Baby Daddy by Lauren Landish (31)

McKayla

Fucking Hell! He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I don’t know what changed today to make him open to a bit of crazy, but I’m not gonna question it. I snatch the half-helmet from his hands, pulling the silk scarf from around my neck and tying it around my hair bandana-style to lessen the mess this damn thing is sure to bring. I’m slightly surprised he’s got a helmet at all. I’d rather just go without, but Mr. Grumpy insists. I slide onto the bike, noticing that he looks so fucking sexy right now in just his sweaty, grease-streaked tank top, jeans, and sunglasses that I can practically feel my pussy quivering.

It only takes a momentary look down at my mini-skirt to overcome any worries I might have about looking like a tramp. Fuck it. I hike the damn thing up a little higher than is decent to straddle the seat behind him. I adjust to make sure I’m not flashing anyone, but before I get really settled, he twists the throttle, startling me. “What—whoa!”

Evan glances over his shoulder, a sexy taunting smirk on his lips. “Good? Got your helmet on?”

“Go!” I holler as I grab around his waist right as he takes off, offering a huge grin to Brad as I see him glaring open-mouthed at me through the salon window.

Sorry, Brad, but when an opportunity like this presents itself, I gotta roll with it. I know I said I’d answer phones while you see clients, but you’ll understand!

Besides, I wouldn’t hold it against him if he ditched me for a little fun. Well . . . not too much, at least, and I know I’d get over it! So, oopsie, babe. He’ll forgive me, though, because a hot guy on a bike is always a priority.

We thunder down Main Street, passing by Rose’s boutique, a ranch supply store with an older white-haired guy sitting outside in a rocking chair, and several other little storefronts. Once you hit the northern part of town, there’s a lot of tourist trap-looking little places that try and soak up as many tourist dollars from the resort hotel people as they can.

We pass a casino that marks the boundary between the Native American reservation land and the town. Evan twists the throttle as we head up into the mountains.

We ride for what seems to be hours, and I can feel the tension leave his body incrementally, the same way it does mine as we go higher into the forested peaks surrounding the town. I feel at one with the bike and with Evan as we lean into turns, our bodies synchronized with the curves of the road.

Even though we’re probably going a lot faster than the speed limit, I never feel a moment of fear as I tightly squeeze Evan’s muscular waist. As my sheer excitement of being behind him settles into a calmness at the freedom of flying down the road, the vibrations between my legs get impossible to ignore. The beastly engine between our legs sends trembles through his seat and the thin layer of my panties, adding to the powerful scent of Evan filling my nostrils. I press my nose closer to his broadly muscled back, barely concealed by his tank top and the jeans that stretch across his powerful thighs.

I lean forward more, pressing my chest to his back to feel his warmth and his muscles rippling as he rides, the back of his dirty blonde hair whipping back beside me and caressing my cheek.

Yep, this might just be the hottest thing I’ve ever done . . . so far. I arch my back a little, changing the angle of the vibrations between my legs so that the rumbling purr hits right on my clit, and I feel it throughout my pussy, knowing I’ve soaked my panties and that I’m probably going to leave a spot on his seat.

I have a twinge of embarrassment at the thought but then decide I rather like marking my territory, even if it’s just for a passing moment. We keep riding, far out of town into the mountains that line the landscape, and he pulls over in a gravel parking lot. Looking around, the first thing I notice is that this place looks like an abandoned gas station, one of those old-time country stops that probably closed up when people started taking the Interstate everywhere.

The second thing that hits me is the immense beauty of where we are. I can’t hear anything except the twitter of birds, the soft rush of mountain breezes, and far away, maybe somewhere below us . . . water. “Where are we?”

“Come on,” Evan says, getting off the bike and stomping away. “I’ll show you what sometimes keeps me from going insane.”

I gawk as he just walks off, and I debate for a moment whether I should follow him. I’m glad I’m not wearing the highest of my high heels, but still, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s snakes in that overgrown path he’s headed toward.

“Come on,” Evan calls back. “It’s not far. Just about a hundred feet.”

Fuck it. I follow him, carefully watching each step. Sure, snakes may not like dealing with jeans and combat boots like Evan’s wearing, but high heels and stockings? Yeah, zero fucks given there. If I get bitten, I’m kicking his ass.

We make our way through the line of trees, and all of my worries disappear as we step into what I can only describe as a slice of paradise. We’re on the edge of a small clearing, maybe fifty feet across and less than twenty deep, the other side ending in a cliff face that drops off vertically. I have a spectacular view of a valley below us, with a lake at the bottom. The water I hear is a hydroelectric dam creating an artificial waterfall that drops off out of my sight to the right.

Evan is just sitting in the grass, quietly taking in the sight. “What is this place?” I ask.

He’s silent, and for a second, I think he’s not gonna answer. “My escape,” he finally murmurs, keeping his eyes on the water far below. “When I really need to, I come up here. It keeps me sane.”

I sit down next to him, just taking it all in. Within a few minutes, I can see the tenseness inside him let loose, making me relax. We stay there, and as the sun begins to dip lower into the afternoon sky, there’s a warm orange glow surrounding us. I lay my cheek against his shoulder, taking in the lovely view with a hum of appreciation.

After a moment, he growls, shrugging. “Get off.”

I’m flustered, the hardness of his voice unexpected in the peaceful moment, but I do as he says, half-wondering if he’s going to just leave me here. I still haven’t heard anything but the rush of water below us or the twitter of the birds.

Evan gets up and storms out of the clearing, and I follow him as best I can. “Evan, come on. If I break a heel, I swear I’m going to—”

Evan gets to his bike and leans against it sideways, his thick arms crossed over his chest. He looks like a fucking sex god in the afternoon light, and I stop, my heart speeding up and my still tingling pussy screaming at me THIS! NOW!

His eyes are full of fire, and his voice is gravelly as he says, “C’mere.”

I step forward before my mind even registers the command. I just know that there’s nothing I want more than to run my hands over the muscles straining against the thin cotton of his tank top or to taste the sweat glistening on his skin.

He pins me with his eyes, snarling as I get close enough that he pulls me against him. “What are you doing, Princess? You think I couldn’t feel you rubbing your nipples into my back, moaning as you ground your sweet little pussy against the seat behind me? How many times did you come, Princess?”

I flush, catching the nickname that irks me, but I’m still embarrassed. I didn’t come, but damn if I don’t want to.

He moves a hand to the strap of my top, slowly watching as he slides it off my shoulder. I’m not wearing a bra underneath. It’s one of those clingy tops that they say doesn’t need a bra. I think he’s giving me time to say no, but that’s sure as fuck not happening.

Or maybe he’s trying to stop himself. With that thought in mind, I arch, lifting my tits up in offering to tease him. “They’re even softer once you take them the rest of the way out.”

He grabs me roughly around my waist, pulling me to him, and just before he touches me, he looks into my eyes. “You sure you want this? I ain’t offering anything but right now. You know that, right?”

I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him to my breast. He needs this. Fuck, I need this. “Evan, quit thinking. Let’s just have an adventure.”

Like a match to a fire, my words ignite him. With a rough jerk that I’m sure is going to ruin this top, he pulls it the rest of the way down, freeing my breasts. He licks his lips once before diving in, sucking my nipple deep into his mouth.

His tongue twists and tugs at my stiff nub while his left hand squeezes my other breast. It’s heaven, and my head falls back as I moan my pleasure to a fiery sky. Sure, we’re on the side of the road, and if anyone does happen to come up here, they can see my goodies displayed for the whole world, but I don’t fucking care. If anything, it adds to the thrill.

Evan runs a hand down my side to my thigh, pulling my leg up. “Put the ball of your shoe on my seat, but don’t touch the leather with that spiky heel or I’m gonna be pissed.”

I do as he orders, feeling my skirt hike up my thigh almost to my waist as my knee nears my shoulder, exposing my panties to him. He slides a rough, calloused hand up my inner thigh, pausing to play at the lacy edge. I whimper, bucking my hips against his finger, trying to get what my body craves.

With a snarl, he grabs the delicate fabric and rips them from my body, draping them over the handlebars of his bike with a feral smile. “Let me feel how wet your pussy is from riding with me. You never told me if you came on my bike. Did you come already?”

He’s running his fingers through my lips, spreading the moisture from my clit to my asshole, and I’m barely coherent. “No.” I groan, my head swimming. “But I need it.”

“Good,” he says, bringing his fingers through my lips again. “It’s all mine then.”

Before I can even think of a reply, he thrusts two fingers deep into my pussy without warning, immediately curling them forward to press toward my front wall as his thumb swipes across my clit.

I cry out in pleasure, and he does it again, trapping me helplessly between what my body wants and keeping my balance. I’m a prisoner of desire and physics, unable to move as he finger fucks me hard and rough. I grab his head, pulling him back to my breasts in a desperate attempt to feel more, and he takes my nipple back into his mouth with little bites. I’m lost to the pleasure, screaming out disjointedly. “Fuck, Evan . . . yesss . . . God . . . please.”

His lips never leave my chest as he orders me, “Come for me, Princess. All over my hand, right here on my bike. Come. Now.”

I fall off the edge into the abyss, screaming out his name as I’m overtaken with shudders of pleasure. It’s been too long, and Evan’s playing me like a guitar, knowing just what I need to get the maximum release.

As I come back to reality, I catch him staring at me, a smile across his face, and I feel like that smile is just as much a gift as the amazing orgasm he just gave me. Well, maybe not as good, but damn close.

I move back, setting both feet on the ground before starting to bend down, my hands going to the button on his jeans.

Before I can kneel, he grabs my arms. “No, you’re not getting yourself all dirty, Princess.”

My hands not leaving his waist, I can already see the outline of his cock, feel the ridge of it of against my hand. I give him my best pouty face, which considering my plump lips and smeared makeup, is probably dripping with sex. “But what about you? Hand job?”

He smirks and adjusts himself, pulling his leg back and over his motorcycle. “This was just about you. Get back on.”

I look at him for a moment, disappointed I’m not getting to pleasure him but still too high from my own orgasm to question it. If a man like him wants to make me come without reciprocation . . . well, I’m not going to complain. Part of my mind knows this will take time, but it’ll be worth it.

I reach for my panties, intending to put the ripped lace inside the stretched remains of my top, but he stops me. “Oh, no, Princess. Those are staying right there. Souvenir of our adventure and all. Get on. I’ll take you home.”

I laugh, thinking sure, why the hell not? and climb on the back of his motorcycle, pulling my helmet on and squeezing his hips with my thighs as I scoot as close to him as I can, knowing that he can feel my already stiff nipples against his back again.

He yells back to tell me to hang on, and we’re off again, heading back to town. Main Street is quiet by the time we get back, most of the businesses closed and everyone gone home for the night.

He pulls up in front of the salon, shutting off the bike, and I’m shocked by the sudden eerie silence. I climb off, adjusting my skirt to cover myself, and he smirks, patting the red lace on the bars.

A thought occurs to me. “Hey, how’d you know this is home too?”

I see a flash across his eyes. “I do a lot of my best work at night. Nobody’s around to fuck with me. Sometimes, I even sleep here. There’s a bed up on the second floor that I use when I don’t feel like going home. I see everyone coming and going along the street. Maybe not as much as Old Earl, but watching what’s happening around me is deeply ingrained in me. I know you barely drive your car, so I figured you must be living in an apartment above the salon.”

I feel a warmth inside, even if it is silly. “You’ve been watching me?” He thinks I’m judging him, nervous at his surveillance, but he nods his head once. “Good. That makes me feel safe. Thanks for looking out for me. And uh, Evan? Trust me, I’m well aware that I can look directly into your garage and watch you working up a sweat. My best day this week was when you were working on that Camaro and took your shirt off. I damn near missed the timer alarm I set for a client’s highlights because I was staring out the window at you.”

He grins, leaning against his handlebars. “You’ve been watching me?”

