Prologue
Reese
Thank goodness it’s summer and I don’t have to think about lesson plans, my classroom, or the ridiculousness that comes with working in the elite of super-elite private schools for the lifestyle of the rich and famous. That’s why I did something I have never done before, even my friends thought I was crazy. A single woman going off for the summer, renting a small cottage in the town of Galveston, Texas. It’s only a couple of hours from where I work. Sadly, as much as I love teaching and the children involved, I loathe the faculty. And don’t get me started on the parents. Sometimes I think they expect their children to piss excellence even when they’re already at the top of their class.
That’s another reason I’m getting away. Burnout is real, and it’s time for me to re-evaluate this career path I’m on and if I’d rather change schools or jobs.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out, interrupting my own thoughts. I’ve just walked into a bar here in Galveston, not at all what I was expecting. It’s dark and moody, neon lights above where the barstools are announcing ‘Wolf’s Bar and Grill’. The country music clear from the eighties is playing, people are line dancing, and shots are being slung back like its water. My own body sways to the rhythm of the sultry music playing of none other than the king of country music, George Strait. I make my way to where everyone is line dancing and join in. Not caring that I’m wearing the most unconventional shoes as we do a box-style dance. By the time the song is over, I’m parched, sweat is gathering at the nape of my neck and traveling down towards my chest. I’m fanning myself as I walk off the dance floor when I’m stopped in my tracks. There’s a man in a black Stetson cowboy hat walking my way, well, not really, but to where I’m placing my rear end after that dance. Me, the girl who’s here by herself, wearing a white tank top, distressed cut-off jean shorts, and flip flops. I’m clearly not dressed for this bar, but I couldn’t help but walk in to see what it was about. I’m sure glad I did too. I make my way towards the man whose eyes haven’t left mine. The bar isn’t overly busy, and I’m thankful as I slide onto a stool.
“How can I help you, sunshine?” the handsome hunk of a man asks me in a deep Southern drawl, and I’m gobsmacked, struck quiet, and words are seriously hard. That’s probably why I’m taking my time staring at him from head to toe. He’s got longish brown hair that is peeping out at the nape of his collar, dark skin, a sharp jawline, and hauntingly pretty blue eyes that I can see even in the smoky haze that’s filling the room. His smile though, it’s as if he knows what he’s got going on and he’s not afraid to turn on the charm. This cowboy most definitely has trouble written all over him, and I’m more than ready to see just what kind I can get into.
“Sex on the Beach, please?” I return with a smile that’s probably ridiculously goofy.
“You got it.” He taps the bar top with his hands, showing off his muscular arms that are encased in a tight black shirt with the bar’s name emblazoned on it, and when he turns around…shew, the way this cowboy can fill out a pair of jeans, I do believe I’m in for a good time.
One
Wolf
I make the vixen the drink she requested, making sure to give her an eyeful of my arms. With how she was eye fucking them, I knew it’d be something she’d enjoy, plus seeing the apples of her cheeks bloom with pinkness had me thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts. The way she was shaking her ass on the dance floor, not even seeing the way people made room for her as she kept up with the other dancers. My eyes never left her body, that’s for fucking sure.
“Can anyone ride the mechanical bull?” Dark mocha hair with shots of caramel, porcelain-white skin, green eyes that can see deep into your soul, and lips that were meant for kissing. Already looking bee stung and ripe for my own, red in color, and I’d love to see just what else matches the color of her lips.
“Yeah, you want to ride it?” I turn around, bringing the drink she ordered to the bar top.
“Maybe not tonight. I don’t think I’m dressed for the occasion.” She holds up her foot to show me her shoes, making my mouth salivate at her legs and how flexible she is.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m here most nights in case you want to ride Bushwhacker.” The way she lets her laugh out, abandoning any kind of pretense of modesty, has other men near the bar looking at her. I’m no idiot. I stand up straight, my arms crossed over my chest, and let them know to back the fuck off.