Chapter Three
The next day, Rosie drove back toward the Old Boyz’s place. She’d had all night to think about what her answer could be, and no matter which way she looked at it, she really didn’t want to pass this opportunity to be with the men. If it made her a slut, she didn’t care. In all of her thirty years she’d been with one man. That was all, one.
The memory of that one man wasn’t exactly great.
She didn’t even experience an orgasm at his hands. He’d climb on top, groan and rut around a little bit, and then he’d get that weird look that all men seemed to be cursed with when they came.
After she broke up with him, she’d not been in a rush to repeat the experience. A dildo was all she needed, and so far, she’d been more than happy. Last night she’d tossed and turned, and the orgasm she got at her own hands hadn’t been exactly thrilling.
Five men.
Five very hot, sexy men, and she just knew they were going to be awesome.
The rumors about them were perfect.
The women were always happy.
In fact, they were all miserable when none of the men wanted them for another turn. Even if Pops, Billy, Marshall, Gavin, and Ethan didn’t want her again, she’d be happy with just one.
Parking the car, she stared up at the bar. She didn’t know if they lived there or not, but they always seemed to be there.
“Okay, Rosie, you can do this. It’s this or nothing.”
Opening her door, she jumped when she saw Gavin was standing beside her car.
“Hello, beautiful. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No problem. It’s just me. I was distracted.”
He leaned against her door, and she saw the shirt he wore had been torn around his arms. His jeans were slung low on his hips, and everything seemed to enhance how large he actually was.
Licking her lips, she had no choice but to press her thighs together.
“You’re thinking some dirty thoughts.”
“Maybe.”
“I like it.”
Her cheeks were now on fire.
“Is it just you here?”
“No.”
“The guys are inside. It was a busy night, and we’ve had to handle deliveries. Carrying out crates of beer.”
She couldn’t look away from his thick arms. They were huge, but then every single one of them had large arms. They were a walking, talking advertisement for weight lifting, and she was not the kind of person to go to the gym.
Climbing out of her car, she fanned her face, wishing she didn’t have this reaction. It was kind of mortifying to deal with.
“I need to talk to you, and to Pops, and to everyone.”
“That look on your face tells me it’s going to be an interesting conversation.”
“It is. I hope.” She frowned.
This was awkward. She didn’t know what to do, or what to say.