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My father’s face appears in my field of vision, his eyes glimmering with humor. “That was quite the dismount.”
“Be quiet and help me up, yeah?” I extend an arm, which my father grabs to help me to my feet. Thankfully, the glass that smashed was a couple feet away from me, but I still brush out my hair in case of shards.
“Are you okay?” a sweet-as-honey voice says from behind my back, and I brace myself before turning around.
It doesn’t help. Trina is still as drop-dead gorgeous as she was a minute ago, when I wasn’t covered in dust and spilled beer and a sheen of hot embarrassment. Her long-sleeved white top hugs every inch of her tight, curvy body. I run my eyes down to those mile-long legs, internally groaning again at the sight of her heeled black boots. I can’t help but imagine asking her to wear them for me—and only them—somewhere more private.
When my eyes slide back up to meet her eyes, I have to fight the instinct to shift my pants against the growing tightness near the placket of my zipper. She did something with her hair, her makeup. It makes me hard as hell, as if my body knows this is the woman I’ve been waiting for. This is the woman I want.
Then I realize I’ve been staring at her for a really, really long time. My father clears his throat as someone sweeps up glass nearby.
“Hey,” I manage.
Her lush, pink lips—glittering with some kind of shiny gloss that makes me want to lick her mouth clean—curl into a smile. “Hi.” Her gaze slides to my father, standing to my left. “Reporting for duty, Hamish. I brought a few willing students with me.” She points her thumb over her shoulder, and that’s when I see her friends.
Battening down the hatches might have been a good idea.
Simone, the redhead, has her arm around Harold, a grouchy regular that’s as much of a fixture as the stool he sits on. But the weird thing? Harold is laughing. I’ve known the man eleven years, and I’ve never seen him laugh.
The dark-haired woman—Fiona, from memory—is passing her card over the bar to pay for a round of drinks while Trina’s sister, Candice, has drifted over to the electronic jukebox by the wall. Then, “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey starts blaring over the speakers, causing every regular patron—all male, all older than me—to snap their heads up in confusion.
But the women—including the quiet one, Jen, that barely said anything at the pottery class but made the best bowl I’ve seen from a beginner—throw their hands in the air with a collective scream and immediately start singing and dancing. They know every word. Every little trill. And they’re singing at top volume—and not necessarily in key.
“Oh, God…” Trina looks horrified.
It makes me laugh. I pick up the chair I’d crashed into while my father replaces the customer’s spilled beer, and when I grab the empty keg, I clear my throat. “I need to put this away,” I tell Trina. “Don’t… Don’t disappear, okay?”
Her smile spreads wide across her face as she tilts that pretty head of hers. “Where would I go? I have very serious business to attend to.” Her eyes slide to my father, who nods.
“Damn right you do. First thing’s first, grab a pool cue. I’m going to show you how to chalk it up.”
With a grin, Trina follows him to the back of the bar where the pool table resides. I watch her walk away and nearly stumble over that damn chair again when I see the back of her outfit. There’s her ass, which is glorious, cupped by those jeans like they’re painted on…
And then there’s her top. Somehow, by some female fashion voodoo, there’s no back. Her hair cascades down in golden-brown curls to mid-back, and when she takes a hand to lift it off her neck, I groan at the sight of her spine, the creamy expanse of flesh on display.
The woman’s back is making my cock throb, for fuck’s sake. I readjust my belt, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Trina as she grabs a pool cue, chalking it up under my father’s watchful eye. Then he demonstrates how to prop the cue against his left hand, and I’m the luckiest man in the world, because I get to watch Trina lean over the green felt, her heart-shaped ass and exposed back glowing gold under the lights above the pool table.
That pose…
I stifle a groan. I’m not going to make it through the night if this continues.
A face appears at my side. Fiona. She squints at me, then lets a slow smile spread across her face. Then she just starts laughing. “It’s a lobotomy, ladies!”
The rest of them cheer, then go back to singing and dancing.
I glance over my shoulder and nearly fall over again when I see Harold bopping along to the music, his feet shuffling beside his stool as Simone swings his arms from side to side while she sings Mariah’s lyrics off-pitch in his face. And Harold loves every minute of it, judging by the broad, gap-toothed smile on his face.
Shaking my head, I grab the keg and make my way to the keg room for a moment of peace. I put the empty barrel with the rest of them and pause before exiting the small room again. It’s a long, rectangular room with an exterior door at one end and an interior door to the bar at the other. Empty kegs line the wall on one side, with full ones on the other. I stand between the silver barrels, hand on the interior door, and I drop my chin to my chest.
Trina… She looked… I’m not…
I can’t even form coherent thoughts. My cock is so hard I feel like I’m fifteen years old instead of forty-five. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my palm to my shaft against the zipper of my jeans, willing it to go down—but it only swells in response, throbbing against the pressure of my touch.
Fuck.
I can’t go out there like this. I already tripped over my feet and nearly knocked a table over. How am I supposed to watch her bending over the pool table every few minutes while my body feels heated to the core?
And—look, I’m not proud of this. But I either have to wait for this to pass, knowing my shaft will grow painfully hard as soon as I walk out there again, or…