I nod, biting my lip to contain my laughter. He cups my face, leaning in for a soft kiss. It’s different from the kisses we’ve had before. There’s not fire but tenderness . . . and the thrilling promise that no matter what Evan said in that dirt parking lot, this isn’t over.

When it’s over, he leans back, whispering into my hair. “You pervy stalker. Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

My laughter escapes, Evan even letting out a chortle, which I’m taking as major progress for the stoic man. “Yeah, well, you already got your trophy. I’m just gonna have to get my own sometime.”

“We’ll see,” Evan says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Evan.”

I turn, walking into the salon. He waits while I lock the door, then he pats the lacy handlebars one more time without looking at me, and I think maybe he doesn’t even know he did it, but he fires up the bike, shooting across the lanes of traffic and into the garage.

I head upstairs to sleep, excited that he’s just mere steps away.

Evan

“Stop the presses. What in the actual fuck is happening here?”

I stop work on the wiring job I’m doing on the Range Rover I’m working on as I hear TJ talking to me. I glance down my body and see his scuffed work boots standing by the rear hitch, the cause of all the problems. Fucking amateurs thought they could install a trailer hitch and wiring by themselves. Not on a Range Rover. The Brits love making their wiring harnesses difficult.

I roll out, giving him a questioning look. “What’s up, man? Just checking out the turn signals on this tea slurping son of a bitch.”

TJ looks me up and down as I get to my feet, raising an eyebrow. “You have the same hair, you rode in on that same bike . . . but I’m not sure if you’re really my brother. You sick? Win the lottery? Get laid?”

Confused, I stare back at him. “Huh?”

“Well, the ‘fuck off, world’ look you normally wear is gone, I haven’t smelled you light up one of those damn Marlboros all day, and when I checked the trash, I didn’t see a single can. The coffee pot’s still full. What gives?”

“Nothing,” I reply, trying to growl but for some reason, just not able to find myself able to. TJ’s just trying to be cool. “It’s just one of those days.”

TJ scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Bullshit, Evan. You were whistling. Not a song, or hell, even a tune, but you were damn sure whistling while you worked. That’s new, not just a ‘good day’. What’s up?”

Was I? If I was, I didn’t realize it. I was just focused on the job at hand, but now that he mentions it, my brain has been a little quieter this morning. I mean, I slept halfway decently, and when I got to work today, instead of seeming stupid or infuriating, I just found this job to be a puzzle to solve. “I dunno. Like I said, nice weather today.”

TJ gives me a look I used to get in the Army, the one that senior sergeants would give when they knew I was full of shit but wasn’t quite going over the line yet. “Nice weather, huh? My money’s on your getting laid. Finally. It’s been forever, man. Gotta grease the pipes every once in awhile or you get rusty, Tin Man.” He laughs, then shakes his head.

Without warning, white heat sparks in my core, singing out through my body as my fists clench. I grab his coveralls, jerking him to his tiptoes before pushing him away, pain lancing through my head. “Fuck you, TJ. I was doing all right this morning, but thanks for fucking that up.”

He leans back, but he’s used to my outbursts and just shakes his head softly. “Bro, I was just teasing you. Chill out.”

I sigh, still wound tightly, and turn away to snatch a cigarette, realizing he was right. I hadn’t grabbed one of these today.

Standing in the doorway as I start to puff away, I hear TJ talking behind me. “Sorry for hitting a sore spot. I was just glad to hear the noise. In other news, I went on a date with Alice again.”

I side-eye him, my brows furrowing together as I rack my brain but come up short. Maybe I really do need some caffeine. “Who?”

TJ leans against the side of the shop, upwind of me, as always, and looks across the street with me as I take a deep drag, the swimmy feeling rushing up to my brain like it always does even as the disgusting taste floods my mouth, reminding me of other smoke I’ve breathed and making me want to gag.

“The girl I told you about, asshole. From the hotel? We went to dinner last night, had a couple of drinks, and then I dropped her back home.”

I can’t help but egg him on a little. He’s my baby brother, after all. “That’s it? You didn’t fuck her?”

He growls a little bit, glaring at me. “Don’t talk about her like that. No, I didn’t. It was a damn first date, and she’s not like that. We just kissed on the little porch when I dropped her off.”

I flashback to my date with McKayla. Well, I don’t even know if it qualifies as a date when you go for a ride and finger bang her before dropping her off curbside, but as I didn’t blow my load until later that night, I guess you can’t call it a booty call either. TJ definitely wouldn’t call that a date, but McKayla didn’t seem to mind.

But maybe she should.

TJ’s chick, Alice, probably liked being picked up for a proper date with a decent guy. From everything he’s told me about her, now that I think about it, she’s probably the kind of girl any guy would like. Smart, I guess cute, and TJ is obviously over the moon about her. She’s probably what a lot of guys would call ‘marriage material’. She’s the sort of girl you treat right, take her out to dinner, pick her up at her doorstep, and maybe even shave most of the time beforehand.

McKayla should have that too. Too fucking bad that’s not me though. I’m far from decent. I shave two, maybe three times a week, and I can’t remember the last time I dressed ‘nice’.

I puff away as TJ tells me every little damn detail about his date, and I stare across the street into the salon in order to distract myself a little, watching McKayla tell a very animated story to a lady in her chair.

As I’m watching, I see that weasel Jaxson pull up and park his gleaming BMW at the curb, blocking half my sightline of the salon interior. He walks in, and from far away, I hear TJ. “What’s wrong?”

I look over at him, fury coursing through my veins and my fingers crushing the last remnants of my cig so completely that I don’t even feel the burn of the ember as it’s snuffed against my palm. “What?”

TJ looks startled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re snarling. What’s wrong? Flashback?”

I sigh. He can be a pain in the ass, but most of the time, he’s always there for me, and he’s tried to understand. “Nah, just saw that city council shit going in the salon.”

TJ glances over, recognizing the car. “Jaxson? Don’t really know him, but he seemed all right when I opened up the garage. Came by, shook hands, wished me luck. It even sounded half genuine.”

I think over my answer. Like TJ, I first met Jaxson soon after I came back to town just after my discharge, full of anger, clothed in my winter riding leathers, and barely able to sleep at night without screaming myself awake.

He’d come by the diner along with one of the local cops on my third day back, I guess after figuring out that I wasn’t just some transient biker. The discussion had been full of veiled comments, some snide remarks about a former service member looking like I did, and the implied threat that I’d better watch my ass.

Not that I’m going to tell TJ about that. He might try to understand, but he wouldn’t really. It’s like John Rambo said, Over there, I was in charge of million-dollar equipment. Here, I can barely hold down a job parking cars. “He’s trying to get McKayla to go out with him and he’s a slimy little shit.”

TJ stares at me in total disbelief for a solid minute before figuring out what to say. “Yeah, she could really do worse than a stable, employed guy who wants to take her out on a date. Maybe you’d rather she go out with you? Because lord knows, you could offer her so much joy and happiness with your aura of rainbows and fucking glitter.”

He huffs and stomps back into the office, shutting the door a little hard, but the hydraulic keeps it from slamming.

What the hell’s wrong with him? I just said I didn’t like the guy . . . the guy who wants to date McKayla. It wasn’t like I told him every reason I hate the fucker.

I lean back against the garage again, maintaining my study of the scene across the street. The sad part is, I know that TJ is right. McKayla deserves someone nice who’d treat her right and take her on dinner dates and carry on a conversation beyond grunts. She deserves a guy who’ll give her everything she wants and then some. Not someone haunted like me. Someone whole, who’s not half-soulless with a void filled with demons.

I don’t have any right to inflict myself on her. I need to maintain the status quo and minimize my impact by keeping to myself. Nobody needs to know just how fucked in the head I really am, and if I don’t talk to them, they won’t know. Just stay quiet, and if it gets too bad . . . I move on. The advantage of a motorcycle and a military background is that I can pretty much go wherever I want and get along just fine with what I can fit in my saddlebags and the duffle I still have at the house. Between that and my check from the military that says I’m partially disabled, I’ll get by.

Decision made, I dust the last crumbles of tobacco off my hands, rubbing them together before scrubbing them on my jeans. I give one last glance across the street, where I take a small measure of comfort in seeing Jaxson marching out the door, rounding the front bumper of his car as he dangerously tightens his already straight tie. Denied!

He looks up toward the garage, and I swear I can see a familiar coldness in his eyes when he sees me standing outside watching him. I’m doubtful he’s ever going to stop seeing me as the possible biker gang member who rolled into his town and is eventually going to cause trouble. He yanks open his car door to get in and then fires up the engine before pulling back into traffic, once again the perfect city council member as he accelerates at just the right speed up the street. It’s another thing I don’t like about the man. When you’re pissed, you’re allowed a half-second to gun your fucking engine if you’re in the clear. In fact, maybe that’s the real reason. Maybe there’s nothing slimy about him and he’s just too much of a goody-two-shoes.

My eyes tick back to the salon, and McKayla and Brad are talking like nothing happened. Brad’s waving his makeup brushes around and twirling, making McKayla laugh uproariously before her eyes glance across the street and she sees me. Before she can do anything, I turn and go back inside. That wiring harness isn’t going to fix itself.

Whatever. Maybe he just needed a cut and she couldn’t fit him in. Not my business and I don’t care.

I keep telling myself that as I head back inside and climb back under the Range Rover.

McKayla

Sweet moonrise over the mountains . . . it’s the perfect end to a busy week as I sit with Brad and Rose at the Grand Waterways Hotel bar and peer out over the distance.

When Rose invited me, I’ll admit I had a snobby moment thinking a hotel bar didn’t sound all that appealing. But she insisted they have good drinks, delicious food, and the best jukebox in town. “Don’t worry, they totally revamped when the new place opened up in the mountains,” she said. “They wanted to differentiate themselves from the snow set tourists, so while it still has the luxury look, they’ve expanded the food spread a bit. No way you won’t find something you like.”

So why the hell not? I decided. I haven’t had a chance to just kick back and see the town, and I could use a night out. And what do you know? She was right, I think to myself as I try to delicately grab my fourth piece of Toro sushi.

I glance over at Brad, the epitome of a fashionable male in his open-neck paisley shirt with the cuffs rolled up, jeans that are tight but not too tight, and boots. I happen to know that his ensemble took him thirty minutes to put on and get just right, and by now, his feet have to be killing him. I’ve never seen him in those boots before.

But I won’t give him too much hell because I took at least that long to curl and pin my pink hair into victory rolls, and that was before I slipped fishnets and a halter circle dress on. Brad may not be country, but I’m a helluva lot of rock ‘n’ roll.

If I’m going on a night out, I’m doing it my style. With Rose completing our ragtag group in a sleek modern body-hugging sheath and a chic updo that I did for her today, we look like three folks who would never fit together, but somehow, our friendship works.

Taking a sip of my scotch—no frou-frou drinks here . . . that’s Brad’s poison—I listen to Rose talk about the town as she sips at her ‘Michelada,’ a Mexican import that’s one part beer, one part tomato juice. It’s all hers. No, thank you. “I’ve been here for five years now, and I’m creeping up on my thirties. Business is finally starting to gain a foothold, I’ve been featured in the town paper twice, and have made some great friends. Really, all of us along Tourist Trap Drag are doing pretty well with the ski resort bringing in tourists. It’s far enough away that we stay pretty small but close enough that we get traffic down here to help keep businesses going.”

Brad raises his drink in the air. “To successful ventures, five-star service, and happy lives.” We toast, and he tips back some light blue thing, draining half of it before he continues. “Rose, you said this place is struggling. Why?”

Rose giggles and downs half a Michelada. “Basically, some corporation sank a ton into building this place a long time back, but the university didn’t grow the way they thought it would or something. Hell, I dunno. But for a long time, this place was the biggest eyesore in the county. Then a retired football guy invested in it, and when he did it up, he did it up right. It’s the fancy-schmancy bourgie place around here now.”

