kit back into the back seat, and unzip my lunchbox.
My mouth waters at the sight of my dinner, even though it isn’t much—a turkey sandwich on sugar-free bread, a golden delicious apple with peanut butter, a piece of cheese, and a bottle of water to wash it all down with. I’m so hungry that it may as well be a gourmet feast.
As I dip an apple slice into my peanut butter, I decide to finally address the elephant in the room—er, car. “Wanna tell me why you’re here with me and not getting lucky with Red?”
Nate doesn’t reply immediately. Knowing him, he’s probably thinking of some smartass reply.
“You…you did…” He trails off, waving his left hand in my general direction. “…Your sugar stuff in front of me.”
Instantly, my cheeks flame with embarrassment. When did I become so comfortable in his presence? “Oh. Uh. I’m sor—”
“I know you’re not about to apologize,” he barks, cutting me off.
My eyes drop to my lap.
“GG, we’ve been over this. You have nothing to say sorry for, and fuck anyone who’s ever made you feel otherwise.”
“Right, okay.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Enough about me. Seriously though, why are you out here with me? I bet that ginger would have been down for some men’s room action.”
Nate makes a tsk-ing sound. “You really shouldn’t slut shame.”
Again, I scoff. “So, you admit you’re a slut?”
“Touché, GG.” He grins boyishly, and my freaking thighs clench at the sight. “And no, I am not a slut; I just like—”
I speak over him, “Variety, I know. And for the record, I wasn’t implying she—or any woman who enjoys casual sex, even in public—is a slut. I would never judge someone for embracing their sexuality.”
“So, public sex isn’t off the table?” he asks, his voice all husk and smoke. This man is dangerous—lethal even. He could probably charm the panties right off of a nun.
“That’s your takeaway?”
He has the good sense to look sheepish. “I’m a guy. A hot girl mentions sex, and my snake brain takes over. Truly, it can’t be helped.”
Our conversation tapers off into a comfortable silence as I munch on my sandwich. That is, until Nate asks, “Really though, like how public? Are you secretly into voyeurism? Are we talking somewhere private but you could get caught, like a fitting room…or perhaps a car in a bar parking lot?”
“You’re too much, you know that?”
“I’ve been told a time or two.” I go to uncap my water, but Nate snatches it out of my grasp. “Stop ignoring me. I won’t be able to sleep tonight without this information!”
“Oh, well, I can’t have that kind of guilt on my shoulders, now can I?”
He grumbles under his breath, and I decide to throw him a bone.
“I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve ever done, but I’ve definitely thought about it. There’s no specific place in my mind—it could be a break room, an elevator, an alley, in the ocean—just somewhere anyone could stumble across.”
Reaching down to rearrange himself, Nate groans. “Now I’m definitely not gonna get any sleep.”
I laugh at his misery. “Pretty sure friends don’t get hard talking about sex with each other.” I pat his thigh to torture him a little more. “Now, give me back my water.”
“Pretty sure most guys don’t have friends that look like you, GG.”
“You ever gonna tell me what that means?” I ask, recapping my bottle.
“Already told you, you gotta guess.”
Feeling emboldened, I ask, “Does it mean gorgeous girl?”
Nate leans toward me, running his knuckles over my cheek. “Nope, that’s not it. But you definitely are gorgeous.”
Slack-jawed, I stare at him. Does he really think I’m gorgeous? Cute, sure. Pretty, I can see that. But…gorgeous? That’s next level, and I’m just…me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to press him further, but ultimately, I decide it doesn’t matter one way or another. We’ll never be anything more than intimately acquainted friends and I’m okay with that—mostly.
“Okay, playboy. My break’s over. You gonna head out?”
“Nah, I’ll stick around until the end of your shift.” It doesn’t escape my notice that he never answered me about Red, but I figure it, too, doesn’t really matter.
“You sure?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” I can hear the truth in his words, and it warms me and makes me green with envy in equal parts. This man is going to make some woman very, very happy one day. I only wish it was me.
chapter twenty-one
Nate
Over the past few weeks, Jenny and I have fallen into an easy pattern of sorts. Whichever one of us wakes up first texts the other one. We’ve also taken to sending each other riddles to solve. She’s better at them than I am, which kind of turns me on—weird, right?
Any time we’re both off is spent together. To date, we’ve hung out with my sister and Alden, been bowling, played mini golf, seen a few movies, and today we’re hitting up the go-kart track.
We also talk on the phone almost every night—sometimes until one of us falls asleep. Honestly, some days I find myself wondering when I grew a vagina.
I haven’t been laid in almost three months, what with little Miss Jenny occupying all of my free time. Hell, the last time I got off with another person was when she went down on me.
Needless to say, my sexual frustration is at an all-time high. There’s only so much my right hand can do to satiate my needs, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. The nights we talk for hours are the worst. My good girl sounds so sultry and tempting over the phone—I could probably get off listening to her read me her shopping list. Yeah, I’m that hard up.
Even worse…she doesn’t seem to be affected at all. I mean, here I am, lusting over my best friend, while she’s carrying on business as usual.
Go fucking figure.
We’re supposed to meet at the track a little after eleven, yet here I am at barely ten pulling up to Jenny’s house—if you can call it that, really. It’s more of a…really well-made shack.
My breath lodges in my throat when her door cracks open just enough for her to see out. “Nate?”
“Surprise!”
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” Her eyes flit down toward her feet then back up to me. “You’re here.”
I nod slowly. “I am. You gonna let me in?” Jenny is acting kind of weird; maybe showing up unannounced wasn’t the best idea after all?
“Yeah, um, yes.” She pulls the door the rest of the way open, keeping her body behind it. “Come on in.”
When she closes it behind us, her odd behavior instantly makes sense. My girl is clad in nothing more than a small, white towel. The offending piece of terrycloth barely makes it to mid-thigh, and I’m pretty sure a miracle is the only thing holding it up.
It’s not very friend-like, but internally, I’m praying for the towel to drop so her delectable body will be bared to me. Another non-platonic thing—the hard wood I’m rocking beneath my khaki cargo shorts. If she notices the tent I’m pitching, she doesn’t mention it; thank God.
“So, I’m, uh…just gonna run upstairs and get dressed.”
My eyes rove over her body, recalling in great detail exactly how she looks and feels under me. “Uh-huh.”
“Nate!” She stomps her foot, causing her perky tits to jiggle beneath the material and the knot to loosen. My breath catches in my throat. “Are you even listening?”
Now I’m the one struggling for words. “Uh, yeah, you said—”
Jenny ekes out a laugh. “You’re such a guy. I said I’m going to get dressed.”
She turns without another word and heads up the stairs. Like the perv I am, I track her every move, enthralled with the tantalizing amount of skin she reveals with every step. Girl’s sex on a stick without even trying.
While she fiddles around doing whatever it is girls do when they get ready, I chill out on her couch, calling to mind every unsexy thing I can think of to will my hard-on away. It mostly works, until she descends the stairs looking like something straight out of a country music video, minus the boots.