September
Why do I do this to myself?
Come to bars, take shots of tequila, and hope to find another fuck. I can’t believe this, but I miss Zane. Of the few guys I have available to regularly fuck, he hasn’t been around for months. He’s a sweet guy. Honestly surprised me that he goes along with my ‘no strings attached, you won’t be the only guy I’m sleeping with’ lifestyle. He doesn’t seem the type to do that for long.
But he has.
He’s the nicest of the guys I see. Well, the guys I did see. That has to be the reason why I miss him. I’m in a dry spell. The other guys found girlfriends, so my pool of guys is down to Zane.
Which is what brings me to the bar.
I need to get laid.
As my gaze scans the guys on either side of me along the bar, I wonder if I’m getting tired of this or if the guys here look unappealing because my mistake was coming on karaoke night. Either way, I wish I figured that one out before I walked in. I down another shot. Surely I’m not tired of the hunt, of the thrill of finding a new fuck buddy. This is fun. No one gets close. No one gets hurt. It’s perfect. I sigh when no one catches my eye. This is not one of my good nights, apparently.
A body rams hard into my side, and my ribs go straight into the bar’s edge. “Fuck.”
“Damn. Sorry. Motherfucker bumped into me.” A hand gingerly rests on my elbow, the touch at odds with the harsh tone and words of the man. “You okay?”
A shudder runs through me at the sound of his voice. It’s deep and gruff and commands attention. My gaze runs from the hand, up the arm, across a vast chest, and then lands on his face. Holy shit, he’s hot. His eyes are dark green and so serious. His hair is a dark red, and he has ridiculously strong-looking jaws.
“You okay?” he repeats.
“My ribs hurt. Buy me a drink to make up for it?”
His eyes widen ever so slightly, the only sign that I’ve surprised him. “Yeah, sure.” He takes the empty barstool next to me. “A drink or another shot?” he asks as he waves the bartender over.
“Two shots, please.”
Once he orders me two more shots and a beer for himself, he gives me a once-over. I let him look, let him take in my tight, low-cut shirt, and my shorts. It might be September, but it was still warm when I walked in here. It’ll probably be a little chilly when I leave.
“I’m Brayden.”
“Deanna. You here by yourself?”
He nods. “Just needed to get out of the house. Ended up here somehow. Didn’t realize there would be karaoke.” He winces as the next singer, who is terrible but energetic, begins her song.
“Same here.” Needed to get out of the house, needed to get fucked. Same thing, right? Brayden would be perfect. He’s a big man, tall and wide, muscular too. Just the right amount, though. Not too buff that you’re worried a hug may kill you or that he’d be like a rock if you rest your head on him. He seems strong and sturdy. Have I mentioned lately that he’s insanely hot? And he has this whole serious look that makes me want to force him to be fun. What would his smile be like? Does he smile? Can he smile? He doesn’t look like he does, if he can. What a ridiculous thing to wonder. A man as gorgeous as him surely has plenty of reasons to smile, so obviously he does.
My shots are placed in front of me and I knock them back one after the other. Heat runs through me and I turn on the barstool toward Brayden. I think I’ve had a few too many at this point. “You’re smokin’ hot.”
A faint smile quickly appears on Brayden’s face and just as quickly disappears. I’m beyond disappointed that I got not even a half-assed smile. “You always tell people you don’t know that you think they’re hot?”
I lay a hand on his arm. His muscular arm. “But I do know you. Your name is Brayden and you injured me.”
He reaches out and gently runs his fingers over my ribs. I wince. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.” The expression on his face changes as he touches the tender area. He frowns when I suck in a breath. He must think it’s because my ribs are sore, but they’re not. His knuckles grazed my bra and I wish I wasn’t wearing one. Brayden’s hand falls. “Give it a few days and you’ll be as good as new. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I bumped into you that hard.”
“It’s okay. So, what do you do for a living?”
“I don’t want to talk about work.”
I frown. All I asked was what he did. I wasn’t going to dive in and ask every detail about his job. Quite frankly, I’m playing nice until it’s mostly appropriate for me to ask him to take me somewhere else to fuck my brains out. Plus, small talk helps weed out the creeps. “Okay. Then, what do you do for fun?”
Brayden eyes me for a moment. “Honestly?”
“Well,” I shrug, “you can lie if you want.”
He laughs and holy freaking shit, there’s a smile! I grab the edge of the bar to steady myself. The man goes from sexy and edgy to downright beautiful and I’m-going-to-faint-he’s-so-hot status. “I don’t do much for fun.”
“There must be something,” I push.
“Well, in my spare time, I like to buy houses, renovate them myself as much as I can, and then sell them.”
In his spare time? What does this man do for a living where he either has a lot of spare time or he has a lot of money to do such a thing, or both? And he does all of that hard labor for fun?
“So you’re good with your hands?”
Dear lord. There’s that smile again. My body leans forward on its own accord. “Of course I’m good with my hands, darlin’.” Swoon. Normally, I’d be internally barfing right now, but it rolls so easily off his tongue with a slightly Southern accent that a swoon can’t be prevented.
Holy hell, what is happening to me?
“What about you?” he asks.
I take a moment to let my brain reform from its state of mush before answering. “I find my fun in many ways. Just depends. Sometimes, it’s going to a concert, playing pool, acting silly, doing something a little wild, whatever.”
“Like karaoke?” he asks.
I laugh. “On occasion.” An idea hits me. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to visit the ladies’ room.” I step away and make my way through the throng of people. Elbows and shoulders bump into me along the way, making me feel like a pinball. Brayden watches me go; I know because I glance back and see him. Once I’m sure he can’t see me anymore, I move toward the DJ in charge of taking names for karaoke. Let’s hope Brayden won’t kill me for signing him up and picking his songs.
