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“No,” I finally say. “I just have standards.”
I admit my attitude has not earned me any points with the other jurors. Clearly I’m occupying this corner of the conference table by myself for a reason. But it’s not working on Wren.
“Can I sit with you?"
I nod and gesture to the seat adjacent to me. You’d think she’d be bored of sitting next to an old dude like me by now. But she’s here, yapping away, asking questions, and telling me all kinds of things I don’t care to know about.
“I guess when you think about it, we both have high standards,” she says, sipping her sugary drink through a plastic straw.
I offer a confused grunt while I shove a salty french fry in my face.
“You don’t like fast food and neither do I. Different reasons, I’ll grant you that, but hey, I like a guy with strong opinions.”
She likes a guy? This guy? Is that a tease? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.
“Tomorrow I’m ordering us ribeye, if I gotta pay for it myself,” I grumble.
Wren responds with just the right amount of chuckle that is worthy of what I said. I appreciate that she doesn’t pretend I’m funnier than I am. Some people laugh too hard at things that aren’t funny; those people freak me out.
Still, she’s got a sexy laugh. Cheerful but also husky. I’d like to hear more of it, but that would require me speaking more.
The more I take the chance to speak, the likelier it will be that I will embarrass myself. Surely she’ll figure out quickly that I find her attractive. Right now, I’m hungrier than any amount of salty french fries will be able to satisfy. Now that we’re somewhat face-to-face at this table, rather than side-by-side in the jury box, everything about her is enhanced. Her pink lips make me think of what it’d be like to kiss her. Her conservative skirt makes me wonder what she’d look like naked. Her low voice evokes pillow talk. Her herbal scent makes me want to lean forward and take a deep whiff of her hair.
All of this makes the rest of the day’s court proceedings nearly unbearable.
Do I really like her for her, or is she just an annoying little bird, pecking away at my resistance?
Finally, some relief. I’m alone in my room. Peace and quiet.
A hotel room is not the same as my own bedroom, not by a long shot. Sooner or later I’ll get tired of not being able to open the window to feel the night breeze on my dick—yeah, I sleep naked—but I’ll manage somehow.
I sprawl out on the bed with the romance book. Nestling myself into the perfect comfortable spot, I open the book to the first page. Almost right away, it’s not bad.
The heroine has got herself a sassy mouth, which I find annoying but it works. The story is pretty good, and the historical details are pretty well researched.
Soon, as I’m reading about this heroine in her ruffly blue dress with a whalebone corset flirting with the sheriff in the story, all I can picture is her. Wren.
And why wouldn’t I? She fits the description. About the same age, small stature, wispy, plucky, friendly. Cusses a lot.
God, even trying to escape with a fantasy is getting me into trouble.
I read on and eventually find myself knee deep in a scene of graphic lovemaking, the likes of which I’ve never read in any of my favorite westerns.
Honestly? I don’t hate it.
What starts with a “Take me to bed, sheriff. Leave me something to remember you by,” ends with the most thorough plowing of a woman as I’ve ever read.
Jiminy Christmas. This was written by a woman? I probably should never ask that out loud; it’s probably sexist as hell.
Picturing Wren struggling to free herself of a dress like that, wrapping her legs around the sheriff, cussing like a sailor… It’s getting my dick hard. So hard I can’t quite contain it.
In fact, I’m going to need to…
Oh hell. Here I go.
I slide my hand down inside my drawers and keep reading. The descriptions are almost pornographic. I must look ridiculous. I’m holding a romance book in one hand, and my cock in the other, stroking myself alone in a hotel room. But I don’t care. I’m so full of need and I just have to get her out of my system.
The thought occurs to me, as I squeeze and pull my shaft on a powerful exhale and a grunt of pleasure, that maybe other people read these books one-handed. Specifically, this copy of this book.