“Fuck it,” I mumble. “The food’s good.”

“That it is,” Brad agrees. “Hey, McKayla, what about that Jaxson guy who came in the other day? What’s the story there, chickadee?”

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Ugh, he’s just so, so . . . nice,” I say with look of disgust. “I bet he’s a deacon in church or something.”

Brad leans over to stage-whisper to Rose. “Nice is bad to McKayla. That means he’s a no-go.”

Rose laughs, maybe a little loudly, but who gives a damn? We’ll get home safely somehow. “Nice is a bad thing? I don’t get it.”

I take a big inhale, trying to settle my thoughts so I can explain without sounding half drunk. “I don’t know. He’s just polite and mannered and boring. Just so nice, not my type at all. The first time he tried to ask me out, I dodged and he took Brad and me to the diner for introductions. But he came back and asked me to dinner and kissed my cheek. I was blunt and told him I’m not looking for romance, but we could be friends. Should be a done deal, yeah? Nope, he was back again a few days later, saying he knew I was settled into town now and he was ready for that date. It was so awkward. He doesn’t seem to be taking the hint, and I’ve damn sure not been subtle. It’s not in my nature.”

“So, he really likes you, is a nice guy, and wants to take you out. I guess I’m not seeing the issue because I’d be all over that like white on rice if I could find the mythical creature known as ‘The Nice Guy’.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I know it’s stupid, but there’s just no spark. Take-charge, I like, but there’s something with Jaxson that’s just the opposite of spark. It’s like a fire extinguisher instead. And sparks are the first ticket to McKayla Land.”

Brad, who’s heard my complaints about Jaxson before, chuckles. “Speaking of sparks, what about our across the street bad boy biker neighbor with an oh, so delicious last name, Evan Hardwick? What’s the story there? Because there’s like a whole case of fireworks going on but I’m a little concerned about the blast zone, if you catch my drift. He always seems like an angry dude.”

I laugh, knowing Brad’s got nothing to worry about from Evan, before I sigh happily. “Well, y’all know I’m not one to kiss and tell . . .”

Brad coughs, the sound suspiciously coming out like “Bullshit!” before he waves me to continue, and I laugh.

“Okay, who am I kidding? Of course I am. We went for a ride the other day and it was heaven. Things got a little hot and heavy, but I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days. Just casual for now. We’ll see, I guess.”

Brad and Rose meet eyes, an echo of a conversation they’ve obviously already had about this topic singing out loud and clear. I’ve gotta admit, I’m a little jealous. It took me a long time to get that sort of telepathy with Brad, and more than a few scratch fights.

Finally, Brad drains the rest of his drink and sets it down, looking me in the eyes. “Just be careful. I know you like the bad boys, but that one’s a little beyond your usual repertoire. From what I’ve heard about him, he’s got issues. He isn’t some wannabe rebel with a sneer and a trust fund backing him up.”

I roll my eyes. That was just once. But Rose seems to have the same thing on her mind. “He seems like an asshole to me, but if that’s your thing, have fun, I guess.”

I raise my glass in a toast, not upset at all. Fuck it. I’m a big girl, and I’m gonna take care of business. “To fun, in all its types and positions.”

Brad and Rose clink glasses with me again, and we all dissolve into laughter. Still giggling and smiling, I’m caught unaware when there’s a hand on my shoulder from behind. I look back, already halfway into bitch mode for the space invasion, when I see it’s Jaxson. He’s grinning, and I feel the awkwardness drop over the table like a wet blanket. I was having a good night too.

Jaxson doesn’t seem to notice, completely at ease in his khakis and dress shirt with no tie. “Hey, guys. Let me buy a round.”

Before anyone can say anything, he plops down on the bench beside me like he was invited, throwing an arm around the back of the bench. Not quite on my shoulders, but still obviously marking his territory. The waitress comes up and my moment of rebuttal is sidetracked by her smiling request for orders.

What the hell, I was gonna drink another one anyway. “I’ll have another double Scotch on the rocks.” I peel off a ten-dollar bill from my small money roll, dropping it on the waitress's tray before Jaxson can do anything about it. I still can’t quite tell him to piss off. The salon can’t handle that sort of blow, but I can send some pretty clear signals.

There’s a tight tension at the table now, the jovial mood from moments before gone.

“Hi, Jaxson,” I finally greet him. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got a strict cash and carry policy, so I’m good for the drink.”

Jaxson smiles at me, but it feels like it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s like in the salon. He’s smiling, but there’s nobody home upstairs. “No problem, just wanted to say hi and that there’s no hard feelings. You’re new in town, and if you’re looking for friends, then you’ve got one right here.”

He pats his chest with his palm with a strange little double-thump, making it clear that he’s referring to himself. “So what are we talking about?”

Rose looks at me, uncertain, but she’s the kind that’s too polite to just tell him to fuck off. “We were just, uh, toasting to new successful ventures.”

Jaxson gives a huge smile, and I inwardly moan. Shit, of course he’s going to eat that up, being on the city council. “Good to hear. Have you heard about the rezoning going on down on the south end? There’s a lot of people who think that it’s really going to take off. The business environment is . . .” And he’s off, blending in discussions of tax structures with culture, and more to the point, that it’s a total mishmash. I tune him out, sipping on the new Scotch the waitress dropped off a few minutes into Jaxson’s diatribe. It’s total political half-baked bullshit. I heard enough of it in Hollywood to smell it a mile away. There’s no way that he knows what’s going to happen twenty years down the road.

I’m having one of those best friend conversations with Brad, no words, just lots of eye contact and mind reading.

This guy’s a tool.

I know. Why do you think I turned him down?

He’s a disrespect to the word tool even. I like tools.

You like a certain tool. He’s got one, you know.

Not interested.

I’m about to reply when I see Brad glance down with a raised eyebrow. I look down at the table and see Jaxson running his finger along the rim of my drink glass. Uh, no. I snatch my glass away, truly pissed off for the first time. “Don’t touch my drink.”

Jaxson looks startled at the steel in my voice, even though I worked to keep it quiet and calm. He blinks, then gives me that politician’s smile again. “Oh, sorry, just fidgeting.”

I realize I sound a little bit Neanderthal, like Evan did with his bike, and the irony is not lost on me. But I don’t give a fuck. There are rules, and some of them are totally unbendable. “I’m from LA. When guys mess with your drink, it’s a pretty surefire sign you’re about to get roofied. Don’t touch my drink.”

I push it to the edge of the table. I don’t think he did anything, but I can’t even consider putting my lips where his fingers were just rubbing. Jaxson stutters, then nods. “Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” I reply before realizing this night’s done. Fuck it, I’m done. I fake a yawn and stand up. “Sorry, guys, I think I’m out for the evening. Gonna head on home.”

I grab my purse, and Jaxson stands up, totally in my bubble again. I step back, putting space between us and a palm out toward him to show the invasion is unwelcome. “Excuse me, Jaxson.”

He merely smiles. “Come on. Let me give you a ride home. I wouldn’t want you to get pulled over by the cops.”

“No, thanks,” I reply with no flexibility in my voice. “I’ll be fine.”

The front desk of the hotel runs a shuttle bus from the hotel to downtown, so I catch a ride. The driver drops me off a few blocks from the salon, and I relish the chance to walk in the relative coolness. The sidewalk is quiet, letting me calm down more. I don’t think it was just the alcohol that had me snap at Jaxson. I just don’t like him.

As I get closer to the salon and home, I glance across the street and see a light on in the windows above the garage. Evan mentioned he sometimes would stay there. I wonder if he’s home.

A delicious little tingle runs through me as I think of him up there, watching me. I bet he loves the way my tits are pressed up and together in this halter, and I hope he likes fishnets, because these stockings are meant to turn his engine over for sure. I pause and consider the window for a moment, thinking maybe a little part two of our bike ride adventure is just what this night needs.

There’s a flash of shadow at the window, and before I can change my mind, I start walking over. Fifteen seconds later, I’m knocking on the door that leads to an upstairs area.

There’s no answer for a moment, and I’m about to give up and head back across the street. Maybe I was just seeing shit or maybe the Scotch was a little stronger than I thought. I start to turn away when I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs inside.

Evan opens the door, and two thoughts run through my head. One, he looks haunted . . . but two, he looks so fucking sexy I’m glad this skirt has scandalously easy access. “McKayla?” he asks.

I decide to run with thought number two and give him a smile. “Hey! I saw the light on and thought I’d see what you’re doing. Can I come up?”

I can see the ‘no’ on his face before he even speaks, but with a sigh, he agrees, stepping back. “Yeah, sure.”

He opens the door further, gesturing me inside. He closes and locks the door, then heads up the stairs, leading me into an apartment. I’m struck with curiosity about what his sometimes crash pad will look like. “So, I wasn’t expecting company. Place is kind of a mess.”

Despite my wonderings just moments before, I decide to play it chill. “Just coming to see you, not to judge your bathroom cleanliness.”

He opens the door at the top of the stairs, and I’ll admit I’m a little shocked. It’s not messy. If anything, the place is neater than most hotel rooms I’ve been in, but that’s because there’s barely anything in here at all. There’s a metal-frame bed that looks more like a cot against one wall, two milk crates with a piece of plywood laid over top of them, and against the wall opposite the cot is a small flat panel TV, a strictly discount store job that someone probably bought at a Christmas sale for fifty bucks or something.

The walls are a bare white, no decoration or even marks on them to say that someone stays here. Everything just looks disposable, and I only see one other door, which I presume leads to a bathroom.

On second thought, I see one discrepancy underneath the ‘table’ that Evan’s set up. Books. I don’t know how many, but the table is longer than his bed, at least ten feet long and low to the ground, but the space underneath is filled with books. They’re all lined up neatly, spines flush with each other and arranged in height order except for a few on the end, which I guess are too tall for the short space under the table. It’s impressive. Meanwhile, I’m a little ashamed to admit that other than style books and school books, I haven’t read this much in my entire life.

I smile at him, trying to find some sort of balance in this stark, Spartan area. “So, minimalist chic, huh? Very late nineties dot-com style.”

He looks around like he’s never seen the place, then shrugs. “Yeah, it’s not much, but it’s mine. Just the basics I need when I don’t want to go home. Probably not like your fancy, cushy place.”

It feels like there’s some venom in the words, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to shoot back that my place isn’t exactly filled with Versace either, but instead, I decide to try again. “What were you up to tonight? Movies, video games, reading?”

Evan leans against the wall, shaking his head. “Nothing much, just lying down to try to catch some sleep. I gotta be up early to finish rebuilding a Ford with a cracked engine block, so I decided to stay here.”

My hands go up to my face, and I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks. “Oh, God, I totally woke you up, didn’t I? Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I just try to catch some Zs when I can because sleep is hard to come by.”

There’s a prolonged silence, drawing out like a blade in the quiet of the night. It’s worse than pulling teeth to get him to talk, and I don’t know why there’s this awkwardness because it hasn’t been there before. But I can certainly feel a fuck off vibe coming from him. Maybe he’s regretting what happened the other day? One surefire way to know.

”So, I was thinking about the other day, thought maybe we could finish what we started?”

What can I say? I’m a forward woman.

Evan looks at me and blinks. I can see thoughts swirling through his mind but the emotions flicker across his face too fast for me to read.

He runs a calloused hand across his scruffy jaw and looks at me with shadowed eyes, his hair swept back from his face, but still, there’s nearly nothing I can read about him. “Yeah, um, sorry . . . tonight’s just not a good night.”

He doesn’t offer a raincheck, no softness of maybe some other time, so I guess that answers that. Damn it. Guess it’s time for that maneuver that everyone has to do at some time or another, even if we don’t like it—the retreat while maintaining dignity. “No worries. I’ll talk to you later, maybe.”