My excuse is that he can use some fun and if Mr. Serious goes through with it, then he’s definitely worthy of getting laid tonight.
Afterward, I do make a pitstop in the bathroom. By the time I return to Brayden, there’s a glass of water in place of my empty shot glasses. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t want you drunk,” is all he says.
So, I drink my water. Brayden has switched to water too. He’s a guy who walks on the safe side of the line, which is a good sign. Brayden turns on the barstool toward me and asks a question, but my eyes fall to his thighs.
How did I not notice those before? His legs must be powerful based on how big those suckers are. Oddly, it reminds me of Zane.
“Deanna?”
I lift my gaze. “Why don’t you give me a kiss?” I ask.
Watching his face carefully, I see that I’ve surprised him again. He barely widened his eyes. For the most part, this guy keeps his emotions close to the vest. That intrigues me because it reminds me of myself in a way.
Brayden grabs my hips, pulls me off the barstool until I’m standing between his knees, and tilts his head a bit to the right. He rests his forehead against mine, his lips a breath away. Oh, no. He’s one who likes anticipation. That can be good and bad because it can be such an agonizing, yet amazing thing. He licks his lips, stealing my breath when his tongue brushes my mouth, which parts immediately. His hearty chuckle is almost too much to deal with.
“Next up is Brayden.” The DJ’s voice calling out breaks into our little bubble.
Brayden frowns.
“He means you,” I say. “Do this for me? Please? I’ll make it worth your while, especially if you give me a good show.”
He eyes me long enough that I think he’ll say no. “I’m supposed to get up there? For you?” He somehow manages to say that without it sounding like an insult.
“Yes.”
“You’re not taking no for an answer?”
“Correct.”
He sighs, but stands and makes his way to the stage. He grabs the microphone from the DJ, blinking a few times from the bright lights. Damn, he’s stiff as a board up there. Definitely out of his comfort zone. He rubs a hand over his head a few times. There’s a shift in the crowd, as if they’re just as surprised as he is that he’s up there.
“Oh my God, Brayden!” someone shouts. Okay, so apparently, someone here knows him.
Brayden forces a chuckle. “Obviously, this isn’t my usual stage.” Is that a hint as to what he does? Maybe he’s some indie singer that I’ve never heard of before, but that doesn’t quite make sense. There’s a laugh through the crowd too. His eyes seem to find my general area. “First, let me say that darlin’, I know I just met you, but I already don’t like you a little bit.”
That worries me until I see a faint smile.
When the music starts for “Low Rider,” he groans. “Seriously?” he mumbles, but the crowd rumbles with excitement. Chairs scrape across the floor as people stand to dance. I can’t help but grin. When his deep voice gets seemingly deeper as he sings the first line, I shiver. The music and the words fall away and all that’s left is the tone of his voice. Holy hell, his voice is hot.
Then, I’m distracted because he actually does give me a show. His hips do a little wiggle and he manages to slowly dance. It’s hilarious because it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable. It’s probably a sign of how evil I am to find pleasure in this.
When the song is over, he takes a deep breath, but the DJ says, “Hold up, man; she signed you up for another one.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
The crowd cheers, though. His next song is more of a hint based on his accomplishment of doing the first song. The music starts for “Gettin’ You Home” by Chris Young and Brayden relaxes a little until a few women in the bar catcall him. Ha. Sorry, ladies, but he’s going home with me. What surprises me the most, as he gets into a groove with this one, is that the man can actually sing. And with that low voice? I’m squirming in my seat from that alone.
When the song is over, Brayden quickly leaves the stage, weaves through the people, and comes over, but he doesn’t look at me. He pulls his wallet out, waves the bartender over, and hands him some cash. “I believe you said something about making that torture worth my while?” Finally, those dark green eyes focus on me.
I hold my hand out and he takes it. He insists on driving since he only had the one beer. That’s totally fine because I took a cab since I knew I’d be drinking. God, it’s been forever since I’ve left with someone I don’t know and gone back to their house. Too late to hope he’s not a bad guy. We could go to my house, but I try not to do that too often, if at all.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I find a text.
Zane: Back in town. When can I see you?
Such a simple question. If he had just messaged me earlier, it could’ve been tonight. But now I’ve met Brayden.
Me: Tomorrow.
I haven’t had sex with the man yet, or even kissed him, and I’m already hoping tonight isn’t the last I’ll see of him. I clear my throat to prepare myself for my usual speech. If I wasn’t already hoping to see him on a regular basis, then I wouldn’t worry with it.
“Is this a normal thing for you?” I ask instead.
“Pickin’ up girls from a bar?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Not really. Not that often at least. I’m pretty focused on my work.”
Oh. Well, I wonder if that means this is automatically a one-time deal? “I’m a chronic no-strings-attached girl, but I do have a fuck buddy, and sometimes have buddies. I haven’t had sex in two months, though, and I’m clean. Just wanted to let you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Brayden enters a nice neighborhood, and it’s a really nice one. He definitely has money if he lives in this area. He pulls into the driveway of a home that’s a bit secluded compared to the others. When he has the truck in park, he looks at me.
“Are you done talking?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
We get out and it’s silent as I stand behind him while he unlocks the door and then disarms the alarm. He turns to me the second he’s done, kissing me so fiercely, I take a stumbling step backward. Oh, hell. I grab his shoulders because I need something to hold onto. Brayden grabs my thighs to pick me up. It doesn’t matter where he’s taking me as long as we’re getting naked and doing dirty things once we’re there.
I knew Brayden would be perfect.
I’m not wrong.
I definitely need this to last longer than just one night.