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“Always,” I breathe in her ear. I want to kiss my way down her neck but I stop myself. Just barely. I probably shouldn’t fuck her in front of tens of thousands of cheering fans, right?
No matter how much my cock wants it.
“Come over to my place tonight, and I’ll cook you dinner as a thank you for your help,” she suggests.
“I can’t wait,” I say, helping her slide down the side of Moonshine. She blows me a kiss and then heads toward the judges’ stand. I watch her go, my dick ready to pound a hole through concrete. Damn, I sure hope she’s including more than just food with that offer.
With a groan, I turn back to Jason, who had watched the whole exchange with wide eyes.
“Are you two fucking each other?” he asks as soon as I get back to the corral fencing.
I shrug. “Once,” I say modestly. I’m not normally one to kiss and tell, even if Jason is one of my closest friends.
“Hot damn, I bet she’s real good in the sack,” he says, leering after her.
And that’s when I did something I’ve never done before, but hell if I regret it. ‘Cause I don’t, not one bit. Without another thought, I just pull my arm back and cold cock him, dropping him to the dirt.
“Yeah, she’s pretty good,” I say casually to his writhing form on the ground.
“God, Chase, why’d you do that?” Jason shrieks, holding his hands over his left eye. “Fuck, man!”
“Hope you can still wrestle calves with a black eye,” I say mildly, leaning against the corral fence again. “Oh, and unless you want a matching shiner, I’d suggest not mentioning her abilities in the sack again.”
He struggles to his feet, glaring at me as he moved. “God almighty, Chase, you could warn a guy before you punch him.”
“Yeah, but that’d take away the element of surprise,” I point out logically.
He glares at me, one-eyed, for a long moment, the roar of the crowds filling the silence. Someone must be getting some real points out in the arena right now, but I’m ignoring it for now. I hold Jason’s gaze as he stares at me.
“You’re serious about her, aren’t you?” he finally breathes, a grin breaking out across his face. “Hot diggity dog, my best friend done fallen in love with a girl!” He laughs heartily, and I consider blackening his other eye just ‘cause…but finally decide to let it go.
For now.
Any more mention of Carla’s fine assets, and all bets are off.
51
Carla
I stalk around my apartment, searching high and low for something to feed Chase. I mean, I’m a grown adult so I should have something that I can cook, right?
I dig through the cupboards, pulling random boxes of food out and setting them on the floor.
Becca, who’s come along for my cooking adventure as moral support, wrinkles her nose in disgust. “So, I think Jason and I are becoming a thing,” she says out of the blue, as I pull more boxed food out.
What the hell was I thinking, buying pasta in a box? Like I’d ever eat any of this. How many times did I go drunk shopping, anyway?
“He’s so sexy,” she continues, sighing happily. She obviously doesn’t need any encouragement to keep going. “Can you believe it – we’ve already started talking about having kids. I want two, but he wants three. You think that’d ruin my ass too much if I had three kids?” She turns around and around in the kitchen, trying to see her own ass. I roll my eyes as I start pulling canned food out. Maybe I’ll have more luck with that.
I stare down at the can in my hand. Canned potatoes? What the hell do you use canned potatoes for? Most of this doesn’t even look familiar, and I start to wonder…what if this isn’t even my food? What if I inherited it from the previous tenant, and just never opened the cupboards to find out?
That is entirely possible.
“Where would you live?” I murmur, staring at the food surrounding me, trying to recall if I’d actually bought all of this stuff. Maybe I had. The few times I remember going grocery shopping, I’d been about four margaritas to the wind, and just sure that this time, I’d learn how to cook. I’m never that stupid when I’m sober.
Except tonight, apparently. It’s amazing what hormones and gratefulness will do for a girl. Who promises a home-cooked meal as a thank-you gift, anyway? I sounded like a lead character out of a 50s sitcom.
“I don’t know,” Becca says, frowning. “We haven’t talked about that part yet. I don’t want to leave the firm, but really, what does a cowboy do in New York?”
