“To think I assumed you to be crying over a drink.”
She scoffed. This man, like most, wasn’t accustomed to the kind of woman she was.
She’d been raised by her dad in a mechanic shop—when he was around, at least. And the one time she’d cried had been when she was five and Danny Davis had stolen her bike. Her father had told her to buck up, get over it, or do something about it, but crying didn’t solve anything.
Which was why she never let tears get the best of her.
Not when her dad disappeared to the gambling tables or drank himself into a stupor and taken off for weeks at a time.
Not when her ex had left her.
Not when her self-worth was teetering between microscopic and nonexistent.
Not now.
People had been leaving her high and dry all her life. It hurt, but what was she supposed to do? Curl up and cry about it? People inevitably walked away from her. That didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun as long as they were there.
Case in point, this sex on a stick sitting in front of her. If she had her way, she’d have him, and by morning she’d have all but forgotten about the ache left on her heart.
…
“Not a crier either,” the woman said and took another drink of her cocktail.
Jesus fucking Christ, Huck had never met anyone like her.
He’d walked in after a long ass night of wedding talk, his friends swooning in love, and he’d just wanted to escape from all the bliss.
Not that he wasn’t happy for them. One of his best friends was getting married tomorrow at this hotel. That kind of thing was well and good for his friends, but the avalanche of happily-ever-afters taking down his friends one by one reminded him that when it had come down to it, the woman he’d loved had let him know he didn’t deserve his own fairytale ending.
Having a drink before heading to his hotel room was just what he needed.
Then he’d seen her.
“Well now I’m curious,” Huck said. “If you’re not a crier and not a talker, tell me something you are.”
Because nothing about this woman was dainty. Even though she was sitting, he could tell her legs were ungodly long and lean. Her tight little stomach was encased in a white tank top that clung to her perfect breasts.
And her hair was incredible. He’d never seen such a color. Tied up in a ponytail, long, sleek, and so black it almost looked blue. He stifled a groan as she wrapped her bee-stung lips around her glass, and then he watched her throat work down her drink.
She was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
“Something I am?” she repeated. There was a flash of an emotion he couldn’t quite gauge. Something like sadness, but it was so fleeting, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m not much at the moment.”
Wow, that was unexpected. Though the words were deep, her carefree delivery of them created the illusion that she was as casual as could be. It made him all the more intrigued.
“Sounds like you’re honest.”
She laughed. “Brutally so. I’ve been known to hurt feelings from time to time.”
“Honey, you could hurt feelings just walking away.” Shit, had he said that out loud? He’d meant that as a flirty compliment. A fact he needed to clarify. “Watching a beautiful thing pass on by could devastate a man, you know?”
“That right?”
Huck nodded. Back to flirting. Good. Right where he needed to be, because he wouldn’t think about how the notion of “walking away” played on the empty hole in his chest. A hole put there years ago by a woman he’d made the mistake of trusting.
“So tell me then,” he said. “With your unbridled honesty, if you don’t have much, what are you looking for?”
Her lips parted, and she looked him in the eyes. There was something deep and dark running within her, and damn if he didn’t want to tap into that.