I move toward the door, and he doesn’t stop me, just follows me down the steps and out the door. He doesn’t even stand in the doorway to watch me go across the street, closing the door and clicking the lock almost as soon as I’m through.

I sigh and look both ways—even though the street is deserted at this hour—and walk to the Triple B. I walk to a little door beside the salon’s main entrance that leads to my apartment’s private stairs, and I’m tempted to go back and drag Evan’s ass over to show him the reality of my living space too. About the only difference is that my bed actually has a box spring and mattress, and I’ve got a poster of Dita Von Teese on the wall, all curves and corset and sexiness. She understands, I bet.

As I bend down to undo the lock at the bottom of the door, I feel eyes on me and a cold shiver runs through my body. I hold my head high and pop my ass out just a little more. If the asshole wants to look but not even talk to me, well . . . get a damn eyeful. Because I’m gonna go upstairs and I’m gonna be just fine, Mr. Evan Hotness On A Fucking Motorcycle Hardwick.

Just fine.

Asshole.

Evan

It’s been a few days since McKayla’s late-night visit when I gave her the brushoff for her own good. I try to remind myself of that as my brain loops on the disappointment in her eyes when I turned her down and watched her go.

But that was a bad night. I’d lied when I told her that I had a job to do the next morning, I was up there because of a major flashback. It started simply enough. Someone brought in their old pickup truck to the garage. The area is filled with these old beaters, cars and trucks that were built before I was born and are only still street legal because people seem to give zero fucks about car inspections around here.

So when John Englebert brought his seventy-seven Ford in, I should have been ready, but I was underneath another car when he put the truck in neutral. It backfired three times quickly.

Three backfires, so similar to a three-shot burst from an AK-47 that I nearly lost it right there. John, of course, was laughing about his old truck having gas and telling TJ that he needed to give the thing some damn prunes, but one glance at me and TJ sent me upstairs.

It was hours later that McKayla came by, and it was for her own good that I sent her away. The room is sparse because I made it that way on purpose. In that room, there’s not much I can smash or use to smash things with beyond an extra-thick copy of Children of Dune. I wanted to talk to her, but I could feel it coming on again, so I sent her away.

No, it’s for her own good and she can do better. I’ll just tarnish her shine, and lord knows, she’s fucking sparkly outside, but more importantly, on the inside. She tries to pretend that she isn’t, but I can see it. She’s the sort of woman that comes around once in a man’s life, a woman so good that you’re left in awe when she looks at you.

She’s that sort of good. And maybe once upon a time, I was that sort of guy. I’d like to think I was better than the average schlep working a nine to five. But I’m definitely not now. Now I’m just full of mud and filth and scars that go straight to my very core. I need to remember that when I catch myself staring across into the salon, trying to catch a peek of her.

I don’t even know why I torture myself with looking over at her any longer. I gave up standing at the bay door to watch her when I realized that everyone up and down that side of the street could see me staring. Earl thought it was damn funny that every time he came up the street from his store, he could see me, watching me as I watched her. He told me I looked like I wanted to kill her or fuck her, and he ‘wasn’t right sure which one.’

I had raised one eyebrow as I looked back at him, and he broke out in laughter. “Oh, boy, you’re done gone for that girl. Fuck her or marry her because that’s about all you can do when it hits you like that.”

There was always a third option. Run away. But I’m not one for that, not yet, anyway. I’d moved inside to watch instead, even though TJ bitched about the smoke in the office when I lit up. Fuck it, that’s what exhaust fans are for.

Once, I’d been in the shop leaned over an engine, and when I stood up, I caught her watching me. In that moment, a tiny piece of me wanted to puff up my chest and show off a bit for her, but I held back. Instead of entertaining the stupid fantasy, I just growled and shut the bay door.

Even I get the symbolism there, cutting her off like that. But it’s for her own good, even if she’s stubborn as an old mule about her interest in me. I gotta shut myself away. The more I repeat it to myself, the easier it’ll become. That’s what I’m going to believe.

Fucked up pep talk complete, I get off my bike and walk into the diner to grab lunch for TJ and myself, a little apology for his having to put up with my extra grouchy self lately. The bell chimes as I push through the door, beelining for the counter to order. I lean against the cold Formica and scan, a habit I can’t help as I count exits and look for customers that seem out of place, even if I have yet to ever see one here.

I see a few of the town regulars, those good old boys who think that since they served in ‘Nam or maybe Desert Storm that they’re the only ones who understand what war is like. They can kiss my ass, and if they want to bitch about my haircut . . . fuck them. I continue scanning, cataloging moms with sugar-high kids bouncing in their chairs and an old couple sharing a slice of pie, when I see her.

McKayla is sitting at a booth, right up front, with a burger and fries in front of her that’s barely been touched. I stare, taking her in. She’s like a full-on Technicolor painting in a room full of bland black and white. Her hair’s been teased up into some poufy beehive looking hairstyle today with a yellow bandana tied around it and dangling cherry earrings hugging her lobes.

All I can think is that she’s made it easy for me to kiss her neck and lick the curve of her ear. My eyes track down to her top, little puffs at the shoulders and a sexy line of cleavage. I’m so struck that it takes me a moment to realize that she looks a bit frustrated, tension clearly evident in the scrunch of her brow, and I follow her attention across the table to . . . Jaxson. The son of a bitch is sitting on the other side of the booth, proud as a motherfucker in his work suit, grinning like he’s the king of the fucking city.

Inside, I growl. Hell, maybe it’s out loud, I don’t know. But I see him talking to her, what’s probably supposed to be a nice smile on his face. But I’ve been reading people for a lot of years, and that smile he’s got going on right now is just a practiced façade, not genuine. I saw the same smile on his face that first day I came to town and he gave me the ‘welcome to town, now when the fuck are you leaving?’ talk.

So while I don’t like him, he’s mostly ignored me the way I have him the past few years. I figured most of my recent bad thoughts about the man were honestly more about his flirting with McKayla. Maybe Earl is right, though, and he’s a little worse than just a sleaze.

I keep an eye on them, wondering if I should stick my nose in and part of me not wanting to.

“Hey, Evan, what’s the order?” the waitress asks me.

Without even taking my eyes off McKayla and Jaxson, I half turn my head. “Double burger with onion rings, TJ style. Turkey club sandwich, double cheese and double turkey,” I toss over my shoulder without even looking at her.

She’s used to my rudeness and it probably doesn’t even hit on her radar that I’m a bit more rude than usual. “You want something with that club?”

I peek back and lower my voice, trying to be nice. “Hey, how long have they been here?” I nod over to McKayla and Jaxson.

I see her eyes dart over, and she shrugs. “McKayla? She came in about fifteen minutes ago. Then the suit came in and sat down. Didn’t seem like she was expecting him.”

I harrumph, looking back over my shoulder. “Someone should teach that fucker some manners.”

I look back and realize that the waitress is still there, a scared look on her face. “Is that all, Evan?”

I take a deep breath. I didn’t mean to scare the shit outta the poor girl. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. To go. Please.”

I add the last bit a beat late, but it’s more manners than I usually have, so score one for me. I slide a step over and try to tune in to McKayla and Jaxson, trying to hear what they’re saying without looking like I’m obviously eavesdropping.

Jaxson’s got that wheedling yet somehow bullying tone in his voice I’ve heard before, the one that says hey, come on, buddy, do what I want . . . or else. “Let me show you the town. You’ll have a great time, I promise. I know all the best-kept secret spots around here . . .”

He trails off, and I’m pleased to hear McKayla shoot back with more than a hint of steel in her voice, “Thanks again, Jaxson. But I’m just settling in, and I told you before, I’m not looking to date.” She’s abrupt, blunt but not rude, just to the point, and it sounds like she’s getting tired of telling him the same thing over and over.

Maybe that’s his shtick, wear her down until she says yes. I’ve heard he’s the same way on the city council. He’ll grind down his opponents until they give him what he wants just to shut him the fuck up.

I have a moment of good-heartedness, thinking maybe I can help her with this at least. I strut over to the table, her eyes going wide and her mouth opening in surprise as she sees my imposing form appear over Jaxson’s shoulder. Jaxson sees her reaction and half turns just as I step past and sit down beside her, one arm going around her shoulders and reaching for a fry with my other hand.

I place a quick kiss on her cheek, taking a moment to savor her scent. She even smells sexy. “Hey, Princess. Didn’t know you were lunching here today. Could’ve saved one of us a trip and ordered together. We could have split the load back.”

Her mouth is still open in shock, and I wink as I place the fry in her mouth and she starts chewing automatically. Watching her lips wrapping around the fry for a split second before it disappears, I regret, for what’s probably the ten thousandth time since she offered, not accepting the blowjob she wanted to give me.

I pull my eyes away to look across at Jaxson, a cold smile on my face. I see you, motherfucker. He’s glaring at me in fury, that same tight smile on his face while his eyes are screaming bloody murder. I swear he’s acting like someone just took away his favorite toy.

I offer a hand across the table, giving his hand a tight squeeze as we shake. You can tell a lot about a man by his handshake, and Jaxson attempts to use a paralyzing grip. Too bad he’s run into someone who isn’t going to wilt. When he tries to crush me, I crush right back, my forearm powered by a lot of hard, real work.

Taking control of the situation, I drop my voice. “Jaxson, a pleasure to see you here. What brings you to the diner?”

He doesn’t even flinch, which surprises me. I have always taken Jaxson to be a bully, but maybe he has just a little bit of steel in his spine. “Just grabbing lunch, but saw McKayla sitting here all alone and thought I’d be gracious enough to show her around town.”

I eyeball him. Last time, I backed down a little because I didn’t want to start shit for my brother. But McKayla isn’t TJ, and she can’t protect herself the way he can. “Sounds nice. Gotta tell you, though, I showed her a fair amount of town the other day, didn’t I, McKayla?”

McKayla’s head is ping-ponging between the two of us, the tension palpable. I’m not normally the type to go all hound dog, pissing on what isn’t my territory, but while I might not be good for McKayla, Jaxson damn sure isn’t either.

His voice is tight with strain when he finally replies, looking not at me but at McKayla with a slight sneer in his voice. “Really? McKayla was just telling me that she isn’t looking to date quite yet.”

That wakes her up like a fire alarm shock, and she puts both of her hands flat on the table, not quite smacking but damn near. “You’re right, I did say that. And I’m not dating. Anyone.”

She’s looking at Jaxson, but her words are for me and I know it. Dammit. Sure, I shouldn’t, but I do want her. And I didn’t want to hurt her. I fucked it up pretty badly with her, but since we’re not going any further than this savior moment, it won’t matter in the long run, I guess.

Jaxson slides out of the booth, leaning forward along the edge, almost draping himself across the table to get closer to McKayla. As he does, his voice is smooth and silky like it always is. “I’ll see you around, McKayla.”

He smirks as his eyes trail from her eyes down to her cleavage. My hand curls into a fist against the cold tabletop, and McKayla lays a gentle hand on my thigh. It’s intimate, and as she intended, it stops me instantly, giving me something much better to focus on.

Jaxson sees the gesture too and his jaw clenches. Wordlessly, he stands tall, but his eyes speak plenty. I’ll be seeing him around town, and I’d better watch my ass. I go twenty-six in a twenty-five and the police are going to be pulling me over.

Nobody in the diner seems to move for a second, then McKayla and I watch as Jaxson buttons his suit coat before walking out the door and into the parking lot. I see him pause by my bike, and for split second, I think he’s gonna fuck with it. I follow his sight line and realize he’s staring at my left handlebar, with McKayla’s red panties still wrapped around it.

Technically, they could be anyone’s, but I can tell by the rage on his face that he knows exactly who they belong to. The instant he pulls out of the lot, Mckayla scoots away from me, putting a foot of space between us. “What the fuck was that? Next time, we’ll just pull out a damn tape measure so y’all can compare dicks.”

I shrug, getting out of the booth. “I was just trying to help. Seemed like he wouldn’t leave you alone.”

