And, anyway, a vibrator usually did the trick just as well, if not better. No one knew where her clit was better than her.
She reluctantly admitted that the man sitting at the bar had made her pussy twinge the slightest bit. But only because he looked like a bad boy who could get nasty between the sheets.
However, if he was the one who bought her the drink, he was sniffing up the wrong tree. Reese had no time for bad boys. Not even for a quickie. That type was usually self-absorbed and definitely didn’t know where her clit was.
A clearing of a throat had her glancing up from her forkful of salad to realize the server had disappeared and the man Bambi had been hanging all over at the bar had taken her place.
His voice was like warm, smooth bourbon when he stated, “I ordered you a drink, but it looks like she also brought my beer over here by mistake.”
Sure she did.
Starting at the top, she took her time inspecting him, not bothering to hide that fact. His dark blond hair reminded her of something a Viking would wear. It was shaved clean on the sides and was long at the top because he had it French braided in the shape of a mohawk. She’d never seen anything like it on a man before, but somehow it fit him.
His searching eyes were dark, most likely brown. He had a thick but well-trimmed dark blond beard. His left nostril was pierced with a small hoop. His right ear the same. Even though he wore a long-sleeved thermal, she could guess he was tatted up since tattoos covered his hands and forearms and disappeared under the sleeves where they were pushed up to his elbows. Both arms and hands, not just one.
His shirt was still slightly see-through where Bambi had enthusiastically “assisted” him with his spill. And because she could see the outline of a barbell through one nipple under that damp cotton, it wasn’t hard to make out the shape of another barbell piercing in the other. Especially since both of his nipples were hard nubs pressing against the soft cotton.
He had one side of the thermal tucked in and the other side pulled out, giving her a view of his bulky square belt buckle that consisted of four letters—BFMC—attached to a wide black leather belt. His jeans were clean, but worn, and fit him very, very well.
Where he stood, she could see his pretty long legs—the man was maybe six foot or so—and his black leather lace-up boots.
When she was done assessing him, she lifted her gaze, taking a last sweep of his narrow hips, his broad shoulders and chest. “No, Bambi told me you told her to bring it here.”
“Then she was confused.”
Reese tilted her head as she stared up at him. It was almost impossible to tell but the very corners of his mouth were tipped up. This man thought he was slick.
Problem for him was, she was slicker.
“Bambi’s good at her job. She rarely gets an order wrong.”
“Must eat here a lot.”
“The food is good, the service is good and usually people leave me alone.”
“I’m botherin’ you.”
Not posed as a question, Reese didn’t take it as such. She just lifted her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to take the hint and mosey away to someone more interested. Like Bambi.
He didn’t.
Ignoring him, she took another bite of her salad and washed it down with a sip of her vodka tonic. When she was done with that, he was still standing there, now with his thick arms crossed over that broad chest of his, bunching up his biceps under the off-white thermal.
If he was trying to impress her, he was failing. A few tattoos, piercings, some muscles and a stubborn attitude did not do it.
“I’m Nick, by the way.”
She stabbed at her salad with her fork. “I really don’t care.”
That answer right there would have most men giving up, maybe even getting pissed because she spurned their advances, and walking away.
Not this one. He actually widened his stance. Maybe to give the big balls he must have some room.
“I’m in town lookin’ for a friend.”
A friend. Sure. A one-night-stand, more like it.
“Apparently, I didn’t make it clear the first time, but... I really don’t care. I have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me...” She shoved another forkful of lettuce into her mouth.
She refused to look at him, because the longer she did, the better he looked. Things had been stressful lately and her mind kept going in directions it shouldn’t.
Like having a quickie with a tattooed, cocky, bad boy.
Her office was only two doors down from the Mill Creek Bar & Grill, but then, if they went there, he would know who she was and where she worked. If she was going to have a fling, she’d rather it be anonymous.