When the perky brunette waitress notices my glass is empty, she makes her way to me with another double shot of whiskey. This time, since she doesn’t need to bend over to serve me my beverage, she keeps her lust-riddled eyes locked with mine. My cock twitches when she teasingly licks her top lip. She’s a sexpot, and she knows how to work it.
When I remove my whiskey from the tray, only sneaking a small peek at her generous breasts, she purrs, “Your napkin, sir.” She hands me the napkin that was under my glass, winks, then saunters to the bar.
Once I’ve finished my perusal of her swinging hips, my eyes lower to the napkin she was adamant I have. “VIP bathroom in ten minutes,” I read off the gold-etched paper.
When my eyes flick up to the bar she walked to, I find her smiling face and nod. In ten minutes, any thoughts of Kylie plaguing my mind will be a distant memory.
“Cheers to the girls that break your heart,” I murmur to myself before downing the double shot of whiskey and heading to the bathroom to hook up with the horny waitress.
Chapter Four
Kylie
Ispent the last hour begging Melanie to skip the afterparty. I did as she requested. I dressed in one of her dresses; I put makeup on my face, and I watched the guy I still love perform on stage. I did everything she requested, yet she’s still forcing me to attend the afterparty against my wishes.
It was only when her blue eyes pleaded did I cave. Tonight is her night. We’re only in Seattle at her request, so I may as well suck it up for a little longer. The smile plastered on her face when we walk into the nightclub is worth being stabbed in the heart with tiny invisible knives. The instant we enter the bursting-at-the-seams space, I spot Slater on the second level. Tonight he matches his surroundings a lot better than the night we met. . .
“I’m Slater. It’s nice to meet you and your boobs.”
I smile, loving his playfulness. He’s different than the guys I usually hang out with, but he has an aura I can’t help but be drawn to. His piercing brown eyes and lickable tattoos made me want to offer up an immediate introduction when I busted him checking me out at the front of the Bar N Barrel, but Dylan stopped me—just as he’s doing now.
He stands between Slater and me, blocking Slater from my view. He pretends to order a beer from Darla, but I know him. He’s marking his territory—territory that doesn’t belong to him. Dylan has been my friend since we were in diapers, but for the past three years, he’s been trying to alter our status.
I like him, but I’ll never see him as anything more than a friend. His presence doesn’t make my pulse spike like Slater’s did when my eyes landed on him. His slap to my backside didn’t create one tenth of the throb that surged through my pussy when I calculated how many ways I could explore the tattoos on Slater’s thick-veined arms—starting with my tongue, and don’t get me started on the mess my panties were hit with when Slater’s big, callused hands scraped my breasts. I’ve never believed in instant love, but instant lust is a different story, and Slater has my interests immensely piqued.
Once Darla hands Dylan his beer, he spins around, wraps his arm around my shoulders, then drags me toward our regular table. I shrugout of his embrace before spinning around to face Slater. “I’m Kylie, and the pleasure was all mine.”
Cringing, I spin back around, ensuring he won’t see the mortified expression crossing my face. That was the second worst pick up line in my life.
Within an hour, the bar fills with townsfolk wanting to enjoy their Saturday night. I feel Slater’s eyes on me when I’m dancing with friends, but he never approaches me. When I catch his gaze, I motion for him to join us. His plump lips curl into a heart-stuttering smile before he shakes his head. I guess boot scooting isn’t his thing?
A short time later, feeling parched from so much dancing, I head to the bar to order another drink. I may also be hoping to reignite my conversation with Slater. This time, I sit next to him instead of waiting for him to come to me. “Not a fan of boot scooting?”
He chuckles while gesturing for me to look at him. I’m more than willing to fulfill his request. He couldn’t be more different than the guys in my hometown. They’re clean-shaven, and most of the hair on their heads is covered by wide-brimmed hats. They wear jeans with big belt buckles, button-up cotton shirts, and riding boots. Slater also wears jeans, but his belt buckle is a biker buckle. His hair is blond, long, and in dreadlocks, and his tight white tank top shows off the impressive ridges of his abdomen. He’s also wearing boots, but his are motorcycle boots.
“You have the boots for it.”
He chuckles again, sending loud vibrations through to my womb.
With corny introductions out of the way, we chat for the next thirty minutes. To say he has a sense of humor would be a major understatement. I have tears in my eyes from laughter.
When the bar quiets, Slater peers down to the black leather watch circling his wrist, then his brows furrow.“It’s not even nine,” he informs me, like I’m unaware of the time.
Things in my hometown are obviously different than what he’s used to. Here, we rise early, usually before the sun is even up, so a lot of the townsfolk are normally in bed by now. If you own a ranch, there’s no Monday-to-Friday routine. The livestock and horses don’t care if it’s Sunday or not; they want to be fed every day.
When I explain that to Slater, he nods before flashing me a huge, cheeky grin. “So you're about to tuck yourself into bed?”
A peppering of goosebumps follow the trail his eyes travel when he drags them down my body. When his eyes return to my face, I arch a brow, advising him I caught his prolonged gawk, and I’m not the least bit threatened by it. I’m the complete opposite.
“Most townsfolk are usually in bed by now, but I didn’t say I was most townsfolk.”
I’m home for spring break, currently in my second year of college. I chose to attend one as far away from my hometown as possible. Not because I don’t love my family, but because I want to experience life. I was raised on my family ranch, so I went to the same school with the same friends, and we had the same routine every day for the first eighteen years of our lives. To me that isn’t living. It’s a hamster in a wheel— boring and predictable. I want to experience life to its fullest, to have an adventure, to live the best life I can. Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to someone like Slater? He seems full of fun and adventure, like he’d ride the crazy-ass roller coaster of life with me with his arms in the air, not the teeniest bit scared.
Eager to test a theory, I set down my vodka cranberry and turn to face Slater head on. “Will you take me for a ride on your bike?”
I’ve never been on the back of a motorcycle, so I’d love to tick it off my bucket list of things I want to achieve before I die.
Slater smiles a heart-fluttering grin while nodding.
