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And I’m gonna win that damn cornhole match tonight if it’s the last thing I do. My buddy Cooper is going down. I like that a simple game with my nephew is the biggest thing on my plate right now, and I plan to keep it that way.
Me: I’m here.
Erica: On my way down.
At Cole Automotive, Erica’s upstairs apartment doesn’t exactly have a front porch for me to climb up and knock on the door like a proper date. But the text does the trick. Because this is a date. An official one, preplanned with me picking her up and nervous excitement in my gut. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Hell, we talked earlier today, for fuck’s sake, but while I stand outside the door waiting for Erica to come down, my belly feels like I ate a gas station burrito.
I peek through the single row of windows when I hear a door inside close. Erica’s not visible over the truck she’s got in bay one, but then I see her as she rolls the overhead door up like she’s revealing a prize on a game show. And she’s the fucking grand prize.
Black suede boots reach just below her knees, fishnet hose disappear beneath a grey denim skirt that looks touchably soft and worn, all topped with a black tank top. Her hair is down, a shiny curtain of dark brown silk that nearly reaches her waist, and her eyes are smudged with black stuff, making them look hypnotic and smoky.
“Fuck, woman.”
I’m not known for being eloquent, and she’s taken what few words I do have. But her smile says it’s enough.
“Looking pretty good yourself, Cowboy.” She lets her eyes lick up my body, and I hold still, not just letting her but wanting her to. I can tell she took her time getting ready for tonight, and so did I.
I detailed my truck, well aware that Erica will be judging me on it, left my dirty hat at home, and wore my best jeans, nicest boots, and a grey plaid button-up shirt. Without even meaning to, we sorta match. And doesn’t noticing that make me feel like a thirteen-year-old girl?
“Thanks. You ready?” I ask instead of pushing her back inside and going straight upstairs like I’m tempted to do.
“Almost. Just one thing.” She beckons me with a crook of her finger, and I bend down as she tilts her chin up, the intent obvious.
There’s no shy reacquaintance with us. We both dive into the kiss in equal measure, fighting to taste each other. When she falls back to her flat feet, taking those lips away from me, I growl at the loss. She pats my chest, knowing damn well that she’s driving me crazy.
“Okay, now I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“I kinda hate you right now,” I tell her without any heat as I adjust my dick in my jeans.
“Then my plan’s working,” she says as she goes around to the passenger side of my truck. I open the door for her, but she rejects my hand in favor of using the oh-shit handle and rails to climb up into the cab by herself. It’s not graceful, and I get a shot up her skirt. Her look back says that was intentional too.
I get in behind the wheel and ask, even though I know it’s a softball lob she’s pitched on purpose. “Plan?”
“To tease you mercilessly all night. I’ll decide later if I’m going to do anything about it or just leave you with blue balls.” She taps her lips, which are fighting a smile, as she contemplates.
“What if I work you up all night too?” I ask lightly, finding a flaw in her plan. Well, maybe not so much a flaw as another angle she hasn’t considered.
“You’d damn well better. That’s my intention. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have told you about the plan.”
Oh, she’s considered the angles, all right. Every last one of them, and I’m rushing to keep up with her when my brain is fogged over so quickly around her.
Two hours later, she’s agreed that maybe Hank’s is the singular exception to meatloaf being disgusting, which he accepted graciously from behind the bar by sending over the beers we ordered with a lime wedge garnish. They’re not Coronas, so maybe a nice gesture, but also maybe a fuck you. But the meatloaf was good, and Lil Bit admitted it. That much I know for sure.
Using the full space of the booth, I lean in close, putting my head on her shoulder and licking my index finger to make a tally mark in the air. I won that one. She laughs and shoves at me. “Get off me, asshole.”
“That ain’t what you said last weekend,” I tease back quietly, mostly not caring that everyone’s listening to every flirty word between us.
