AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tell you what,” I offered as we traveled out of the rocky section and onto relatively flat dirt, “If you promise that you won’t try to influence me about what picture to use, I’ll show them to you.” He still hadn’t released my hand, and I wasn’t about to try to pull it free of his grip.
“Deal.”
Together, we strolled into the parking area and approached my SUV. I dug my keys from my pocket and clicked the locks open. “If you want to hop in, we can look through these.”
“I have a better idea.” He pulled my hand toward his midsection. His abs, under the soft fabric of his Waylon Jennings T-shirt, were firm and warm. I bit my lips and fought the urge to dip my fingers under the cotton to stroke his belly. He tugged me an inch closer. “There is a roadhouse about six miles down the highway, Pour It On. Have you ever been there?”
“Driven by it, but never stopped.” My voice was breathless, but I didn’t care. He did that to me.
“They have these amazing Buffalo wings, and the best darned sweet tea I’ve ever had. Wanna go?”
Hell yeah!“Love to. You lead the way. I’ll follow.”
To the ends of the earth.
6
CALLAN
The buzz of the powerful bike between my thighs helped redirect the other buzz flowing in my body. The hum of desire had started threading through me almost immediately when I joined Catie at the trailhead. “Who the fuck do you think you’re kidding?”I hear my dad’s voice ask, although he rarely used curse words.“That attraction snapped to life the first day you saw her on the trail.”
It was undeniable. Catie Marlowe is an honest to God smokeshow. The sunset had transformed her red hair to a luscious rosy color. I’d caught myself salivating over the way half of her long-sleeved white T-shirt was tucked into the front of her jeans, while the back half was untucked and skimming the curves of her sexy ass. The soft-looking fabric outlined her breasts in a way that made my palm itch to fill them with those apple-shaped orbs.
She was funny and knowledgeable. Even about football. I’d played in high school. My dad had been my coach and never held back from benching me whenever I gave less than one hundred percent. I’d loved playing for him, making him proud. Once I’d graduated from high school, I still went back to watch the games whenever I could. Dad coached right up until the time of his death. In fact, he’d been jogging to a team practice when he’d been killed. I booted away that fleeting bout of unresolved anger before it could drown out the happier thoughts of the sexy woman following me to Pour It On.
Checking my rearview mirror, I saw that Catie was still behind me on the road. The silver paint on her small SUV was tinted orange in the dying light from the sunset. She’d been right. The spot was magical. The meadow had a fairy-lit quality to it. The fireflies had started blinking as we were leaving, their bioluminescent butts sparking in a hypnotic pattern.
But there was nothing more magical than the smile on Catie’s face as she reviewed some of the pictures she’d taken. I was so eager to see what put that soft expression on her face. Part of me was hoping it was me. But I swattedthatthought out to left field, telling myself her professional satisfaction with how well the images were turning out had transformed her whiskey-colored eyes to a sweet amber.
I steered my bike into the lot and coasted to a stop at the edge of the paved space and parked under a tree. Catie pulled in next to me and cut her engine. She held up one finger, motioning me to wait, then started to dig through her camera bag. I took the opportunity to dismount the Tiger and drag out my cellphone. My personal phone. I wanted to tell my dad about this experience. I opened the string of unanswered texts, fingers poised over the tiny keyboard. I needed to tell him there was something so phenomenal about this woman. I wished he could meet her.
When Catie’s car door slammed shut, I abandoned my need to text Dad, shoved the phone back into my pocket, and focused on her. She’d lost the ball cap and her curls were fluffed out in a cloud around her face. With a bounce in her step, she walked around the backend of her car. The expensive camera was slung around her neck, and she carried a laptop in her hand. She’d put on a lightweight cobalt-blue hoodie, the sleeves partially pushed up.
I straightened and grinned at her. “Hope you’re hungry.”
She slapped a hand to her belly. “Starving might not be a strong enough word. Maybe famished.”
“Hollowed out from the inside?” I touched the small of her back, guiding her toward the awning-covered door of the best honky-tonk I’d ever been in.
“Ravenous,” she countered. Her stomach rumbled louder than the crunch of our feet on the pavement.
I laughed. “Let’s go with voracious.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” She tapped her nose with a laugh.
After pulling open the door, I led her inside the darkened bar. The smell of fried onion rings and peanuts scented the air. It wasn’t crowded, so the floor wasn’t covered in peanut shells, yet. The place would be hopping in a couple hours, after the factory workers nearby clocked out from their shifts and stopped by the joint on their way home.
“Hey, Cal,” Joel the bartender called out.
Joel had owned the roadhouse since his dad had retired and moved to Muscle Shoals to pursue a beachcomber lifestyle. According to Joel, his dad was living his best life, not worrying a lick about how his only son was faring with the legacy he’d left him. One change Joel had made since taking over Pour It On was hiring a regular cleaning crew. Money well spent, in my opinion. I could rest my elbow on any table and not have to worry about grease or slime soiling my sleeves. He'd also pulled out the carpet and polished the concrete floor. That alone had made the place smell a shit-ton better. Who puts carpet in a bar? Also, he’d banned all tobacco products for real, so the atmosphere wasn’t clogged with stale or second-hand smoke.
The changes had made a one-thousand percent improvement and made me feel good about bringing Catie here.
“Joel.” I waved but continued toward a vacant table in the back of the bar.
Catie had just settled onto one of the barrel-backed chairs when Joel approached, a bar rag slung over his shoulder, menus tucked under one arm.
“Not your usual night to be here, buddy,” he commented as he slapped the plastic menu cards on the table.
