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Jazz’s steps faltered and had Gumby not had an arm around her, she’d have tumbled the last few steps.
“Thanks,” she said with a phony sounding chuckle. “Musta drank more than I realized.”
Or you just saw a man you want setting up his next conquest. “No worries.” I know how you feel. Not only was he looking at a man he wanted planning his next fuck, it was on the heels of a spectacular blowjob. The lead pipe tenting Screw’s jeans was courtesy of Gumby, and he’d be giving it to some two-brain-celled bitch in no time.
Not that Gumby cared.
Fuck.
He was here for Jazz. To work his way back into her life and eventually her bed. Not for Screw, or any man for fuck’s sake.
The mountain air must be fucking with his head. Now, he couldn’t even blame it on the prolonged period of celibacy, since it had ended fifteen minutes ago.
With a resigned sigh, Jazz said. “Get me the fuck out of here, Gumby.”
He released her shoulders, grabbed her hand, and propelled them toward the exit. There they went, walking hand in hand away from a man they both wanted.
A man who’d be balls deep in some club whore before they reached the car. One peek over his shoulder had his eyes locking with Screw’s. The other man’s mouth was drawn in a grim line of displeasure, at least until the tits-on-a-stick licked a long stripe up the side of his neck. Then his expression morphed into a smart-assed smirk.
Gumby’s stomach soured and he turned away. He didn’t give a shit whose mouth licked or sucked on Screw and that’s the way it would stay.
“Fuck this night,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jazz replied as she pushed the door open, allowing a rush of cold air to smack them in the face.
The car ride home was mostly made in silence with Jazz staring out the window while Gumby navigated her SUV through the winding mountain roads. Though he’d committed no offense she was aware of, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d somehow done something to upset her.
He steered into her narrow driveway, and Jazz was out of the car in a shot, neither waiting for him to kill the engine nor come around and open her door. She practically marched to the front door, then preceded him into the house without bothering to close the door behind her. Guess the move meant he was still a welcome guest.
The girl moved fast, he’d give her that. By the time he made it inside and shed his leather jacket, she was sitting on a bar stool at the small kitchen island with red wine filled near to the brim of a generous-sized glass.
“Want some?” she asked without turning.
“Nah, wine’s not really my thing. I’ll grab a beer.” He circled the island, heading for the fridge where she kept a stock of Hatch Chile Gatos. Gumby couldn’t help but grin. She must have the brew imported from Arizona as it came from a craft brewery outside of Phoenix. All the ol’ ladies in his club had been nuts about the stuff. It was brewed with chilies, leaving a subtle heat on your tongue. Lila, his VP’s ol’ lady, said they liked their beer like they liked their men. Smooth, with a little kick at the end.
“Haven’t been able to shake my love of that beer,” Jazz said from behind him.
With a small smile, he shut the fridge and popped the top with the magnet bottle opener on the front of her refrigerator. “I’m glad. It’s good shit.” As he turned to face her, his eyes widened. “Wasn’t that glass full about two seconds ago?”
With a shrug, Jazz lifted the wine glass and poured the final drops into her mouth. Gumby watched, transfixed as her delicate throat worked the liquid down.
Delicate throat? What the fuck was wrong with him? First he let Screw give him the blow job of his life in a place anyone could have walked in on and now he was waxing fucking poetic. Maybe sticking around Townsend for any period of time was a shitty idea.
“I was thirsty,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “Still am.”
“Whoa, hold on, babe. Maybe you shouldn’t have anymore.” Gumby placed his hand over hers where it wrapped around the dark bottle. Such an innocent touch, but still, a ripple of electricity shot up his arm. With a small gasp, Jazz met his gaze. Had she felt it too?
“You got a problem with me drinking a second glass of wine in my own house?”
Well, when she put it that way. He released her. “No, ma’am. Knock yourself out.”
She filled the glass again, not quite as high as the first one, but more than halfway. “Don’t mind if I do.” After setting the bottle down, she took a healthy gulp, though didn’t down the entire contents like she had the first go around.
