Down & Dirty (Lightning 1)

Sage

I’m bored. Like, really bored. I’ve spent most of the night at this ridiculous bachelorette party with people I barely know and I’m so ready for the night to be over. Normally, I have a strict only go to the parties of people I care about rule, but what was I supposed to do when Skye invited me to this thing? Say no?

Not super impressive considering we w

ork together. Even less impressive considering, while my mom is off trying to reaffirm who she is by climbing a mountain in Tibet, I’m the boss. And the boss can’t blow off an employee invitation, no matter how much he or she wants to. Not when the business is as small and personal as ours is.

Which is why I’m sitting here in the middle of this miserable little bar watching women in penis hats swill drinks and talk dirty about whatever man happens to pass by the table…

I’m pretty sure I’m the only sober one at this point—obvious by my lack of penis hat and ability to keep my mouth shut no matter who walks by. But I figure that’s fair. Being the boss means I had to come. But there is no boss code that says I have to wear a penis hat or drink out of a penis straw. And even if there was…that’s one code I’d have no trouble breaking.

“You need another drink,” Autumn—one of the other instructors at my mom’s yoga studio—tells me with a giggle. “Come on. Let’s go to the bar.”

I don’t want to go to the bar. And I sure as hell don’t want another drink. Even though I’m not planning on driving tonight, as Skye has a limousine booked, I usually have a two-drink limit when I’m at a bar. If I’ve learned anything through the years, it’s that everything’s easier when you’re stone-cold sober—which is why it’s been an hour since I’ve had anything to drink but water.

Still, I follow her. It’s not that hard of a choice, considering the rest of our party has just started singing dick songs. Not enough to drink out of a dick and eat dick cake and wear a giant dick on their heads. They need to sing a homage to the damn things, too. Maybe it’s time to say to hell with the limo and grab a Lyft instead…

I’m halfway to the bar when I see him. I’m so annoyed that I almost don’t pay attention, but—let’s be honest—I’d have to be dead not to notice this guy. Notice him, hell, just having him in the room is suddenly taking up all the oxygen.

Or maybe it’s just that I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

But can you blame me? With a fallen-angel face, eyes that glitter like black diamonds, and a stubble covered jaw that’s sharp enough I can feel the cut from here, he’s the hottest thing in this place. Tall, dark and drop-dead freaking gorgeous. And that’s before you take into account the shoulders wider than my zip code and biceps to die for.

Is it wrong that I want to lick him? I wonder as I shift to get a better look. Because I do. I really, really do. Those narrow hips. That too long, silky hair. The big hands that wrap all the way around his beer bottle and then some. He’s like a personal playground designed especially for me. No wonder it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of this place.

And that’s before he glances up, his eyes meeting mine across the dimly lit bar.

Normally, I’d look away. I’m not the type to eye-fuck a stranger in a bar. But the moment our gazes lock, I forget about normal. Forget about usual. And instead try to keep my panties from dropping straight to the floor.

It’s harder than it should be, considering I’m wearing skinny jeans.

And that’s before he smiles, a wide, come-hither kind of grin that hits me straight in the feels…plus a few other, oh-so-memorable parts. He shifts a little, rests his elbows behind him on the bar. Stretches his long, long, looooong legs out in front of him. And looks for all the world like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And like he expects me to approach him.

Which is totally not going to happen. I’ve already made prolonged eye contact with the guy. Actually walking up to him—a gorgeous stranger who obviously has an ego to match—is so not going to happen. I mean, it’s not that I’m ugly or anything. I have a reasonable amount of confidence in my own attractiveness. But there’s attractive and then there’s whatever that guy is and I am so not in his class. Hell, I’m not even in the same competition…

“What do you want to drink, Sage?” Autumn asks and there’s a hint of impatience in her voice, like she’s asked the question before. It snaps me out of my trance—I swear, it’s like I’ve been dicknotized or something—and I decide what the hell.

“I’ll have another lemon drop,” I tell her, breaking my self-imposed limit. One more won’t hurt; I’ll still be the most sober woman at the party. And since it’s not like I’m going anywhere any time soon, since Skye and her group seem dug in for the long haul, I might as well loosen up just a little. Not enough to be okay wearing a penis hat by any means, but maybe just enough to make flirty eyes with the hottest guy in the place.

Maybe.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m back at my table and doing just that. All around me, the others are getting steadily drunker—so drunk, in fact, that Skye just crowned another instructor “Priscilla, Queen of the Dicksert.” I have no idea where the title comes from considering her name is Lela, but it’s not like I’m about to ask. I don’t want to know what goes on in these women’s minds on the best days, let alone right now.

Across the bar from me, Mr. Tall, Dark and So Fucking Hot I Get Burned Just Looking at Him is obviously amused. Whether by my attempts to flirt with him when he’s so clearly out of my league or by my table’s increasingly ridiculous antics, I’m not sure. I tell myself it’s the latter as I bat my eyes at him, but the truth is I’m just not sure.

“Whoaaaaa,” Autumn says, plopping down in the empty seat beside mine. “Who. Is. That?”

“Who?” I ask, but she’s not buying the whole me playing dumb thing. Then again, I wouldn’t if I was in her position either.

“The guy I would totally have noticed earlier if I wasn’t sitting on the other side of the table,” she tells me. “You know, the hottie over there who can’t take his eyes off of you.”

“I think you’re confused.”

“Really?” She raises one skeptical brow. “Because from where I’m sitting, that man looks like he wants to eat you alive. In a very, very good way.”

“Yeah, well, I, he, just…” I stutter through a totally unintelligible list of words before finally just shutting up and reaching for my drink. I down what’s left in one long swallow.

She laughs. Cackles, actually, and all but rubs her hands together in glee like some kind of Disney villain. “You should go talk to him.”