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I’m a big guy, and I haven’t exactly been throwing outcome hithervibes since I arrived. With all my brooding, company-repellent thoughts, I should be intimidating as fuck.
I frown again and use my foot to push out the chair she asked to occupy. “Sit.”
“Am I a fucking dog?” she asks, unimpressed.
“No. And I didn’t mean to imply that. I’m just… I don’t know what’s happening here, and yes, I do want another beer.” I wave the guy down and signal for him to bring two more, but then wince. I glance at the girl who knows what she wants. “You in the mood for anything in particular, or is the same as me okay?”
She eyes my glass, and then sits and gives the guy athumbs up. “I’m open to learning your preferences. I feel like we might enjoy the same things.”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead so fast, I don’t even try to act cool or remember my manners. “Why in the world would you think that?”
She sucks at her teeth a moment, and then nods at my Nirvana T-shirt. “I’m a fan. Of the band. And grunge. And the whole nineties’ scene, in general. Kind of wish I’d been there.”
I lean in, almost certain she’s serious. “Why would you want that?”
She looks at me as if it’s a stupid question. “So many reasons,” she says, counting them off on her fingers as she continues. “Simpler times. Deep thought, without the next-level anxiety. All those decades of post-war repressed emotions, finally being unleashed through gritty music that transcended societal pressure. Artists who rebelled against the perpetual masquerade of fake happiness by refusing to hide their messages of pain in upbeat ditties. They reached out with the truth and made every struggling human feel seen and heard and valid…”
I lean closer, eager for more, but her voice fades. She blushes, as if her passionate opinion was voiced on accident.
My dick is unreasonably hard, and I need to talk myself back from the edge, before I fall off a cliff for this girl’s alluring style of honest delight.
“Were you even born in the nineties?” I mumble, trying not to stare or get trapped and crushed under the pressure of her pretty blue eyes.
“If I saidno, would it stop you from wanting to fuck me?” she counters without pause. She twitches one dark eyebrow, threatening to arch it at me.
Her youthful confidence pokes at the belligerent ass in me. “Who said I wanted to fuck you?”
“Your fucking eyes,” she says, rolling hers. “Look — are you into having a non-judgmental conversation, where the end result is likely to be me, sitting on your cock, or not? Is the obvious age difference an issue for you? Because I already said I’m looking for an older guy, and I’m definitely old enough to take a dick if you want it to be yours.” She flashes her ID at the guy delivering our drinks, before he’s quite formed the mouth-shape to ask her for it. He seals his lips, sets down the beer, and backs away slowly.
“Whoareyou?” I ask, as impressed as I am confused by everything about her.
She glances at the waiter, as if she wants to kick him, then returns her attention to me.
“Call meShelby,” she says, thrusting her hand at me in some straight-armed, militant demand for me to shake it.
I let it linger between us a moment, before I wrap my much larger hand over hers and yank her closer so fast, she almost slips off her chair. “I’m Gunnar Scott, Shelby,” I rumble in her ear. “And if you keep making me want to fuck you, I may actually do it.”
She gasps softly, and my dick strains in my jeans. “Little miss, I’m not sure you understand what you’d be getting into, so I’m going to lay it out, nice and clear. I’ve had a bad day. I didn’t realize it until tonight, but I’m on the rebound. I need to feel in control, I’m not small, and Iwon’tbe gentle. You’ll fucking feel where I’ve been, for days.”
Her breath stutters out of her, but instead of pulling back as I’d expect, she leans in. “Will it only be about your self-gratification, or will you make it good for me, too? If you’re all talk and no pleasure, I’d rather invest my time and energy elsewhere. I want attention. And lots of it. But I’ll only spread my legs for someone willing to put in some fucking effort for me.”
I let go of her hand and stroke the underside of her chin with my finger, as I search her face. “Where the hell did you come from, Miss Shelby No-last-name?”
She flutters her eyelashes, and a little pinkness blooms in her cheeks. “The other side of town. And you won’t be getting another name. I’m not looking to make a permanent connection, and with your being on the rebound, a one-night, no-strings-attached hookup will suit us both.”
My heart is definitely feeling tender, because her fair boundary feels weirdly like a rejection. There’s a subtle sting in my chest, but I nod. She’s making the right call. “No strings. Fine by me. My dick will happily rise to any challenge you want to set, darlin’.”
“Mmm…” She hums softly, leans back, and takes hold of her beer. “I like the way you talk, country boy.”
“Boy?I’m probably twice your age.”
She smiles and scrunches her nose at me, all cute as fuck. “Whatever. Talk some more while I drink my beer. Tell me about your breakup.”
I frown hard at her. “It happened a while ago, but I saw her at the store earlier this evening and hid, so now I’m questioning a lot of shit about my life choices, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
She dips one eyebrow while keeping the other level and continues, undeterred. “Just give me the reason for it, so I know if I need to be scared. Tell me it wasn’t because you fucked her too hard and nasty.”
I snort and shake my head. “I did, but she enjoyed that part of our relationship.”
