And now, I was fucking my fist daily.
Not even a little bit the same experience.
What would it be like to sleep with someone else? Would it be awkward? Awful?
I shouldn't even have been entertainin' the idea. I wasn't ready for sex with someone else.
But, fuck, did I want to sink inside somethin' hot and wet that didn't resemble anything close to my soaped-up hand in the shower.
Hank set my fifth glass of whiskey down in front of me at the same moment the mystery girl at the end of the bar winked at me.
That was it. I was doin' it.
I tossed back my drink before risin' from my wobbly stool and nearly trippin' over my own damn feet.
Was for sure feelin' the effects of the booze.
Multiple pairs of eyes tracked my movement toward the end of the bar, including my mystery girl's.
She was even more stunning up close. Dark, wavy hair cropped short and fallin' just past her chin. It looked tousled, messy—like she'd just rolled out of bed. Her lips were stained a dark red and the eyes that had locked onto me the moment I stood up weren't green and they weren't blue, but somethin' in between.
"Hi," I blurted.
She grinned. "Hi."
"Ya know, they say when someone picks at their beer label like that"—I nodded toward where her slender fingers with black-painted nails tore at the damp paper—"it means they're sexually frustrated."
She snorted and her smile grew. But it wasn't a friendly smile. It was a smile that said she could eat me fuckin' alive. "Sounds about right."
Oh, fuck I was doin' it. Flirtin' with a stranger. And I'd only slurred my words a tiny little bit.
"I could help you work out some of that frustration, beautiful."
She reared back, ready to strike like a viper. For a second, I thought she might flay me alive with whatever words were perched on the edge of her forked tongue. My stomach dropped, bracin' for impact. But then, somethin' in my face must've betrayed the truth, the raw panic I couldn't hide. Because, instead of venom, her shoulders loosened, her jaw unclenched, and she let out a sigh that felt more like mercy than defeat.
"Not sure you could handle me, boy scout."
The way she said it—lazy and confident, like she was testin' me—sent heat straight to my cock.
Boy scout.
Christ, was I that obvious? That wholesome?
Maybe I was.
Maybe that's exactly what I'd been my whole life.
The good guy. The safe choice. The one who always did the right thing.
Until the day I didn't.
"Might surprise you."
I leaned against the bar, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—somethin' dark and smoky that matched her voice. The alcohol buzzed through my veins, loosenin' my tongue and dullin' the sharp edges of my recent case of self-doubt.
"Think so,homewrecker?" Her voice dripped with amusement and somethin' sharper. Curiosity, maybe. Or judgment. Couldn't tell.
"Ah, fuck. Don't listen to Hank. His hearing's as fucked as his eye and he don't know what the hell he's talkin' about."