McKayla rolls her eyes and I can see it. She knows he’s a fuckhead, but she doesn’t realize just how big of a fuckhead he is. “He’s definitely overly persistent, but I’m not some shrinking wallflower that needs a big, strong stud to save her. I was just trying to be nice about it since I still have to live here after I crush his hope that I’ll eventually say yes.”

I huff, replying just a bit too forcefully. “You are definitely no wallflower. You’re a whole damn bouquet of fucking wildflowers.”

I say it without even thinking about how it sounds as it tumbles out of my mouth, but her gasp is instantaneous. Her lip quivers, and her eyes shine as she reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “That is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, but you make it sound like an insult.”

The corners of my lips turn up. I had meant it as a compliment. “You’re too good for that asshat and way too good for a fucker like me.”

Before she can respond, the waitress calls my name for my order. McKayla looks like she’s going to say something else, but I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret, like ask her to go for another ride. And not on my bike this time. It’s for her own good, I remind myself again like a record on repeat. I drop a kiss to McKayla’s forehead, memorizing the floral spiciness of her shampoo. Jesus, she smells good. “Bye, Princess.”

McKayla

That’s it! I can’t handle this shit anymore!

I swear I’m going on a man freeze. For the next few decades, the only boyfriend I’m going to have is made by Hitachi and has five speeds.

Since the showdown at the diner, the guy I don’t like keeps doggedly pursing me, sending me a Good Morning, Beautiful text almost every day, and the one I do like has some issues and hasn’t spoken to me since rolling out of the parking lot like Sir Fucking Lancelot on a chromed-out steed.

It’s enough to make a girl crazy. Which is exactly how I’m feeling after another long day at work, where I got to glance out the window at one point to blissfully observe Evan push an SUV into the garage from the street. Watching those broad back and shoulder muscles glisten in the sun while his ass flexed in his tight jeans as he pushed and grunted his way up the slight incline to the garage left my pulse racing.

Thank God my vibrator is as reliable as the sunrise and sunset because that’s about as often as I’ve been using it these days. Invariably during these long, body shaking sessions, my mind wanders to that bike ride with Evan and how he slipped his fingers inside me, nipping at my breasts. It’s probably not the wildest thing I’ve ever done, but with him, it was damn sure the hottest.

Lying on my sofa after stripping out of my blouse and skirt, I replay the two scenes in my mind as my fingers caress my body, sliding across my collarbones to dip down and around my breasts. My nipples harden, ready for more, and I arch into my own touch as my palms graze the sensitive tips. I’ve already stripped off my panties. They’ve been damn-near soaked since seeing Evan today . . . and now the tingle is turning into a flame.

I run a hand down my belly, through the trimmed tuft at the juncture of my legs to cup my needy, puffy pussy lips. Reaching over, I grab the vibrator from its place on my coffee table and spread my bent legs wide. After that show today, I could shatter myself if I don’t take it slow, and I’ve spent enough nights over the past week vibrating myself into a temporary coma.

I turn the vibe on low and immediately gasp, my back bowing at the sensation. Fuck, it’s gonna be fast this time, and I can’t help it. I find a rhythm, pressing the pulsing vibrator inside, then retreating to do a loop higher across my clit and back down to start again. It’s driving me quickly insane as the fantasy of Evan finger fucking me plays out in my mind. Instead of the side of the road, though, it’d be in the garage, a dark, sexy streak of dirt gleaming oily as he shows the whole fucking world how hot he makes me. I’m helpless, clutching at his shoulders while he growls in my ear, ‘You’re a whole damn bouquet of fucking wildflowers’ as I buck, my hips lifting off the couch to crash down again and again. I flip the vibe all the way up for a second as in my mind, I beg him to fuck me. With a naughty grin, in my vision, Evan smiles. “When I want you . . . I’m going to make you mine.”

Unable to resist the truth, I come, my orgasm throbbing in pulses as I thrash on my sofa, glad that I don’t share a wall with anyone.

* * *

Brad and I step out of my car as the valet holds the door open. I hand him my keys with a distracted ‘thank you’ because my focus is entirely taken up by the scene in front of me. The huge double doors to the new Mountain Spirit Resort Hotel lobby open wide, letting people move through. Most of them are smiling and relaxed and looking every bit the wealthy tourists this place is becoming known for. In winter, it’ll be slightly different as more snow bunnies show up. But for now, they’re here to enjoy the views and the weather.

I squeal a little bit, reaching out to grab Brad’s hand as we walk inside. Stepping up to the front desk, I give my name to the receptionist, explaining that we have a meeting with Brianna Adams. While she’s not the most famous person in the area, it’s one of those names that still commands respect and gets people to give you just that extra bit of ass kissing.

As we wait, Brad and I sink into the luxurious chairs sprinkled throughout the lobby in little groups. “This place is quite the sight, isn’t it?” Brad asks, relaxing into the leather seat. “Kinda reminds me of being back home, one of those posh type places that we didn’t get invited to all that often.”

I laugh, nodding. Being a hairdresser to the stars meant that I got to see a lot of the backstage and got to nab some pretty damn fine catering from time to time, but when it came to the VIP after parties . . . yeah, no getting past the velvet rope for me. “It is. Getting this contract with the resort’s event planning services will be a huge deal for us.” I hold my pinkie finger up toward Brad, leaning forward. “All right, we’re promising here . . . we are going to do whatever it takes to get this contract.”

He smiles, linking his pinky with mine. “Obviously. But relax, I know this woman. Well, kind of. So no pinkie promise needed. Save that for the secret shit. This is a for-sure, make us or break us gig, and we’re to do whatever they need. Within reason.”

He smirks, and we giggle a bit, both of us knowing that he’s the one with reason and I’m the one who will just go full-throttle if it’s something I want to do, regardless of the deal. That’s why we work so well together. I make him take risks and he makes me plan things out. He’s the Yin to my Yang, not to mention that we can dish about guys 24/7/365. Actually, although I’d never admit it, he’s pulled more hot guys than I ever have.

I see a gorgeous woman crossing the lobby, headed directly for us. Maybe ten years older than me, she’s got long, luxurious brown hair that makes the stylist in me want to weep. It’s so fucking perfect for just about anything, and she has a body that’s perhaps curvier than mine. I’ve never seen her before, but something tells me she’s our woman. “Heads up, incoming.”

Brianna Adams gives us a big smile as she comes up, exchanging hugs with Brad as if they were long lost friends. “Brad, it’s been too damn long.”

“I know, I’m missed by all who have even touched my divine presence,” Brad jokes. “How’s Mindy? I haven’t had a chance to even go down to her place since getting to town.”

“For which she owes you a butt kicking,” Brianna jokes. “But I get it. And you must be McKayla.”

“It’s a pleasure. Brad’s told me . . . stuff.”

Brianna chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m just the quiet one of the group. Right now, my husband and I are co-owners of this resort, and I’m taking on the task of being the events manager as well. Let’s say it’s our chance to try and make a family business.” She offers her hand as she speaks, and we each shake with her.

“I see when you say family business, you swing for the fences,” I quip, looking around. “Most people would start . . . smaller.”

“Gavin and I never do things small,” Brianna says with a little smile that makes Brad chuckle. I’m confused, but I’ll get the story later, I’m sure. “I’ve heard about your new salon in town. I’m glad you called. Let’s head back to my office.”

We reach the office and settle onto the couches in the gorgeous space. It’s almost like a hotel room in itself, and I can understand why in all the TV shows they just have the characters live at the hotel. I wish I could live in a space like this.

“Okay,” Brianna says, offering us two coffees that are divine. “Let’s get to the good stuff! Can I see your portfolios?” Brad reaches into his bag and pulls out our ‘dick stroker’ book, as he calls it. Brianna flips through, oohing and ahhing over details about my hair work and Brad’s makeup work.

After several minutes of scanning, she looks up, grinning. “Very nice. So, I’ve got two things. One, I’d love to contract with the Triple B Salon to be our go-to service providers for our events. We have our own spa and space that you can use if you’d like, but our spa employees are already stretched thin, and when we have large wedding parties come in, it can be a bit overloaded. It doesn’t make business sense to staff continuously for the events when they’re a few days here and there on the calendar. And let’s be honest, if a bride is getting married here and there are Hollywood stylists in town, she’s gonna book you two. So this will just make it a smoother offering that is automatically available. We do quite a few events, typically one every week, but not all of those are hair- and makeup-type things. Some are conferences and such. But the weddings? Just go ahead and block your entire May, June, and July for them because we’re going to be slammed. You can determine your own fee schedule rates, and the hotel will add a ten percent fee to the top for our take. What do you think?”

Brad and I look at each other, trying not to squeal like the little bitches we currently are. This will be it for us. Our ticket to making sure we make it. Yes, we’ll need regular clients in town to stay busy, but having this contract and volume of work will keep us floating throughout the year, happy as larks. Well, if larks got paid!

Brad finally stops grinning enough to make words. “I think that sounds perfect. The only thing I’d say we should consider is that having us take over your spa space that frequently might be an issue for your appointments there.”

Brianna nods, tapping her well-manicured finger on the desktop. “You’re right. Okay, we’ll see how that works. McKayla, you haven’t said anything yet. Any input?”

I’m still smiling like a loon and just shake my head. “Oh, I’m totally in. I was just wondering how many extra hands Brad and I are going to have to hire if things keep going like this. So I’m in like sin! Sounds like a great deal for both of us, and I’m excited to work with you. My only question is, you said you had two things and that was one. What’s the other?”

Brianna laughs lightly, teasing her long locks. “Oh yes, the other thing is, I’m gonna need you to do my hair! I’ve never had a real Hollywood stylist doll me up. My anniversary is coming up, so I want to really go all out, so you two can do my hair and makeup. Gavin won’t know what hit him!”

As if her talking about him triggered his appearance, there’s a knock on the door. “Bri, you in here?”

A mountain of a man in a custom-made suit comes strutting into the room. I know it’s custom-made because I’ve never seen a suit with that extreme a taper from the shoulders to the waist before. Well, I take that back. One time, I saw one of the Venice Beach bodybuilder guys in a suit in Beverly Hills . . . but this man’s a lot more handsome. He walks straight up to Brianna, picking her up in a bear hug as he plants a big kiss on her lips.

The kiss goes on for a beat longer than is comfortable for us to witness, and I turn to grin at Brad. Brianna and the man, who I’m hoping is her husband after that hot kiss, separate and turn toward us.

“Sorry. I’d say we got carried away, but we’re always like this. McKayla, this is my husband. Honey, this is McKayla, the stylist who opened up a salon in town. And you know Brad, right?”

“Sure do,” Gavin says. “How can I forget the worst dancer at your best friend’s wedding?”

Brad blushes, then glowers at Gavin as they shake hands. “You know, Anaconda, if it wasn’t for the fact that I know you’re lying . . . I’d be tempted to show off a little.”

Gavin laughs before offering a handshake. I think he might squeeze my hand hard enough to accidentally break bones, but he’s surprisingly gentle for his size. “Gavin Adams. It’s a pleasure. I really don’t mean to run out on you guys, but I have to go pick up our son from practice. Takes after his dad, and I gotta admit I’m enjoying it. Honey, you want us to nab anything on the way home?” he says, turning to Brianna.

“No, it’s okay,” Brianna says, giving her husband another hug and a kiss on the cheek. “See you at home.”

Gavin leaves, and a few minutes later, Brad and I leave Brianna after jotting down a few more details. As we walk out, I elbow Brad in the ribs. “Okay, spill it. What’s with the name Anaconda? What, does he hug like one?”

“Hug? No . . . you’re missing a letter in there,” Brad says with a chuckle. We get to my car and get in. “That was Gavin ‘Anaconda’ Adams. He used to be a football star. I haven’t seen a lick of that man playing, but everyone’s seen his accidental wardrobe malfunction. I’ll just put it this way. If there were ever a snake that I wanted to pet, it’s his.”

