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“Beer?” I grin at my soon-to-be-girl. This hotshot has a plan.
She beams back at me. “And if I say no?”
“Got water. Might have pop.” I drop a kiss on her nose and amble toward the bar. Drink Up is famous (or notorious) for its lack of variety. Your choices are beer—or beer. Regular or light. On a good day, it comes in a bottle.
“Beer,” she says mock-solemnly. “Would be lovely.”
Sarah Jo tags along behind me, her fingers tucked into the back of my belt. Her fingertips brush the sensitive spot at the top of my ass, and I think she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She keeps it up, I’m gonna ink her name right there.
Lola’s already present, holding court in a corner booth. She alternates between shouting with laughter and working her phone. Think she must have misplaced Hunter because he’s just about the only hotshot not here. By the time I have our beers, Olivia’s dragged Lola out onto the dance floor. Lola’s skirt is so short that I’m ready to take bets on a wardrobe malfunction.
Sarah Jo’s a little more covered up, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. In deference to the whole Saturday-night and ride-on-my-bike thing, she’s wriggled into a pair of jeans that hug her ass and her legs before flaring out around her ankles into some kind of embroidered thing that almost cover her cowboy boots. The top probably has some kind of name, but let’s just call it gorgeous. It ties around her neck and then skims her tits before flaring out like a tent or a pretty white cloud or some poetic shit. When she moves, she flashes me hints of her stomach and waist, so I’m definitely a fan. I sit myself down in a corner booth and pull her onto my lap. This way I can hold her close and make room for other people. I’m a total fucking Boy Scout.
Out on the floor, Lola launches into a wild, arm-swinging, hip-rocking dance. Her ponytail threatens a couple of nearby hotshots with whiplash, but she looks happy. Her short denim skirt bounces up and down, the ruffles on her red-and-white polka dot blouse taking flight. It’s fucking mesmerizing.
“You need a shirt like that.” The din in Drink Up has achieved deafening levels, so I whisper the words into her ear because communication’s important in a relationship. As punctuation on that sentence, I nip her ear. Gently because my caveman’s still out in the parking lot. Don’t worry. He’ll catch up.
A grin lights up Sarah Jo’s face. “You like it?”
“Yours is better.”
That goes for everything about Sarah Jo. Fucking lucky Hunter didn’t figure that out for himself and try to take my girl. Sarah Jo wriggles around on my lap like she’s trying to get comfortable. Probably should lend her a hand since it’s my dick that’s spearing her in the ass in an excellent imitation of an iron bar. On the other hand, since it’s her fault that I’m currently in this condition…
She wriggles some more and I bite back a groan.
“Is that for me?”
“Always.”
I mean it too.
All these feelings are new. They distract me. And that is why I don’t realize that Sarah Jo’s up to something until her hand squeezes my dick through my jeans.
“I don’t like to share,” she says as if we’re talking about a beer or an order of fries.
“There’s plenty of me to go around.” She squeezes, her hand working dirty, dirty magic on me, and I growl. “But no sharing.”
“All mine.” A smile curves her mouth. She twists her head so she can see my face, and I can’t stop touching her, too. I’m running my hands up her thighs, over her waist, just barely staying out of triple-X filthy territory. Sarah Jo’s spent the summer hiding in plain sight, so I don’t think she wants to get arrested for public indecency now.
She cups the back of my head with one hand, shutting me up with her mouth. And I’m not complaining. I kiss her back, my hands going wild, pulling her closer, tugging at every dirty, fabulous, amazing inch of my Sarah Jo. Fucking gonna come in a corner booth at a dive bar, and I love it. I love…
Nope. Not going there.
A whoop from the dance floor breaks up our kiss. Sarah Jo jumps like she’s forgotten we’re not alone in bed. She instinctively turns her attention back to the dance floor, and I watch with her.
