AllFreeNovel
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The closer I get, the more flashes of white I see. There’s sparkly white gauzy material and lots of it. Maybe I hit my head during one of those tackles. There’s no fucking way I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. No way. Not in my bar and certainly not in my chair.
The guys standing in front of her move as I get closer, revealing her in all her glory, and I nearly swallow my tongue. The mysterious woman occupying my spot is wearing a damn wedding dress. A horrible one. There are layers upon layers of fluff engulfing her. A beaded bodice shines like a beacon under the bar’s low light. Despite the dress and my surprise at seeing her in it, I can see that she’s a stunner. Petite and curvy with gorgeous dark brown eyes and glossy red lips I want trailed all over my body. I want that red lipstick in places it has no business being and then I want her to lick it off.
Her caramel hair is pinned in intricate braids and curls and my fingers flex, wanting nothing more than to pull out every last pin and shake it all loose. Not something I plan on doing anytime soon because in this getup, I know for certain she’s not for me. She’s in a wedding dress for crying out loud. I’m not violating rule number one. There’s a reason it’s at the top of the list.
And something tells me she’s not looking for conversation anyway. She has a deep scowl etched across her beautiful face, on what should be the happiest day of her life, and a death grip around the Bangers’ signature raspberry and lime vodka soda. It’s a little too early for Halloween and this doesn’t look like anything you could buy in even the fanciest costume stores. Plus, that stare of hers has my balls retreating inside my body for safety. No one is that angry in a Halloween costume.
Normally, seeing a woman in a wedding dress would have me running in the opposite direction, but the only free seat at the bar is right next to her, and I need a drink. It’s not like I’m going to be the one marrying her.
The second I park my ass in that chair, she turns to me, studying my face with her deep brown eyes. The scowl never leaves her face. “How do you know that seat wasn’t taken?”
“Well, I don’t.” I rest my elbows on the bar and steeple my hands in front of me. “Is there a groom around here somewhere I should be watching out for?”
She mumbles something unintelligible and resumes the staring contest with her cocktail.
“Am I to assume that’s a no?”
Her answer is another string of mumbles I can’t make out. I shouldn’t be amused, and I damn sure know I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help the satisfied rumble in my chest. The mystery woman’s ruby red lips curl into the slightest hint of a smile before she realizes her slip and flattens them in a straight line. “You can assume whatever you want.” She pauses and takes a small sip of her drink. “Just don’t talk to me.”
“What am I allowed to do to you?”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop myself and lay heavy between us. Her eyebrows rise, her plump little lips forming an “oh” of surprise. I’m surprised myself. This has the potential to break my first and most important rule. Although there’s no noticeable ring on her ringer, I can’t—and won’t—assume there’s nobody waiting for her at home. I made that mistake one time too many and I will not do it again.
“That depends.” She straightens and stirs the straw around in her glass, clinking the ice together. “Most men lack the ability to bring women to orgasm. The odds are stacked against you. Sorry.”
Beautiful and snarky. It’s not every day a woman intrigues me and even rarer that one keeps me on my toes. I need to find out her story and if she’s single, I’ll push her a little, because that’s what I do. See how far she’ll go. Get her to share every one of her secrets and dirty fantasies.
And trust me, she has dirty fantasies. I know it, and she knows it. The fact that she’s staring at me with wide eyes and hasn’t slapped me yet is all the proof I need. Not to mention the shadow of intrigue behind those big brown eyes of hers.
“If I give you an invitation to sit on my face, the question won’t be if I can bring you to orgasm. It’ll be how many times.”
Three
June
Holy fudge factory, I should slap this guy. The audacity… The arrogance… The irresistible dimples on either side of his mouth…
With one very devious smirk, resulting in the aforementioned dimples, I’ve lost all train of thought and all I can do is stare straight at this giant of a man. I mean, come on. It isn’t fair to dangle this broad-shouldered hunk—who clearly works out for a living—right under my nose less than an hour after I caught my fiancé giving his best friend a blowie.
And did he say how many orgasms? As in more than one? This man is either so full of crap he could fertilize an entire football field, or he’s a magician who needs to be trapped in a cage and studied meticulously.
“What’s the matter?” Muscles nudges me with his elbow. “You afraid of being devoured by the big bad wolf, Princess?”
“I…” I trail off at the mischievous glint in his pale blue eyes.
Is he flirting? With me? Clearly, I’m a mess. I’m pretty sure if you looked up the definition of hot mess in the dictionary, you would find a picture of me sitting here in a dive bar in my wedding dress on, nursing a raspberry and lime vodka soda. He’s put together, freshly showered—if the strong smell of clove and sandalwood is any indication—and basically the total opposite of me. Not to mention drop dead gorgeous. His body is large and solid, making me feel dainty in a way Paul never did. His eyes, an aqua color reminding me of the docile waters of the Caribbean, draw me in and hold me in their magnetic pull.
I don’t even need to mention his smirk, complete with dimples, and how that affects me. Muscles can have anyone bouncing on his lap with a quirk of his brow and the promise of a good time. He doesn’t need me.
He leans forward, his shaggy strawberry blonde hair falling over one eye, and I fight the urge to sweep it back in place. He’s looking at me expectantly, patiently waiting for an answer I’m not sure I have. But then I remember Paul, and how he unapologetically swallowed an integral part of his best friend.
I’m not mad at Paul. I mean, I am, but I’m not. He is who he is, and I feel bad that he had to hide a part of himself. I’m mad at myself for not seeing what was so plainly in front of me. For turning a blind eye to everything that was going on because I didn’t want to face reality and accept that my life wasn’t as perfect as what I thought.
I may have spent the last several years blind, but not anymore. June Jones is going to start living her life. Starting now. …And then I’ll stop referring to myself in third person.
“Until you can put your money where your mouth is,” I make a point to glance down to his parted lips, ignoring the flash of tongue between his teeth. My eyes flick back up to meet his gaze. “I’m going to assume you’re all talk. And I’m not a princess.”
He takes the beer he never ordered from the bartender with a nod and points up and down my dress. “Could have fooled me with that getup. You look like you should be entertaining small children at a birthday party.”