Evan

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” I grunt as I try to get the spark plug to seat properly in the engine of ‘Fast’ Eddie Ambrose’s customized Mustang. I gotta admit, he’s done a great job of turning the kit job classic ‘Stang and making it bust out of its pony car seams . . . but that means that underneath the hood, there’s not a spare goddamn inch, and sometimes, the arrangement is difficult. Which is why I only work on Eddie’s car at night or in the early morning, when nobody’s around to piss me off.

I finally get my plug socket seated on the head properly when I hear a scream from across the street. It pierces the darkness of near-midnight and makes me drop my wrench, forgotten instantaneously. My heart pounds in my chest as I forget everything, running across the street.

I see McKayla in front of the Triple B, dressed in just a denim skirt and a t-shirt and looking like she’s ready for a late-night run to the supermarket.

I jump the curb, approaching McKayla, who’s wiping her hands on her skirt like she’s got something burning on her palms. “What is it?” I ask, grabbing her hands. “What the fuck is going on?”

McKayla is staring at her hands, her eyes wide and her skin pale, only two big spots of intense color in her cheeks. “Oh, my God, oh, my God!” she yells, looking like she’s about ready to puke. “Eww!”

“McKayla, calm down!” I say firmly as I hold her cheeks in my hands, trying to get her to snap out of whatever the fuck she’s going through. Her eyes focus on me, and I lower my voice, almost dropping to a whisper. “Tell me what’s going on so I can understand you.”

McKayla takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment before speaking again in a shaky voice. “I was coming out to get in the car. I was feenin’ for a burger and . . .” Mckayla pauses mid-sentence, her control wavering as she points at the car, her chest hitching. “I found that. Look at that shit!”

I let go of her hands to peer at the black handle of her car, noticing the thick, slightly pale liquid glopped on it. My stomach curls. I know jiz when I see it.

Anger burns through me. What sort of sick fuck does something like this? My hands tremble in rage as I turn and take her hands again. She’s pissed, but also scared, and I totally agree with both. “When did you last see your car?”

“I . . .” she says, still staring at her car, but I lead her away, toward the door of the salon. Away from the disgusting display, she calms a little. “I made a bank run at the end of the night at the salon. That was about eight or so. It’s a short drive. I mean, the bank’s just up the street. Today was a lot of cash, so I didn’t want to walk it up there.”

“Did you see anyone around the car before or when you got back?” I ask. McKayla shakes her head, and I nod. McKayla’s smart. She wouldn’t have let anyone near her car like that. “What about the cops?”

“No,” McKayla says with a strong finality. “I don’t want the local cops getting involved. They’d call it some kid’s prank or something. I’ve already seen the way a couple of them look at me and Brad, like we’re new in town and they don’t really care for us.”

I’d like to disagree with her, but she might be right. I’ve noticed that some people around here seem a little jealous they’ve come into town and hit it off right away. “Okay, we’ll handle it ourselves,” I say. “Gimme your keys.”

“What?” McKayla asks, instantly concerned. “Why?”

“I’m going to get this cleaned up. We’ve got a steam clean unit over at the shop,” I explain.

McKayla nods absently, a tiny smile tipping her mouth up. “Can you drive a car? I’ve only ever seen you on a bike.”

“Cars are easy,” I reply with a easy smirk. “Tanks . . . now those fuckers were hard.”

McKayla gives me a raised eyebrow, seeing whether I’m joking, but hands me her keys. I go around to her car, peeling off my sweaty t-shirt to grab the handle and opening it before sliding behind the wheel and opening the passenger side. “Hop in!”

McKayla gets in and shuts her door, and I quickly drive us into the bay, pulling into the slot closest to the pressure washer. I get out and go around to open her door and help her out. “It’ll take a few minutes for the steam to build up in the washer,” I tell her, flipping the switch. “You want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. God it sounds ridiculous, but I still want that fucking burger,” McKayla says with a dark chuckle. “Think you might be willing to split an order of fries?”

“As tempting as it sounds, I don’t think I’d make a very good date,” I reply. McKayla crosses her arms across her chest and leans against the workbench near her, looking so hot I’m not so sure the steam cleaner needs that much more time to get to pressure.

“What is it with you?” McKayla asks me. “You’ve got this rep around town for being this gigantic asshole. But you’re not. You even try to pretend to be one, but I know assholes. Remember where I’m from. Some people say Hollywood is the asshole of America.”

“They might be right, but I’ve put in my time in the asshole of the world,” I reply, shaking my head. “McKayla, it’s not that I didn’t try to go back to normal after the Army. I just can’t. And I won’t inflict my damage on someone else.”

“What happened?” McKayla asks. “Not over there. I don’t think I’ve earned that right yet, even if I am curious. But what happened when you came back?”

I blink. I think it’s the first time someone’s asked me that question. Lots of people want to know what it’s like ‘in the sandbox’, as some people call it. Like Iraq and Afghanistan are somehow the same place.

But nobody’s ever asked me what it was like coming back. “I couldn’t even sleep the first week I got back, took sleeping pills just to get some rest,” I admit quietly. “But I tried acting normal. I mean, I went out on a few dates. Plenty of girls liked how I looked with a crew cut, and that’s what you do when you get home. But . . .”

“But what?”

I shrug, not wanting to explain just how hard it was dealing with a thousand and one stupid questions or the girls who wanted to show me off like some sort of trophy. Worst of all were the ones who thought they could use me to get their exes jealous and the ones who tried to start shit because of it.

“They couldn’t handle the dark side,” I finally reply. “Definitely not the bad nights. Slowly, I came to figure out that nobody really should be asked to put up with it.”

“So you hide your good side behind a giant layer of fuck off,” McKayla replies. “You know, Evan, not everyone’s looking to just get the benefits. Although you’ve got a lot of them.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I say, going over to the now pressurized washer and grabbing the thick rubber gloves we use to keep down the burns along with the wand for spraying. “I know what you’re asking for, McKayla. I’m flattered, I really am. You’re the most beautiful woman who’s ever shown interest in me. But that’s the exact reason I know you deserve better than me.”

Before she can answer, I hit the trigger on the power washer, spraying the driver side of McKayla’s car with two hundred PSI of hot water and sanitizing chemicals that could clean surgical instruments if we wanted. It doesn’t take long. I have the wand set in wide fan mode so I don’t break her window, but it still raises enough mist that I can’t see shit except for the side of her car when I let go of the trigger and the noise stops.

“There you go,” I reply, inhaling the steam and loving the feeling. “Let me just grab a towel—”

“Fuck the towel,” McKayla says behind me. I turn, surprised she was able to sneak up on me, and I’m even more surprised when I realize she’s pulled off her t-shirt and bra and is wearing just her denim skirt.

“McKayla—”

“Shut the fuck up,” McKayla says, pressing her body against me and grabbing my hair. “We both need this. I’m a big girl. I’m not afraid of the dark.”

She pulls my head down, and at the first touch of our lips, all my resistance melts away. If this woman wants to feel me, all of me, then she’s going to get it. She’s been warned.

I spin her, pressing McKayla’s body up against the warm side of her car as I reach down, running my hand underneath the hem of her skirt to grab her ass and squeeze it tightly. Oh, my God, she’s wearing a thong. Of course she is, my naughty little girl.

I groan into her mouth as I work her skirt up, and McKayla runs her fingernails down my back hard, delicious pain mixing with the heat as she reaches around and cups my cock. There’s no holding back this time, and I pick her up, carrying her to the hood of her car and setting her curvy ass right on the fender. “lie back.”

She does as I command, her eyes going wide as I reach down and undo the button on my jeans, pushing them down. I’m not wearing any underwear. I go commando pretty much everywhere except when I exercise. My cock immediately pops out. McKayla’s eyes go wide, and she unconsciously licks her lips as I spread her legs, pushing her skirt up more.

The sight of her, legs spread nearly into a split and her denim skirt hiked to her waist as her breasts curve naturally and beautifully up and to the side, leaves me breathless. I blink and push her knees up higher, bending down. “What are you doing?”

“What I’ve wanted to do since I first licked your come off my fingers,” I growl as I bend down and kiss her panty-covered pussy. McKayla jumps like I just sent an electric shock through her body, encouraging me to nibble and suck on her pussy through her panties.

I want to rip her panties off like I did her other pair, but I restrain myself. She does need to have something to wear to work.

Instead, I tug her panties to the side and lick her wet folds with my tongue, slipping between them as I let my hunger drive my mouth to consume her pussy. I scoop her juices out with my tongue over and over before pulling out to tease her clit with just the tip of my tongue.

“Fuck . . . oh my fucking . . .” McKayla groans as she reaches down and grabs my head, twisting up a fistful of my hair and grinding her pussy against my face. I lick and suck harder, bringing my hand up to slide two fingers deep inside her and rubbing her deep spot as she cries out. Her cries and shrieks of pleasure guide me as I draw her body all the way up to the point where she’s trembling on the edge of coming before keeping her there, suspended on a tightrope above the canyon, waiting for a single word. “Evan . . .”

“Say please,” I growl against her clit. I lick around her clit, her soaked hairs catching in my stubble and pulling, and I know I’m torturing her, but I need to hear it. “Be good.”

“Please,” McKayla says, her voice rising higher and higher as before she can even get the word out, I suck hard on her clit, sending her crashing over the edge into an orgasm that shakes her from the top of her head all the way to her toes. I feel her heels drum against my back as I clamp my mouth around her pussy and she fills my mouth with her juices, a nectar that’s sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted before.

I stand up, my cock raging harder than ever at the feast I just enjoyed, and pull McKayla’s nearly limp body toward me, rubbing the head of my cock through her folds. “You ready?” I ask before letting go. “Just a second.”

“What?” McKayla asks fearfully, relaxing when I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. It’s been there at least a year, but old habits die hard, and my condom’s still there. “Hmm . . . not so bad a boy after all.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, but I’m amused as I roll the condom down my cock. Really, it’s just as much for my pleasure as it is for protection. I haven’t been inside a woman in a long time and I’m afraid I’m going to bust a nut in thirty seconds if I don’t have something to dim the fire just a tad. “You’re going to get fucked harder than you’ve ever been fucked before.”

“Good,” McKayla says, wrapping her legs around my waist. I line the head of my cock up and push forward. Her pussy seems to flow around my cock in a perfect velvety, clingy, tight embrace that takes my breath away before I stop.

I look down, seeing the pain in her eyes, but she’s not complaining about the feeling of my cock filling her. Still, I pause, grinding against her and letting her adjust while I lean down to kiss her stiff nipple, sucking on it and feasting on her body again until I feel her relax, running her hands through my hair again. Pulling back, I thrust again, filling her all the way until I feel my balls press against the warm curve of her ass.

“You’re fucking tight,” I growl around her nipple as I look up into her beautiful face, all big eyes and pink hair and sexy tremble to her lips. “You ready?”

She nods, her voice yanked from her throat as I pull back and thrust again. Even if I’m wearing a condom, I’m not able to hold back, and I fuck her hard, slamming my cock deep into her with every stroke. Each one is fabulous, and fucking McKayla is like nothing I’ve ever experienced with a woman before. It feels like her body was made just for me as my hips smack against hers and I kiss up to her mouth again, pounding her against the hood of her car until she’s gasping for breath. “Oh, fuck, Evan, you make me . . .”

I cry out, biting her lip as I come and push her over again, her fingernails digging harder than ever into my back. I can feel a delicious pain as she breaks my skin, and part of me is happy about it, loving the pain as I fill the condom with jets of my thick seed.

McKayla clutches me to her as she rides her own orgasmic rollercoaster, and when it’s all over, she strokes my face once, smirking. “Damn . . . that was better than I’ve dreamed about all week.”

