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I only had sisterly affection for her, and she didn’t want me in return.
The fact that Silas brought her up was another reminder as to the gossip mill of the rich and famous. Being in Montana would hopefully avoid that.
“Mom wants grandchildren and as oldest–”
“She’s not getting them from me and Farrah,” I countered. I had the baby convo with my mother on a consistent basis. She had four single sons with no grandchildren on the horizon.
“Fine, fine. You were almost drowned by a cup of iced coffee and a pretty woman. Have a fling. When was the last time you were laid?”
I frowned, not sure if I should feel good he thought I could pick up a woman at a coffee shop and then fuck her, or depressed that he pointed out I hadn’t gotten any in a long ass time.
“I’m not that much of a player.” I wasn’t. I didn’t want to think how long it’d been since I had a woman in my bed. Not that I wasn’t up for a little fun, but a quickie just didn’t do it for me any longer. Nameless hookups had been fine in my twenties. I wasn’t that shallow, but some women were, especially when they learned my last name and the number of zeros in my bank account. They wanted to fuck their way into a billion-dollar marriage so I always kept it casual.
“And it hasn’t been that long,” I added on a grumble.
He only laughed because he knew I lied.
“Besides, she’s young.” I followed that with a frown, thinking of how incompatible Bridge and I were.
“So? Is she legal?”
I didn’t know for sure, but based on the conversation I overheard, she had a job that involved math, not a trig test in high school.
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
I didn’t answer right away, and he caught on.
“You think because your dick gets hard for a younger woman that you’re like Dad?”
“He didn’t fuck anyone over the age of twenty-five.”
After my mom finally divorced him for having an affair with yet another secretary or caddy girl, he kept right on going with the young ones. Even having died of a heart attack while fucking one of them.
“Well, you have. And you’re nothing like him,” he told me. “You’re thirty-seven years old. Go fuck who you want. Move away from home. Seriously. Stay there. Have babies with a twenty-something hottie. Make Mom happy.”
“Babies? She spilled coffee on me and I’m attracted. I’m not planning on inseminating her.” Jesus.
“Fine. Leave the semen out of it. Wear a condom. But go for it.”
Go for it. The idea of peeling Bridge’s clothes off and seeing all her secrets beneath was what I wanted to do now. I imagined–and with pretty dirty fucking thoughts–she would be lush and soft and perfect. I wondered how far her blush spread beneath her shirt. I also wondered what she’d look like with my cum splashed all over her.
“I think I scared her off,” I admitted.
I wasn’t sure how I did that–since I hadn’t said any of my dirty thoughts aloud–doing everything I could to reassure her I wasn’t mad about the spill. I even held her hand and called her baby. I’d never done that before, called anyone baby, but it just seemed… right.
“You are a big, scary motherfucker.”
Was that it? Was it because at first glance, I really was a big, scary motherfucker? I’d tried to be gentle, to protect her. Even from me.
“You’re an inch taller,” I countered. The James men all ate their vegetables as kids.
“It’s a small town. Maybe you’ll run into her. Your wardrobe hopes not literally. Pink definitely isn’t your color.”
I’d sacrifice another shirt to see her again.
“What’s the status with the project?” he asked, steering away from my encounter earlier and onto why I was in Montana in the first place.
