Don't Kiss the Bride

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” she says wistfully. “Maybe someday I could go with you?”

The offer is tempting.

Too tempting.

Nope. I don’t trust myself to be trapped between her thighs, with her hands wrapped around my waist for hours on end while we’re way up in the mountains with nothing—and no one—around us but trees and blue skies.

This low-key, flirt-fueled heat simmering between us has me tweaked. It’s been two weeks since the wedding-day kiss, and the memory of it still invades my thoughts when I’m alone at night.

Throwing my shirt over my shoulder, I wink at her. “You ain’t tall enough to get on this ride, Sparkles.”

A flirty smile plays on her lips. “You talking about the bike, or you? ’Cuz I think I can handle both.”

Oof.

Laughing, I shake my head. “I guess I asked for that, didn’t I?”

“You sure did.”

“Did you eat?” I ask, quickly changing the subject. “I’m gonna take a shower and make a quick sandwich before I head out to meet Kyle.”

She nods. “I had soup earlier with Rebecca.”

“I’ll be home late,” I tell her as we step out of the garage. I yank the door shut behind us and lock it.

“I’ll be binging Outlander, so I’ll probably still be awake.”

“More men in kilts?”

“You know it.” She glances sideways at me. “Maybe you should wear one. You have nice legs.”

“I don’t think you could handle it.”

She grins as we walk up to the house, and I unlock the front door, swinging it open to let her go in first.

We’re greeted by Cassie and Gus with wagging tails and chirpy meows.

“Gus seems to be slowly turning into a dog,” she says. “See how she runs to the door now when we come home?”

“It’s even better when I come home—all three of you come running to see me.”

She playfully punches my arm. “Shut up. It’s not to see you, I just get excited about a front door that people can actually go in and out of.”

“You lie like a rug.”

“Want me to make your sandwich?” she calls after me as I head up the stairs.

“Do you really hafta ask?”

For someone who’s afraid to eat a lot of food, she makes a mean grilled turkey and swiss on rye.

The Possum’s Den is a small bar known for its decor of taxidermized critters, most notably, a cross-eyed possum perched on a shelf behind the bar that once was the owner’s pet.

They also serve a killer cheese-stuffed burger on a toasted bun with a side of homemade balsamic ketchup.

I’d be eating that shit right now if I hadn’t eaten that turkey sandwich Skylar made me.

“’Bout time you showed up.” Kyle slaps my back after I wade through the crowd to our usual spot in the back.

“Better late than never, right?” I scan the room, which is unusually busy—even for a Saturday night. “Are they giving away free beer or something?”

He shrugs and tosses me a pool cue. “College kids celebrating some sport thing. The chicks are hot, though, and they’ll be drunk soon.”

Ever since Kyle’s fiancée dumped him, he’s been plowing through half the town’s female population like a lawnmower.

While he racks the balls, I flag the bartender for a beer and chalk my cue stick.

“You go riding today?” Kyle asks.

Nodding, I lean over the table and break. “You should’ve come with me. Got a good hundred miles in. Probably the last chance I’ll get this season.”

“My clutch cable’s still snapped.”

I pull a sip of my beer and put it back on our table, glancing up to find a redhead watching my every move and making no effort to hide it. I take a quick visual inventory. Pretty smile. Twenty-something with makeup, thirty-something without. Short skirt. High heels. Waist-length, spirally red hair. Thin, gold chains draped over cleavage busting out of a tight V-neck blouse. Thick black eyeliner.

I might be game.

Snaring the eye contact, she comes over, cocktail in hand.

“I love your tattoos,” she coos loudly, wrapping her hand around my bicep.

I watch her hand move over my arm, then lift my gaze to meet hers.

“What’s your name, red?”

She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips around her straw, sucking bright-pink liquid from a goblet, before answering.

“I’m Jolie,” she says.

“Hey, Lucky, your turn, man,” Kyle yells.

The girl’s brown eyes widen, and a teasing smile dances on her lips. “Your name is Lucky?”

I nod.

Her hand waltzes up my arm, beneath the sleeve of my T-shirt, dragging her long nails over my skin like a raptor.

She leans closer. Close enough that her breath tickles my ear. Her perfume permeates my senses, but it’s not a scent I like. “Want to get lucky, Lucky? I know I do.”

I let out a snicker and flash her a bored look. “C’mon, red. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Her smile twists into a disappointed frown as I slowly back away.