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“Here, let me try it.” Melvin bent and caught a heel. “Hold on.” He tugged and almost pulled me off the low couch.
“Now comes the fun part.” He muttered the ominous statement under his breath and only for my ears. My anxiety ratcheted up a notch.
“Be a dear, Cami, and do this the right way. My sciatica has been acting up bad since I came off a horse last month.” Melvin jutted his full-bearded chin at her while rubbing his lower back.
“Are you sure there’s no boot jack?” She waved a hand in front of her face like she was hot or about to blush.
“I can’t find the damn thing.” He positioned Cameron so her back faced me.
For a moment, she stood stiff as a poker, then shook her head like she’d lost an argument with herself. She bent at the waist, catching one of my boot heels in her cupped hands and bringing my leg up between her lovely thighs. Her denim-clad ass filled my field of vision, and what a view it was. Damn.
She straddled my leg. All the blood in my body rushed south. The words “reverse cowgirl” screamed from my subconscious. I could grab her hips and yank her into my lap, and... nothing. I’d vowed to keep my hands to myself for a multitude of good reasons, none of which I recalled at that precise moment.
Her titillating position obliterated all my good intentions and drowned out the cautionary memories from my past. I’d been in the presence of many of Hollywood’s most glamorous women and felt nothing close to this level of attraction. But a small-town real estate agent in a worn pair of jeans had me feeling like a randy goat. There was something about her I couldn’t ignore.
Nothing good ever came from mixing business and pleasure. But my brain was fighting a losing battle with my unruly body.
“Now put your other foot on her behind and push.” Melvin leaned against his front counter, ankles crossed, without a care in the world, watching us like we were the newest hit TV show. Oh yeah, if Kate got her way, we would be.
I heard what he said but couldn’t comply. The view was too good. My thoughts were too explicit. Why would I do anything to change this situation? It was inches from reverse cowgirl. The old man must have been blind.
He repeated the command slower and chuckled when I didn’t move. The fly of my jeans was in danger of drilling through my hardening erection. I hadn’t been so happy to be wearing an untucked shirt since the tenth grade, when we had the super-hot substitute teacher in math class.
Cameron glanced over her shoulder, her eyes electric with the same seductive teasing as the day by the pool. She lifted one eyebrow, reached back, and patted her own ass. I swallowed a moan. This was not happening to me. Men of my age didn’t pop inconvenient boners.
“Come on, Wils, we’ve got to get off—those boots.”
She just said “get off,” and damn, I’d love nothing more. Hell, I should have taken care of it in the shower this morning. If I had, I wouldn’t be in this predicament... maybe.
She wiggled her ass back and forth, smirking over her shoulder at me. “Come on, push.” Her cheeks were bright pink. The blush, as much as the teasing looks and words, was ruining me.
With willpower I didn’t know I possessed, I lifted my other foot to her right butt cheek and pushed. Like magic, the left boot popped free. I kept the still-booted foot raised and waited for her to swing her leg over. She wasn’t the only one who could play this game.
Mount up, cowgirl.
When I pressed my sock-covered foot to her left ass cheek, I didn’t push right away. Instead, I cupped her ass with the arch of my foot and waited until she looked back. I winked, then shoved while my toes dug into her lush flesh. The second boot was free, and I was a riled-up mess.
Reverse cowgirl boot removal would be the highlight of my day.
The only one unscathed by the incident was Melvin. He cackled, enjoying our little show way too much.
Cameron avoided looking at me by collecting the ill-fitting boots and putting them back into the box. Her cheeks stayed pink the whole time she fussed with the tissue paper and lid. I should have followed her example and stopped undressing her with my eyes. We didn’t have, need, or want this kind of relationship.
It was inappropriate. And ill conceived.
I took a few moments to curb the raging hard-on in my jeans. Eyes closed, I thought of unsexy things like cash flow statements and sales projections. Better.
“I told you that you’d want to try those on.” Melvin clapped me on the back and pulled another pair of boots from a nearby rack. Without ceremony, he shoved them at me. “Here, these are the boots you’ll buy.”
The boots in my hands looked like they could tell stories of life on the range or the West Texas oil fields. They weren’t fancy or stylish. They were low-heeled and had boxy toes with a simple traditional pattern stitched on the shafts. The rich chocolate brown leather had worn almost to black in some creases around the ankle.
“Old school boots. Handmade in Laredo, probably in the 1980s. These boots will outlive us all. You wanted authentic, you got it.” Marvin leaned on the counter.
Behind him hung a framed magazine layout from GQ featuring the man and his boots. The artistic black and white photos played up the old man’s grizzled looks and his shop’s fairytale qualities.
I wasn’t the first tourist to find my way to the Worn Boot.
My inner cynic looked from the boot salesman to my real estate agent, wondering if I was getting swindled. Sold an overpriced pair of old boots because I was from California.
