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I laugh and shake my head. “What, you doing some extra primping and preening tonight?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” she replies. “Go make us a drink and I’ll be done soon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond. I dutifully head back downstairs and wonder what my brothers would say about me being “whipped.” Their own mail order brides haven’t arrived yet, although Nate’s will be here this week. I’m eager to hear what they have to say about the new women in their lives.
For my part, I’ve kept as mum as possible. My mom called the night after Jenna arrived and begged me for details. “What does she look like? Is she nice? Does she come from a good family?” I answered as vaguely as I could. I do, however, want Jenna to meet my family sometime soon, a realization that shocked me when it first dawned. We’ve only known each other for two weeks, and I’m always reluctant to introduce women to my family. Still, something about Jenna is different. Something about her feels… right.
I shake my head at my overly dramatic inner monologue and finish making our cocktails.
When I go back upstairs, a drink in either hand, I say, “Alright, Miss Thing. Ready to make your debut?”
The door swings slowly open and I nearly drop the drinks. Jenna is always gorgeous, but tonight, she’s gone to new lengths. I imagine that this is the persona Jenna adopts when she’s onstage, and it’s intoxicating. Her platinum and pink hair is curled, and her makeup features a bold red lip and dark eyes. Standing with her hands on her hips, she wears a leather vest with just a red bra underneath, impossibly tiny denim shorts, and red cowboy boots. She is the quintessential rock star and I’m in awe.
Seeing me gaping like a fish, she flashes me a dazzling grin. “What do you think?” she asks, performing a twirl that gives me a peek at her perfect ass in those short shorts.
“I think,” I growl, setting the drinks on the dresser, “that we’re not leaving this bedroom tonight, after all.”
I seize Jenna and kiss her, red lipstick be damned. She kisses me back, melting in my arms, but then pulls away, giggling. “I didn’t go to all this work to stay in,” she informs me, picking up her drink. “Now get dressed and let’s get out of here!”
Ten minutes and several kisses later, I’m dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down, which is the closest to casual that I get. Jenna begs me to wear a cowboy hat that she pulls from behind her back, but I kiss her enough that she drops the subject.
It’s a gorgeous late-summer evening; the first stars are winking in the dusk. I open the passenger side door for Jenna, and she oohs and aahs at this special treatment. Then, we’re off to downtown Snow Valley, chatting about our favorite country singers as we do. (Dolly Parton is a champion to us both.)
When we enter the bar, Jenna immediately goes to get us drinks while I find us a table. The lights are dim and hazy, and the floor is sticky with spilled beer. Still, I knew that it was the kind of place that Jenna would love.
“This is great!” she yells over the music, confirming my suspicions as we sit down. She slides a whiskey over to me after taking a sip herself. Her drink of choice, as always, is a gin and tonic. Her scarlet lips curve into a sultry grin over the rim of her glass. I reach out and brush my hand over her arm, always eager to be touching her.
“Have you ever line danced before?” I ask. She shakes her head. Grabbing my drink in one hand, I offer my other hand to her. “Then let’s get going, little lady.”
“Is that your attempt at a southern drawl?” she laughs.
I shrug and grin. “I think it could be worse.”
A small gaggle of people are on the dance floor, singing along to an Alan Jackson song as they line dance. I am absolutely certain I’ll make a fool out of myself, and have resigned myself to my fate. Jenna, on the other hand, picks it up almost immediately. “Come on, Matt!” she encourages, squeezing my hand tightly and tugging me onto the dance floor.
I stumble through several steps as Jenna dances expertly. I get lost watching her luscious hips sway, her breasts in their tiny bra jiggling as she hops. She catches me staring and winks, then nudges me in the side. “A little less looking, a little more dancing,” she admonishes me. I do my best, which isn’t great.
Eventually, after Jenna has made friends with everyone around us, the music shifts to a popular modern club song. Jenna turns so that her back is to my front, and, grinning at me over her shoulder, grinds against me seductively. I feel a twitch in my pants as I place my hands on her hips, slowly moving down to caress the soft skin of her thighs below her short shorts. God, she turns me on so effortlessly. I’ve never been with a woman who oozes sensuality and confidence the way she does.
