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“Holy fuck,” I muttered to myself, and she smiled.
“Strip aerobics, baby. You wanna be my pole?” she asked with a wink of her own.
Goddamn.
“Count me in seven nights a week.”
As we sat at the bar, drinking beers, eating peanuts, and enjoying the ambiance that was a small-town bar, I could still feel the pulse of Thatch between my thighs.
There’d been no stopping him after showing him some of my best naked dance moves under the stars. One orgasm, two, he’d worked me over like we weren’t outside on the edge of some random lake, but instead, like we were putting on a porny performance for millions. Just the thought of it made me smile.
But the sex had done the opposite of its usual, waking me up to a level that I knew I’d need something else to soothe the pounding pulse of my energy enough that I could fall asleep. So I had convinced him to take me to the infamous Sticky Pickle for a nightcap.
The satisfied look in his eyes told me I could have swayed him into pretty much anything.
He kept up a steady stream of affection in my direction—kissing my forehead, sliding a lock of hair behind my ear, flashing flirty winks and charming smiles. And every time he grabbed my left hand and kissed my ring, I’d threatened to slap him in the dick again.
Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.
“Shit,” Thatch muttered as his eyes glanced toward the front of the bar.
“What?” I asked and swiveled on my stool to watch three guys stroll in through the door. They were loud and boisterous, and my initial thought was that they looked like small-town douchebags looking for trouble.
I turned back toward Thatch. “You know those guys?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I grew up with them.”
“They look like assholes.”
He smirked. “Hit the nail on the head, honey.”
One of the guys made his way to the bar and stood as close to Thatch as was humanly possible without sitting in his lap. “I’ll take three Buds, Charlie,” he told the bartender before turning his attention to us. “Oh, hey, Thatch,” he greeted, and it was anything but friendly. “You brought a friend. How fucking precious.”
Thatch ignored him, stood, and turned to me. “Wanna shoot some pool?”
His blatant avoidance had me tilting my head in confusion.
“Uh, sure, okay,” I agreed and took his outstretched hand. I let him lead me over to the back corner where three pool tables stood in a row before I started asking questions.
“What was that about?”
He handed me a pool stick and grabbed the rack. “That was me avoiding trouble.”
“Was this the same kind of trouble that I had to bail you out of?”
“Exactly that kind of trouble,” he muttered.
His body language was all off—stiff neck, clenched jaw, and his normally playful brown eyes were practically black with irritation. I hated seeing him like that, strung so tight that I feared he might snap in half. Thatch needed a distraction, and he needed it quick.
I set my pool stick down and slid my body under and between the long arms that were currently racking the balls. My back was pressed against the green felt, and our faces were mere inches from one another.
His brows rose in curiosity. “What are you doing?”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and grinned. “Just flirting with my fiancé.”
“Is that right?” His mouth turned soft, quirking up at the corners.
“That’s right, baby,” I whispered against his lips before taking his mouth in a slow kiss. My tongue teased his in a slow circuit.
He grabbed my hips and responded with a dirty, sexy, wet fuck of my mouth as he pressed himself against me. My body was practically clinging to his by the time he found the willpower to pull away.
“Thank you.” He pressed one final kiss to the corner of my lips. He knew my game, but he didn’t make a big thing of it, so I didn’t either.
I grinned while he stood and straightened the bulge in his jeans with amused eyes pointed in my direction.
“Can I break?” I asked as my fingers slid the chalk over the tip of my pool stick.
“Be my guest.” He gestured toward the table.
Things had managed to stay pretty smooth after that. We played two rounds of pool without any trouble from the three dickheads milling about the bar. Thatch had won both times and was adamant each win equaled three blow jobs.
“Your math is all wrong,” I retorted with a hand on my hip. “One round. One blow job.”
“I’m a numbers guy, honey. My math is never wrong.”
I laughed and flipped him off.
“Just rack the balls while I go play some songs,” I ordered and walked over toward the jukebox, sliding a few dollars out of my back pocket.
