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"Bullshit."
"To me, it would have. Kids have no fucking idea what they want at that age. Girl or boy, they don't know. No way was I going to be some notorious old baby-snatching goat."
"You would have been, what, twenty-eight at the time?"
"Thirty," he says with emphasis. "That would have been legal, but I doubt it would have been ethical. I was a grown-ass man, and you were a baby."
"I thought guyslikedthat barely-legal, fuck-a-teenager thing," I say, not sure whether to feel protected or pissed off.
"I likedyou." He lays it right out for me, those hooded dark eyes pulling me into their depths. "Didn't just want to fuck you."
I think that means he wanted more than sex. The idea of it makes my stomach fluttery, because mostly that's what my dating has consisted of: hanging out, good conversation, fun, and sex. Not commitment. Not, you know, more than sex.
I don't know quite why. I guess I always thought that someday I'd have a relationship like my parents, but I wasn't ready.
Now...now I'm ready? That's what my need for something different means?
I'm not sure.
What Iamsure about is that Holt Woods, that older man, that sexy older man, has the skills and the desire to turn me out. I'm confident that this man can fuck me forty ways to Sunday, and I will beg him for more.
Guess I'd better prepare for calluses on my knees, because I can already tell I am gonna fucking beg.
"Well," I say, my voice full of too much air because not enough of it is going into my lungs, "make a plan, then, Mr. Woods. I don't work tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night, Miss Landon," he says. "Pick you up at seven, take you to..." He tails off, lifts one of those meaty hands and gestures with it. "Whitefish Lake Restaurant?"
That's the fanciest place in town. Usually it's packed with tourists from the resort. Suits and cocktail dresses.
"Nuh-uh," I say, suddenly struck with inspiration for my next job prospect. "Fat Daddy's BBQ." Fat Daddy's would be perfect for me. It's pit-smoked pork and brisket, no frills, located in a rundown building that would probably get more traffic if it was freshened up and the menu expanded just a bit. I give Holt a little smirk. "Because Iliketo get my mouth on some fresh meat."
His face doesn't move, but his eyes go even darker, and this time I can see the desire in them, echoing my own desire.
Holy shit, Holt Woods wants me. Has wanted me for a long time, from the sound of it.
"Fat Daddy's it is," he says. His eyes lose none of their intensity, but he smiles. Sets his cell phone on the bar. "Go ahead and put in your number, and your address, please."
I pick it up, fighting off the shiver of excitement that flows through me at touching something that's been in his jeans pocket. I dial my own number, then hang up. I set down his phone and pick my own up, and I text my address to the number that just called me. Two seconds later, his phone dings with my text. Everything open and aboveboard, which he seems to need.
Nothing wrong with that.
Or, nothing wrong with that that a little dose of me won't cure.
He picks up his phone and taps it on the bar. "See you tomorrow, Sage."
I finish the shift, serving drinks and taking inventory almost by rote, while my mind keeps going back to that night ten years ago, when sixteen-year-old me, out for some excitement, stepped out of the chilly night waters of the lake and watched the park ranger's eyes go dark and seductive on my body.
I remember how it felt, being so in command of myself. Owning my own sexuality. Knowing that there was some kind of connection between me and Holt.
And it's funny: at this stage of my life, I realize that I've been waiting for his attention all this time. Waiting for him to admit that there was something between us all along.
Those other boys were practice.
This might be the real thing. And now I have to make certain I'm ready for it, because it's going to rock my world.
I get in late, and I sleep late. Sammi has practically moved in with Zane at this point, so I pretty much have the apartment to myself. When I wake, I'm still alone and I'm just wearing the oversized t-shirt I sleep in, and I've been dreaming about Holt.
I dreamed that he was the one to pop my cherry, not that cute floppy-haired blond guy visiting from California, what was his name? Taylor? No, Tyler. Tyler was cute and he was a good kisser, but he had no fucking idea what he was doing with his dick.