“McKayla, this doesn’t mean—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she says, still smiling. “You’re an asshole, this can’t be a relationship, yada, yada, yada. I get it. But still . . . that was one amazing fuck. And from what I see in your eyes, you’re thinking the same thing right now.”

She’s right, and I shrug. “Well . . . your car’s clean.”

“‘Ish,” McKayla says. “How much do I owe you?”

I just smile, withdrawing and cleaning myself up. “If that sort of shit ever happens again, gimme a call.”

“Don’t know your number, and I’ve got a terrible post-sex memory. You need to come across the street and write it down for me.”

I know what she’s doing, but fuck it. I get myself buttoned back up and even grab a semi-clean t-shirt from the office while McKayla gets her things back on, and I climb into the passenger seat as she drives back across the street. In the glove box, I find a pen and a piece of paper, where I write down my number. “Here you go. Don’t lose it.”

McKayla gives me a show of folding up the number and tucking it inside the cup of her bra, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’ll program it into my phone as soon as I get upstairs. Walk me to the door?”

I get out and walk McKayla the short distance to the front door of the salon. Unlocking the door, she sighs. “Thanks, Evan. Really. Not for the fuck, though that was great. But for everything before that too.”

“You’re welcome.” I lean in for some unknown reason and give McKayla a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about the sick fucking prank. You’ll be fine.”

McKayla gives me a smile and gives me a kiss back on my cheek before opening the door and going inside, locking it behind her. From the digital clock on the counter, I see it’s nearly one in the morning, but I don’t feel sleepy at all as I watch her disappear into the back of the shop, a light turning on for a moment in a stairwell before she closes the door.

I turn to head back to the garage, and just as I step into the street, there’s a roar of a powerful engine. Bright lights flare, blinding me as I quickly jump back. A big sedan narrowly misses me as it goes roaring down the street toward downtown.

“What the fuck?” I start to yell before stopping myself. I still can’t see much. My vision’s still a little dazzled by the lights, and the car’s too far away now, but there’s a disquieting feeling in my stomach that whatever this ‘prank’ against McKayla was, it’s a lot more than some kid doing something stupid.

I wait for my eyes to clear before crossing the street again, going back inside the shop and rolling the doors down. I look through the narrow plastic window in the door at the Triple B and make a decision.

Until I’m sure McKayla’s safe . . . I think I might sleep here every night. Just to be sure.

McKayla

“Earth to McKayla . . . come in, bitch. Can you hear me?” Brad asks, all giggles as he catches me drifting off once again.

I’m trying to focus. Data entry isn’t my strong suit to start with, but these bills have to get paid. I love feeling the twenties and occasional hundreds between my fingers, but that doesn’t mean I like dealing with the paperwork. It’s why we spent the money for a totally integrated point of sales system, but it doesn’t do everything. So I try and focus, but even as my nails, blood red today, clickity-clack on the keyboard, my mind wanders.

For the last few days, I’ve popped between virtually euphoric at the amazing sex with Evan, dreaming about how he put me up on the hood of my car and pounded into me like an animal unleashed, and feeling creepy-crawlies down my spine at what was done to my car.

Evan tried to make me feel better, cleaning it up and then opening up to me more than I thought he ever would, and he’s tried to assure me that it was probably just a stupid prank. But I haven’t overlooked the fact that he’s more or less moved full-time into the apartment above the garage since the gross incident, almost like he’s protecting me. While that helps me feel safer, it also means that every night, I have to fight the urge to call him or go over there to see if maybe he can give me a little bit more assurance, if you know what I mean.

Brad sighs with a laugh and brings me fully back to the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Just daydreaming for a minute.”

Brad sets his makeup brush back in his case, shaking his head. “Girl, those aren’t called ‘daydreams’, they’re called fantasies. And yours were written all over your flushed face. Although with the way you were walking the other day, I’d say you were more likely replaying memories.”

I reach a hand up to my cheeks and blush even further. I didn’t tell Brad about anything that happened, and I can’t get a read on him whether I actually was walking a little weird or if he’s just fishing. We’ve joked about it before—we call it the ‘Drought Breaker,’ although I’d say my wide-hipped mosey isn’t as funny as Brad’s waddle. “I wasn’t—”

“Aha, caught you!” Brad crows with a triumphant little clap. “I was kidding, but your reaction says I’m damn close to the bullseye. Just what devious things are you imagining doing with your greased up biker across the street?”

We both swivel our heads to look out the windows and into the bay doors of the garage across the way. It’s past sunset, but the lights are on inside, giving us a great view.

Evan and TJ are walking around a car, appraising it as they point and talk. Evan leans over to get under the hood and my eyes lock on his ass, covered in tight denim with a big grease swipe where I’ve seen him wipe his hands countless times in the last few weeks. It’s just about the same place where I want to dig my nails into the dimples of his ass as he pounds into me.

Brad, I can tell, probably knows what I’m thinking. “Mmm, damn, boy. Yeah, I can see why you’re cooking up some afternoon delight dreams about that yummy goodness. Jesus, I didn’t think you could get something that nicely fitting without being stretch jeans.”

I sigh dreamily, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the counter. “It’s even better without the jeans. Best ass I’ve ever had my hands on.”

I hear Brad’s gasp and realize I said that out loud, not in my head as I’d intended. Shit.

Brad’s eyes bore into me, his voice demanding as he plants his elbows right across the counter from me, lowering himself to stare into my face. “Spill it, bitch. Don’t even try to back out of it now.”

Before I can say anything, there’s a honk from across the street. We both look up and see Evan rubbing the back of his head, glaring at his brother. TJ looks across the street, trying not to laugh as he points and says something that makes Evan flip him the bird before stomping into the garage. TJ raises two fingers in a wave, and I return the greeting with a smile, thankful for the delay before I tell Brad what happened.

Brad offers a little finger waggle to TJ too, watching him disappear before hitting me with his full attention. “Well?”

“Well what?” I try in a last-ditch effort to not have to spill it.

Brad’s not having it. “Bitch, don’t make me turn you from Marilyn Monroe to Marilyn Manson.”

“I think I’m more Shirley Manson, don’t you?”

Brad growls, and I laugh, throwing up my hands. “Okay, okay. Chill. So, the other day after we got back, I was really feenin’ for a burger around midnight. So, I pulled on some clothes and came down to make a drive-through run. When I came downstairs, I unlocked the car and grabbed the handle to open the door and there was something all over the handle, door, and window, but I didn’t notice at first. It was . . . oh, God, this makes me wanna hurl even thinking about it, but it was semen. I screamed, and then I got mad and started stomping around. Evan came over to check on me because he heard the commotion.”

Brad interrupts me, his eyes wide in shock. “I thought this was a story about your seeing his ass. Now I’m fucking freaked out. Are you saying Evan jacked off on your car?”

I look at him, wondering if he’s had hearing loss recently, then realize I have been sort of babbling and going fast. I probably sound like a lunatic. “No, of course not. I’m getting there, but you need the whole story. So I was just totally freaked and grossed out. I mean seriously, it’s creepy as fuck to find your car door turned into a frosted fucking donut. Evan calmed me down but offered to call the cops. I said no, figuring they’d just blow it off like some damn teenage prank. Then he offered to use the power washer in the garage to clean it off. We got to talking . . .”

I realize that I don’t want to tell Brad the things Evan shared with me. They feel private, like he gave me a little more than he does most folks, and I hold that dear. Brad seems to understand, though. “And? About the hands on his ass part.”

Giving my friend a grateful smile, I wrap up my abbreviated tale. “Well, one thing led to another, and we had sex on the hood of my car. Kinda reclaiming it from the bad memory with a good one . . . a really good one.”

Brad looks me up and down, then he stands up, rubbing at his cheek. He’s still a little playful, but there’s a side of him that’s serious right now, too, and both are present in his eyes. “We’ll get back to the other stuff, but first of all, how good are we talkin’ here?”

I chuckle, squeezing my thighs together as a memory tingle starts up between my legs. “Legitimately, the best I’ve ever had. Even Mr. Hitachi upstairs can’t keep up.”

Brad snaps his fingers, whistling in admiration. “Well, all right then. What’s next?”

I shake my head. “There is no next. He’s been clear he’s not looking for anything serious, and I’m not exactly a ‘wait for him’ kind of girl. I guess we’re just going on as usual, and if something happens, it happens.”

Brad looks shocked for a moment, his mouth hanging open, then he bursts out into laughter, bending to put his hands on his knees as the tremors of laughter shake his whole body.

Through his fits, I can barely make him out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wait for him . . . if something happens, it happens.”

I slap his shoulder, not amused. “Quit laughing. This is serious.”

Brad tries to reel it in, taking some big breaths, but his shoulders are still bouncing with suppressed laughter. “Okay, so serious. Got it. Let’s get one thing straight. You are not some Sit-Around Suzy who’s gonna wait for him to ask you out on a dinner and movie date. You’re a shot caller. You get shit done on your terms. Yeah, so you’ve picked a fucking vertical uphill battle this time, but that’s on your heart . . . and your nether regions. The pussy wants what the pussy wants, I guess.”

I grin. Brad’s right. After all, I went after what I wanted last time too. Now that Evan’s had a taste . . . I bet he’s already thinking about wanting another round, even if his damaged side says he can’t. “This is why you’re my best friend, Brad. And if you ever repeat that, I’ll tell everyone your man-scaping secrets.”

“Meow, retract those claws. I’ve got you, babe.” He stops laughing, his face going serious again. “But listen, I know you’re a big girl and can handle your own shit, but if anything like the deal with the car happens again, tell me so I can have your back. And if there’s no future with Evan, just watch yourself and don’t let it go too far. Shit can get too deep quickly if you’re not careful.”

I nod and give Brad a hug. “I promise. Don’t worry, Evan made me promise the same thing.”

“Oh, really?” Brad asks, hugging me back as he looks over my shoulder across the street. “Maybe Mr. Bad Boy Biker has some redeeming qualities besides a nice ass.”

“And a big wrench.”

Brad growls. “Bitch, don’t make me choke you.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t like that?” In a fake sultry voice, I moan out, “Choke me, Daddy.”

Brad shakes his head, the horrified laugh barely held back. “This is why I date men. Women are weird as fuck.” He walks back to his station, and I hear him mumbling about pirate porn and near-death experiences just to get off.

Not able to resist one more twist of the knot in his knickers, I sing-song after him, “Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.”

Evan

I’m staring upward, my shoulders aching and sweat trickling down my spine, face and arms reaching deep into an engine when I hear my brother mutter ‘oh, shit’ under his breath. I’m still fucking with Fast Eddie’s Mustang, currently working on pulling his transmission so I can tweak his gear ratios. Eddie wants to shave a tenth of a second off his quarter-mile time next month and is willing to pay for it. Beats doing oil changes on Corollas any day of the week.

My voice echoes in the metal around me. As I set my tools aside, I’m glad he didn’t slap the hood like he sometimes does. I’d have cut myself up pretty bad if he did. “What’s wrong?”

TJ’s voice has a note of wonder and a note of amusement as he replies. “You’ll see. You just need to get straight, right the fuck now. Incoming, coming in fucking hot.”

Wiping my hands on my work jeans, I turn from the lift to look at TJ, wondering what the hell’s gotten into his head. I see him staring out the bay door and follow his sightline. I’ll be damned. Coming in fucking hot is right. McKayla is strutting across the street, obviously beelining right for the garage with steel in her eyes, carrying a white box.

I drink her in, my eyes taking in every detail from her curled hair and long lashes to her halter-style top that pushes her tits out on display, to her high-waisted shorts that stop high on the long tanned length of her legs, down to the little lacy socks and platform heels she’s wearing.

I feel my pants get tighter around my thickening cock and reach down to adjust myself without even thinking about it. It’s only after I do that I realize that I’ve probably left a huge grease stain on the crotch of my jeans. Busted.

