Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
You can’t go wrong with Shania.
I glance around as I walk through to the bar, and several heads turn to see who walked in, but no one catches my eye as I boost up onto a stool at the bar and come face-to-face with maybe one of the most visually stunning people I’ve ever seen.
“Hey there,” she says with a friendly smile. She’s a petite little thing with long red hair that falls in curls almost to her ass. She’s in a tight-fitting black tank top that’s tucked into white jeans that show every curve. “What can I getcha?”
“Just a Corona in a bottle, no lime,” I reply, and she nods, then quickly gets my drink for me and passes it over, and I give her my card.
“Shall I open you a tab?” she asks.
“Nah, I’m driving, so just one for me.” I need the liquid courage if I’m going to let a strange man touch me tonight.
She nods again, runs my card, and then returns it to me with the receipt.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she says. “I’m Ivy.”
“Darby,” I reply, and take a sip of my beer. “I’m new to town.”
“Well, that’s exciting. I was born here, in this very building.”
I lift an eyebrow, and Ivy shrugs.
“My parents own this bar. I’m just filling in for the night, since they’re down a bartender. I’m actually a physical therapist.”
“That’s cool. I’m finishing up my veterinarian degree.”
“That’s cool too.” Ivy gives me a smile. “Welcome to town, new friend. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She hurries off to fill drink orders, and I turn on my stool to take in the place. The walls are covered with old business signs. I wonder if they’re businesses that closed down over the years and gave their signs to Ivy’s parents. I like it. It’s . . . whimsical.
Four guys are shooting pool in the back, but they all have wedding bands on their fingers.
I’m not a home-wrecker.
There’s a guy sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a beer and tapping away on his computer. Is this his version of working at a coffee shop?
I can respect that.
I’m going to be honest. I’m not interested, not even vaguely, in any of the men in this bar. No one makes me want to dismiss my no-touching rule long enough to do the deed, hopefully score an orgasm, and get gone. There has to be a hell of a lot of attraction on my part, and none of these guys does it for me. I’d have to drink a lot more than one beer.
I’m so fucking romantic.
After finishing the last swallow of beer, and resigning myself to not having any orgasms tonight, I ask Ivy for a glass of water and watch the hockey game playing on the TV behind the bar. Ivy has also paused in her scurrying around to watch, and when Xander Hendrix makes a goal, she jumps up and down and claps her hands.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she hollers and high-fives her coworker.
“Are you a Denver Flurry fan?” I ask her.
“I’m a Xander Hendrix fan,” she admits, and her face flushes bright red. “Can’t help it, I grew up with the guy.”
I smile at her, loving her enthusiasm. I get it, it seems all the Hendrix brothers are hot. I have to spend all day, every day with one.
“He’s impressive.”
Ivy flushes again, but turns to stare at the screen, as if she’s soaking up any glimpse she can get of the hockey star.
“Good job, X,” she mutters.
So, I stay and watch the game with Ivy, and once the Flurry have won 4–1, I decide to pack it in for the night and go home to my vibrator.
Sad.
Except, I’m not really sad. I’m kind of relieved because I don’t have to hold my breath and pretend that letting a guy touch me is worth the orgasm he might give me.
On my way out the door, a man I hadn’t noticed before smiles at me and says, “Can I talk you into staying for one more drink?”
He’s handsome. At least six feet tall with dark blond hair and a nice smile, and before I started working for Tucker, he might have done the trick.
Now? He does nothing for me. Zip. Nada.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d better head home,” I reply with a polite smile.
He doesn’t argue. Instead, he cringes. “I should have asked earlier. Drive safe.”
“Thanks.”
See? He’s perfectly nice. Good looking with big hands. Probably not horrible in bed. What in the hell is wrong with me?
I drive back to the ranch, still feeling sexually frustrated but also relieved, and being keyed up the whole time I was at the bar means that I’m tired now. I park in front of the cabin, but instead of walking inside, I circle around to the back and am surprised to find the firepit already roaring with a fire and Tucker sitting in his chair.