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Yeah, she was just going with curvaceous. Shamu calls and all.
She hit the keyless entry on her truck and pulled open the door. She stuck one of her stilettos inside and hauled herself up, immediately flipping down the mirror to check the damage around her eyes. Her little crying jag in the powder room off the Bennett kitchen had been unplanned and had wreaked more than a little havoc on her makeup. But a few splashes of cold water, a new coat of mascara and she’d been as good as new.
It was normal to cry at weddings, right? Happy tears. She was thrilled for her best friend. She’d gotten herself a good man, one who sang while he dispensed orgasms. That was pretty much the Cracker Jack prize in the climax box. Her bestie would soon be on her way to Aruba for a week of sex, surf and sun, while she herself would be logging grain on inventory charts, and ordering feed, and ooh wee, if she got really wild, maybe she’d do a ten-percent-off sale on Saturday in their jointly owned grain and grub store.
Annoyed with her thoughts, she tossed her purse on the passenger seat and glanced at the mirror one more time, letting out a shriek as a shadowy figure rose up in the truck bed. She fumbled for the baton she kept tucked between the seats to use as a weapon, wondering if she should also hit her horn to alert the other guests that a pervert was—
A knock at the back window by the raging, looming pervert cut off her internal monologue. “Hey there. Is this your truck?”
She nearly shot back, “Brilliant observation, jackass,” before it occurred to her she shouldn’t heckle a possible murderer/rapist.
Hot on the heels of that came the revelation that the serial killer sounded like Colt Bennett, AKA her best friend’s annoying-as-hell ex-husband and current husband’s older brother.
“Is that you, Paige?”
Yep, definitely Colt.
She gripped the baton—still not certain she wouldn’t use it on the numbskull—and climbed down from the truck, walking around the back to give him a piece of her mind. What did he think he was doing, sitting his fool ass in her parked truck? Probably drunk fool ass, if his lengthy stint at the bar this evening told any part of the tale.
Then she caught a glimpse of his rock-hard abs, glistening with sweat in the moonlight, and her mouth dried up as though she hadn’t had two cranberry-and-Jack spritzers herself.
Holy shit, that man’s body was fine.
“Hey there, Paige.” He scrambled, still on his knees, to her side of the truck. His eyes widened at the sight of her baton. “Jeez, my luck to climb into your vehicle.” He laughed, as if any of this were funny, but she couldn’t spare the amusement in case it sent her already twitching clit into a spontaneous orgasm.
This was all Charli’s fault. She’d talked so much about Wade’s skills in the sack that of course when she laid eyes on a half-naked Bennett brother, she wanted to take him out for stud. But see, that couldn’t happen. Because number one, he irritated the piss out of her most days. And number two, he was her bestie’s ex-husband. And number three, why the hell was he grinning at her like that, as if he’d shorted out some wires upstairs and hadn’t bothered to call an electrician?
She shook herself. “Yes, Mr. Bennett, this is my truck, as it has been my truck for the last four years, if you bothered to pay any attention.”
“Not the ‘Mr. Bennett’ stuff again.” He groaned. “What have I told you about that? Mr. Bennett is my father.”
She crossed her arms and said nothing.
He tried again. “Yeah, okay, so maybe I thought this might be your truck, but why would I pay attention to your vehicle enough to be sure?”
“Don’t use that reasonable tone on me when you’re the one passed out skunk-drunk in my flatbed like some…like some…” Really fucking hot cowboy with a bulge behind his buckle that should’ve been illegal in six states and registered as a lethal weapon in about sixteen others.
“Darlin’, I’m not passed out, as you can see, and I’m also not skunk-drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever been skunk-drunk. It sounds unpleasant.”
She snorted. “It’s unpleasant all right. Why are you missing your clothes? What would your mama say if she saw you like this?”
“She’d say it’s hot and it’s late summer and Christ, my dick’s not on display, just my stomach.” He reached for his white dress shirt and casually shrugged it on. “Surely you’ve seen a man’s stomach before?”
Oh that slightly mocking tone made her want to slug him…or possibly lick him right from that dark happy trail just pe
eking out over the top of his pants, down below to where he kept his weaponry. Who needed a firearm when you came prepared with your own 12-gauge shotgun?
Man, when Charli got back from her honeymoon, she was surely going to get an earful about holding back on her.
Paige rolled her eyes. Oh yeah, right, because she could really start up a conversation about her best friend’s ex-husband’s dick. That would be totally appropriate.
Though, she was remarried, so technically Colt’s dick was back on the market…
Colt. A gun. She snorted again, a laugh spurting out of her before she could slap a hand over her mouth to hold it back.
“You sure you aren’t drunk? Because you’re awfully ragey and giggly.”
Just like that, she sobered. “I am neither of those things. May I remind you that you decided to camp out naked in my truck?”
