Wet and Reckless (Private Pleasures 4)

Quick-Draw. They’ve got table service, and I’ve got the tab,” Tyler Longfoot, Junior’s boss and best man, pointed out. Something in the man’s expression gave West the funny feeling Longfoot knew exactly why he’d been angling to make a bar run.

A dozen steps would put him beside her, but he stood his ground rather than become the subject of speculation from this particular crew. “Fine, if you want to wait for table service, but Lou Ann only let Junior off the leash for a few hours, and as our boy just pointed out, he hasn’t had a single drink yet. But hey”—he held up his hands—“I’m the DD. It hardly matters to me.”

“I like the way this man thinks,” Junior said and clapped him on the shoulder again.

“Isn’t that your new neighbor over there with Roger and Addy?” Shaun nodded at them.

Busted. His boss was definitely clocking him, but he offered up a shrug. “Looks like.”

Josh Bradley, Bluelick’s fire chief and current Mr. July of the Southern Heat Firefighters Calendar, glanced over and grinned. “That’s what I call a wrecking ball on a barstool. Better make your move before Cooper arrives and we get some liquid courage in the kid.”

“A rookie firefighter? Please. She’d tie him in knots without lifting a finger,” West scoffed. Roxy and Cooper? No fucking way.

“Coop’s no rookie,” Josh replied. “But even if he was, I’d put money on him.”

“Then you’d lose money,” West shot back. He caught the “get-this” wink Josh sent Shaun and knew damn well he was being messed with, but he didn’t care. Roxy would not be going home with some freckle-faced hose jockey. End of story.

Josh laughed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, West. Chicks dig firefighters.”

“Is that so?”

“Gospel. How else would I have landed Melody?”

“Um…because you knocked her up?” West said.

“He’s got you there.” Tyler grinned. “You did.”

“All part of my strategy, gentlemen,” Josh countered. “Ask yourselves this: how did I get within knocking-up range?”

“She was on the rebound from ten years of a sexless engagement to her gay best friend Roger,” Tyler supplied.

“And Mel can’t hold her bourbon,” Junior added.

“Wrong, assholes. She fell for the firefighter. I took her on a tour of the firehouse and just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“I was dating way out of my league.”

“Whatever.” West rolled his eyes and in the process confirmed that Roxy hadn’t fixed her strap yet, and Jeb Rawley had definitely noticed. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m sick of standing here like a bag of dicks. Do you want me to fetch a couple pitchers or not?”

“Grab a chair, men,” Tyler said and handed his credit card to West. “I think we’re about to see Bluelick’s finest in action.”

“Uh-uh. No action.”

“What? You need some pointers?” Junior nudged him toward the bar. “Challenge her to a game of pool. Show her how you handle your stick.”

This was what he got for hanging out with married and soon-to-be-married men. “Look, I know you all want to live vicariously through the single guy, but I don’t plan to jump into bed with a woman who, if she puts her mind to it, can make my life a living hell without even setting foot outside of her apartment.” She’d done plenty of damage already, presumably without putting her mind to it.

Longfoot laughed. “Shit, West. You do need pointers. Sharpen your pencil and take notes. First off, if you bed her right, she won’t put her mind to anything except letting you bed her again. Second, I’m going home tonight to my beautiful wife who has a fondness for how I handle my stick. I’m not living vicariously through the hard-up single guy with a serious lack of game.”

Shaun, Josh, and Junior fist-bumped Longfoot and just generally looked like smug sons of bitches. West headed toward the bar. “I’m getting the beer. Find a table and start your knitting circle or whatever you married geezers do on a night out.”

“We’re knitting you a dick-warmer,” Junior called. “Shouldn’t take long.”

West shot them the bird as he strode away. This produced more laughter, but he barely noticed because Roxy consumed his attention.

Maybe he was getting used to her fashion sense, or maybe she’d toned it down tonight, but he almost—almost—took the biker boots, cutoffs, and painted-on top in stride. What he didn’t take in stride was Jeb eye-fucking her from his side of the bar. In a deliberately territorial move, West squeezed between Addy and Roxy and returned Addy’s greeting as he slipped his finger under the drooping strap of Roxy’s top and nudged it into place.

She turned his way and raised an eyebrow. Jeb barely stopped staring at Roxy’s tits long enough to acknowledge him.

“Two pitchers,” he said to Jeb and took some satisfaction from watching the slick bastard finally tear his attention away from Roxy.