McKayla doesn’t miss a thing, her eyes tracking my hand with a little smirk of victory. Walking into the garage, she stops and gives us both a megawatt smile, not quite showing off her figure but still making herself the sexiest thing to walk through the bay doors since . . . well, since the last time she was in here.

“Hey, TJ . . . Evan.” She says my name like it’s got a couple of extra syllables, and even I hear the huskiness, and my cock responds, standing even taller as I remember her moaning my name on the hood of her car as I rammed into her.

Goddammit. I’m right back in that moment, and by the look in her eyes, she knows it. It makes me angry that she’s trying to tease me when she knows that can’t happen again. It shouldn’t have happened last time, but that night was so fucked up, and the way she pressed her tits against my bare chest . . . fuck, I’m still a man!

I stand with my legs wide, hoping for some relief, and cross my arms over my chest. Part of me wants to run over to the sink and grab a handful of Gojo, the obnoxious hand cleaner every mechanic knows . . . just to clean up a little.

I fight that thought down, knowing it’s the weak side of me that I can’t let her see. “What?”

My voice is ice, obviously rude and dismissive. I see her flinch, just a tightening in the corners of her eyes, but it still stings.

TJ’s head snaps to me, and he gives me an incredulous look. “What the fuck, man?” He turns back to McKayla, ever the well-mannered brother and business owner. “Sorry. I’m sure what he meant to say was, ‘Hi, McKayla, how are you today?’ but he’s damn-near incapable of anything more than grunts sometimes. You’ve probably figured that out for yourself already though.”

McKayla answers, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “Don’t worry, TJ. I’ve gotten used to your brother’s grunting. I’m actually quite adept at decoding grunts and reading between the lines of a single-word response.”

I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a threat, a tease at the grunts I made as I fucked her, or a promise, but it makes me a little uncomfortable that maybe she can see right through me.

If I’m honest with myself, it also makes me a little happy that maybe she’s made of tougher stuff than I give her credit for because most women would’ve already jumped and run away from my grumpy ass. She’s stuck around, and that’s something that means more to me than it does to most people.

McKayla gives TJ a flirtatious smile and I have a flash of jealousy, wanting her eyes on me and me only. “For example, in Evan’s case, ‘what’ means ‘I wasn’t expecting you, what are you doing here?, and what do you want?’ all rolled up into one word. And since it was more grunt than growl, it means he’s happy to see me, even if he doesn’t want to be happy about it.”

As she talks, I see a look of shocked humor form on TJ’s face. “Damn, Bro, I think she’s got you damn-near pinned. I guess I’ll uh . . . leave you two to it.”

He walks back into the office, closing the door behind him and leaving us alone. I grab a rag from my toolbox, wiping off the worst of the grime on my hands as McKayla watches me, an amused little smirk on her luscious lips. “How’d I do? Am I fluent in Evanese?”

I don’t want to admit that she’s pretty much spot-on, so I turn and go back to the car, leaning over it and peering inside like it’ll tell me what to do here. It’s a little scary, actually, how much she can read me like a book. No matter what I try and do, she’s just able to break through my defenses like they’re tissue paper.

McKayla sighs and sets down the container she’s been holding on top of my toolbox, shaking her head. “I just wanted to say thank you again for the other night.”

I grin, but it’s intentionally feral, a last-ditch attempt to try and push her away. It’s a habit that’s hard to break. “You’re thanking me for giving you a good fuck with baked goods? That’s a new one.”

I expect her to be turned off by my crudeness. Hell, I’m hoping for it, but she grins back. Her eyes are sparkling as she runs a finger over the box, a slight show of nervousness that I haven’t seen from her before. “Nope, these are for the carwash. If I was thanking you for the fuck, I’d have to buy a whole damn truckload of cookies. But I think I rocked your world just as much as you did mine. Or am I wrong?”

I chuckle, surprised at her response once again. No matter what I try to say to get her to leave me the fuck alone, she just takes it in stride and shoots it right back at me like I verbally lobbed it at her. In some ways, it’s sexier than her taste in clothing, and I’m about ready to see if she’d look good doggy-style over Fast Eddie’s Mustang as it is. “Point taken.”

McKayla opens the box before I can get myself in trouble, knowing she’s made her point. “What’s your poison? I didn’t know so I got a variety.”

I walk over to look inside the box and see that she’s right, there’s like ten different kinds of cookies in here. There’s a great little cafe called Mindy’s Place down by the university, not a place I often go, but they supposedly get a lot of good reviews. I reach for one with a bit of chocolate icing on top and she smacks my hand. My eyes snap to hers as I feel the fire of anger spark inside my belly.

McKayla, though, isn’t deterred one bit. “Your hands are filthy. Go wash up. Or if you want, just open up and I’ll feed it to you.”

I hear the challenge in her words, but she did give me a choice, letting me be in charge even as she orders me around. Smart woman.

I resume my ‘fuck off’ stance, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at her to show my displeasure, but I do as she asks, opening my mouth. I fucking open my jaw and let her slip the cookie into my mouth. I bite down, making sure I just nip the edge of her thumb. She doesn’t react, letting her thumb rest against my lips until I start chewing, tasting her along with the cookie. I know for damn sure that it’s the best cookie ever.

As I chew, she pops the other half of the cookie into her mouth, making sure to lick the tender spot on her thumb, her eyes never leaving mine. My cock, which hasn’t softened one bit, makes a warning twitch, and I know pretty soon that I’m going to have a drop of precum drying in my denim as much as she’s turning me on. “Mmm, pretty good. Rose told me about this place that she said was the best in the county. Guess she was right.”

She grabs another cookie, a smaller one with powdered sugar, and eats it in one bite, but it leaves a bit of white dust all over her pink lips. Fuck, I want to lick it off her lips. That’s it. I’m going to have to start wearing underwear just to make sure I’m ready for her.

I watch as her tongue peeks out, licking her lips to clean them. I don’t stand a fucking chance. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “I wanted that one.”

She looks up at me from under her lashes, daring me to take what we both know I really want. “Well, I already ate it, but if you want a taste . . .” She lifts her chin toward me, offering her lips in a challenge. “There might be a little bit left.”

With a growl, I pounce on her, pressing her back against the nearby bench with my body and caging her in with arms on either side, to cover her lips with mine, tasting the sweet sugar as I lick the seam of her lips.

She opens, and I dive inside her, our tongues tangling as we fight for control of the kiss. I won’t let her have it, but she’s not gonna give it to me either. I’m going to have to earn it with this woman, which just turns me on all the more. She’s got fire and steel in her center, probably the reason she’s able to put up with my shit and fire right back at me.

I feel her hands trace down my chest, following and scratching the lines of my abs down to my jeans. I know she can feel my throbbing hardness against her body, and while I know what she wants to do, I’m unable to stop her.

Without breaking our kiss, she unbuckles my belt and unbuttons my jeans, sliding a hand inside. I try and pull back in a desperate attempt to stop this before we spin totally out of control, but when her soft hand wraps around my rock-hard cock, all thought flies out of my brain, and I groan, lost in the sensation as she moves up and down my length.

I’m already slick with precum, and McKayla moans as she pumps my shaft. “Mmm, Evan . . . you don’t know just how much I’ve missed this fucking monster. And now is how I really repay you for giving me the fucking of a lifetime the other night.”

She keeps pumping my cock until I’m moving too, pushing myself into her tight fist as she works me, rubbing across the head every few strokes to spread the precum down my shaft. I can’t last long, but we don’t have a lot of time anyway. TJ could be back any second . . . and it is still business hours, after all.

McKayla moves down to kneel, her hand never pausing its rhythm. I look down at the sexiest sight I think I’ve ever seen, this strong woman on her knees for me, and warn her desperately. “Princess . . .”

McKayla shakes her head, missing my point as she looks up into my eyes. “Do yourself a favor and just shut up. I want this.” She lowers her voice, licking her lips. “And admit it—you want it too.”

I have half a thought to argue, but before I can speak, she swirls around my head with the flat of her tongue and all argument turns into a long moan.

She takes more and more of my cock in, one excruciating inch at a time, drawing out my pleasure, making me wait even though I want to just shove my cock deep in her throat and see how she likes that. I grip the edge of the bench, my fingers digging into the rolled steel and praying I get a chance to finish this before someone breaks us up.

After too many bobs to count, she’s finally got my entire cock sucked deep into her mouth, her nose nestled in the short curls at the base, and she hums.

I jerk, almost instantly going over the edge, but she grabs my hips and holds me there, not letting me go. She gets into a new rhythm, sucking up to the head with a swirl as she looks up at me, then back down deep for a hum.

It’s all I can do to not grab her hair, but I don’t want to get grease all over those sexy pink curls with my dirty hands, so I squeeze the workbench so tightly my knuckles are white.

After minutes of her glorious torture, she pulls back and looks up at me. “Evan, fuck my face. Come down my throat.”

I adjust my feet, giving me a better angle, and she takes me back into the hot wetness of her mouth. “Fuck, Princess. Are you sure?” I ask.

She gives a noise of agreement—well, I hope it’s agreement, but it does me in. I lose control, using my leverage on the table to pound into her mouth with all the power I have.

She meets me stroke for stroke, swallowing me down her throat. I watch my cock disappear into her mouth, her eyes looking up to watch me from the shadows, totally giving in to me.

I’m so focused, I almost miss it when her hands move, one to cup and massage my balls. But the other one, she slips into her shorts, and I feel her hum of satisfaction as she finds her pussy, and judging by her motions, starts rubbing her clit.

I grin, knowing I can hold out a little longer and wanting to please this sexy minx at my feet. “Are you wet, Princess? Does letting me fuck your face turn you on?” She nods, never losing pace. “You don’t come till I do, okay? When I come down your pretty little throat, you come with me, but not before.”

She looks at me with challenge in her eyes and her hand movements get a little faster. Holy fuck, McKayla, you are perfect. “Fuck.” I hammer into her for a few strokes and I’m a goner. “Now, Princess. Swallow me down. Come for me. Now.”

I explode down her throat, and while she gags a little at the forceful stream, she keeps swallowing, only losing a dribble down her chin. At the same time, her hips buck against her hand as she rides out her own orgasm.

With a sigh, she sits back onto her heels, taking her hand out of her shorts. “Well, I came here hoping to get one up on you, and there you go making me come again.”

I grin, seeing the glistening on her fingers, a sudden thirst parching my throat. “I want to taste you.”

I expect her to reach her juicy hand up to me, but I should’ve known better with McKayla.

She takes her fingers to her own mouth, licking them clean as I stare at her in amazement. She reaches out for me, and I offer her my hand, helping her stand up.

Once she’s standing back in the cage of my arms, she kisses me, and I can taste her musky sweetness on her tongue. Goddamn, this woman. She ducks out of my arms and walks a few steps away before turning. “So, thanks again for the car wash. I’m ready to go for another ride whenever you are. I’ll give you a call later and we can plan on when.”

She steps out of the garage into the sunshine. I stand slack-jawed and confused about what the fuck just happened for a split second before I get my jeans adjusted properly.

Damned if I’ll be standing here with my cock out in broad daylight, regardless of what just happened.

TJ steps back out of the office as I do up the last button with a smirk. “Hey, bro, maybe it’s your thing, but you might want to close the garage door next time. I’m sure half of Main Street just saw your little cookie snack.”

I cut my eyes at him, a momentary flash of pissed off sparking through me, but then I realize that would probably be some fucked up shit if someone did see, and he’s right. Besides, he did just let me get my rocks off during business hours, and he waited inside the office long enough to give me enough ‘privacy’ to finish up. “Yeah, yeah . . . whatever you say, ‘boss’.”

We both laugh as we look across the street, seeing McKayla almost to the salon. I spot the greasy dark mark along her arm where I helped her stand up.

I’m afraid there might be some symbolism there, something deep about me leaving my dirty stain on something so clean and pristine, ruining her, but before I can give it too much thought, I turn and get back to work.