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Using the bar gun, I fill up a plastic cup with water and set it down next to the shot glass, while Steve starts chanting quietly, “This is so awesome, this is so awesome, this is so fucking awesome!”
It was just my luck that Steve Bishop was at the bar when I got here, and I knew he would be the perfect candidate to demonstrate my idea. In his midfifties, Steve is the librarian for Harvest Grove and has even published a few of his own spy thrillers. He’s batshit crazy, just like most writers from what I hear. I think it’s due to all the time he spends in the quiet library, surrounded by so much make-believe, while also listening to the voices in his head. He’s always up for anything, especially if he’s read it in a book or it’s something he could possibly put in one of his own stories.
Wicked Pub and Grub isn’t packed yet, but there are a handful of people sitting at the bar and a few filling a couple of tables. It doesn’t escape my notice that they’re all females, aside from Noah and Steve, and they are all staring at Ford like they’re stranded in the middle of the desert, and he’s the first body of water they’ve seen in days.
It happens every year when Ford comes to town. Women flock to the bar just to get a good look at him in all his hot, lumberjack-looking glory, hopingthiswill be the year he finally says yes to a date with one of them. Since the idea of Ford datinganyonemakes me feel nauseous, let alone anyone I know, who I’ll have to face every day after he leaves again, I push that thought from my mind before I do something stupid, like shout at all of them to stop staring at him.
The female patrons are at least a good mixture of locals and tourists I don’t recognize, and they all finally take their eyes off Ford long enough to see what’s got Steve so excited. I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the “I will slit your throat” glares I’m aiming in their direction. If all goes well, they’ll leave here and spread the word about something new and exciting happening at the bar. Or… they’ll all just leave andstop fucking staring at Ford!It will be a win either way.
Rolling my shoulders back a few times and cocking my head from one side to the other, I shake out my hands in nervous excitement and then nod at Steve. “Go.”
His hand darts out for the shot, and he downs the tequila before I can even blink. Quickly grabbing the cup of water I filled with my left hand, I toss it into Steve’s face while pulling my right hand back, and I smack him across the cheek with athwackthat echoes around the room and vibrates up my entire arm.
“Fuck yeah, do it again!”Steve shouts at the top of his lungs, an imprint of my hand already starting to redden his pale cheek as water drips down and off his face.
“Wow, what a rush,” I whisper, shaking out my right hand, my body doing some vibrating of its own as adrenaline flows through me.
“Immediately no.”
My wrist is quickly encircled by Ford’s hand, and he tugs it closer to him, pressing an icy cold bottle of beer against my palm to ease the burning sting.
“It’s called a Hurricane Slap Shot, and they do it all over the place in tourist locations. People absolutely freak out, and they love it. We could even call it something fun like a Pumpkin Slap Shot. Make them with Fireball and spiced rum. Oooh, with a dollop of pumpkin whipped cream on top and some Halloween sprinkles!”
Ford just sighs and shakes his head at me.
“Come on!” I argue, pointing at Steve with my free hand, who is actually bouncing up and down on his barstool now with a huge grin on his face. “Look how happy he is. Plus, look at all the time Iwon’tspend in jail by being able to legally hit people.”
“She’s got a point there.” Marcus chuckles, which earns him a murderous scowl from Ford.
“It’s like Christmas! Do it again!” Steve cheers, smacking a twenty-dollar bill down on the bar and sliding it toward me.
“No. And she’s keeping this,” Ford growls.
He lets go of my wrist while I continue holding onto the cold beer, snatches the twenty from the bar, and slides it into the back pocket of my jean shorts.
My breath hitches when his palm slides right over my butt cheek, his big hand barely fitting into the tiny pocket as he wedges it in there. I forget how to breathe when it happens again as he quickly yanks his hand back out of the tight denim after leaving the money behind. Images of his big hands clutching me without the barrier of my jean shorts suddenly fill my head. Our sweaty, naked bodies pressed together while his fingers dig into my ass to help move me against him harder and faster, until my heart is racing with something other than adrenalin, and I have to rub my thighs together to try to stop the pulsing ache between them.
“Told you he wouldn’t like it.”
Marcus’s voice feels like someone just smackedmeacross the face, and I shake my head to clear the unwanted thoughts. Rolling my eyes as Marcus starts chuckling to himself when he turns and heads out from behind the bar to grab a few cases of beer from the storage room, I turn to look at Ford.
Opening my mouth, I don’t even get one word out before he cuts me off.
“No.”
Steve whines from his barstool, and I smack the bottle of beer in my hand down on top of the bar to glare at Ford. For saying no to me and for turning me on in the middle of the goddamn day when I’m at work and should not be having lustful thoughts about this man, who is my boss and just a friend.
Who only cares about me one month out of the year….
“Give me one good reason why.”
Ford is suddenly in my space, crowding me back against the bar as he rests his hands on top of it on either side of me, caging me in. Steve is still complaining to himself behind me about Ford ruining all the fun, but his voice fades away until I hear nothing but static in my head when Ford dips his face down and puts his mouth right by my ear. He’s standing so close my breasts brush against his chest with each breath I take, struggling to pull air into my lungs. I curse my stupid nipples for getting hard just from this minimal contact and the feel of his warm breath tickling the shell of my ear.
We hug all the time. He stands this close to me all the time. This is nothing new, and I should not be reacting this way, but something feels different about it and nothing like our usual, close-contact friendship.
“I spend eleven months out of the year worrying about what kind of trouble you’re getting into when I’mnothere,” Ford speaks quietly, his lips brushing against my ear with each word he says, making me want to rub myself against his thick thigh he wedged between my own when he stepped close to me. “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna stand right here andwatch youput yourself in danger.”
The only danger I’m putting myself in right now is having a spontaneous orgasm in public before noon.