As I scrolled through the depressing list of song choices, I wondered if I’d find anything worth playing.
Conway Twitty? No.
“The Thong Song”? Nope.
“She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”? Jesus, take the wheel before someone in this small town dies from shitty music.
R. Kelly, “Stuck in the Closet”? Fuck no.
Shania Twain, “Any Man of Mine”? Okay, now this I can handle.
As I waited for the machine to process my credits, the dickhead from earlier decided to make his appearance. He leaned one greasy elbow against the wall and crowded my personal space.
“I’m Johnny. And you must be one of Thatch’s fuck buddies.” His skeevy gaze honed in on my chest before it finally met my eyes.
I glanced around the room to find none of Johnny’s friends in sight and Thatch chatting with an older guy by the pool tables, his back to me.
Looks like I’m handling this asshole by myself. Game on.
“I’m his only fuck buddy,” I corrected. “I’m his fiancée.”
“Oh, that’s fucking fresh.”
I feigned confusion and battened down the hatches. This fuckface was going to do his best to surprise me, but he didn’t have one goddamn clue who he was dealing with. “What was that, Joanie?”
“It’s Johnny, and I said that’s fucking fresh.” He flashed an evil smile. “How much are New York hookers these days, dollface? I’m sure I’ve got enough cash on me tonight to take your pussy for a ride.”
Dollface? Man, oh man, this guy really had no idea who he was trying to fuck with.
“Joanie, you wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if it smacked you in the face and said lick my clit.”
His face turned hard as stone.
Obviously, I’d hit a nerve. Which wasn’t that hard to figure out. Guys like Johnny didn’t get pussy. Guys like Johnny got their right hand, a bottle of lube, and fuzzy porn in their parents’ basement. And if they did somehow manage to get some, they juggled and jostled it until it couldn’t take one more fucking second.
“Aw, Joanie. It’s okay.” I schooled my face into a sympathetic smile. “One day you’ll find your perfect hooker who’s willing to take one for the team and let you pay her to fuck you. Keep your chin up, Joanie. It’ll happen.”
He got all up in my personal space, his harsh breath smacking me in the face. “You must be a special kind of bitch. You’d have to be to marry a murderer.”
Murderer? Yeah. I knew without a doubt whatever bullshit Joanie was peddling was purely fiction. And now I understood why Thatch had ended up in jail the last time he was home.
The asshole just stood there, staring down at me, and his mouth morphed into a devious grin. That’s it, motherfucker. Keep smiling, I thought to myself as I stared up at him, a spineless man picking fights with women who were half his size.
He had some balls; that was for fucking sure.
But so did I. And mine were bigger.
“Cass—” Thatch called from behind me, but he was too late. No way was I walking away from this fight. And it’s not like I couldn’t defend myself. You didn’t walk around with a mouth like mine without knowing how to throw punches.
I reared back with my right arm and upper-cut Johnny hard enough to knock the grin straight off his face. His body crumpled to the ground within seconds.
I ignored the sting in my hand as I stood over his prone form and looked down at the pathetic display. “Who’s the bitch now, motherfucker?”
“Cassie.” Thatch’s concerned voice grabbed my attention. He lifted me up and away from the scene of the crime, and his hands moved over my face, my arms, my shoulders, searching for any sign of injury. “Shit, honey. Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine, T.”
His gaze was wild with concern. “What the fuck happened?”
Thatch’s desire to kill the asswipe showed plainly on his face, so I chose my words carefully.
I pointed to Johnny, who was now being tapped in the stomach by the foot of the bartender.
“That guy, Joanie,” I responded. “He doesn’t have any manners.”
Thatch blinked three times like he couldn’t process what I was saying.
“Wait…did you just call him Joanie?”
“Oh, is that not his name?” I feigned confusion.
He barked out a laugh. “His name is Johnny. But I have a feeling you already knew that.”
I flashed a knowing smirk.
Thatch’s eyes turned from murderously concerned to filled with hilarity in the span of a heartbeat. “So, you took it upon yourself to teach Joanie some manners?”
