Hung
I can’t do that again.
Strike that. I won’t do it.
New and improved me will stick up for herself or get even or maybe consider mortgaging her soul to buy a remote castle with a really big moat. Then I can always pull up the drawbridge and wait trouble out.
“You know the county sheriff?” Pick’s voice rumbles in my ear. Is it just me, or does he even sound sure and steady? Dependable. Protective. Like a total white knight, if you know, white knights were the size of mountains and rode Harleys in their spare time. Whereas I’m ready to run around in frenzied circles looking for an exit, he’s not in any rush. The car door is definitely opening, the sound drifting through the cafeteria’s screen door.
“Not me.” God, I hope not.
“So there’s no problem there. You didn’t date and dump him, or bump into him in the supermarket and have to listen to his long-ass stories about fishing and now he’s on your avoid-at-all-costs list.”
Pick’s drawl is slow and knowing. He knows he makes me nervous, and he knows I’m hiding something. In fact, he knows far too much. I open my mouth to say something, anything, because I know things, too. Like how to lie. It probably should bother me how easily the lies come, but I’m long past caring about ethics and moral values. You don’t put caviar on your shopping list when you’re down to your last dollar. Adrenaline spikes through my body, leaving me weak at the knees and painfully alive. Life is too short. Too uncertain. Blah blah freaking blah. Pick’s big body brushes against mine because of course he hasn’t stayed away, and I make the split-second decision to seize the opportunity. He’s here, he’s close, and if I don’t have my way with my hotshot now, tomorrow might be too late.
Thad could find me tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, the calendar is full of alternative dates, all of which will end equally badly for me. The only safe moment is now. I have to stop freaking out at every little noise. This is no way to live.
And I really, really want to live.
The last few months I’ve been putting down the highway of life in an overloaded minivan towing a whole lot of baggage. I’m ready to upgrade to a Camaro. To something with sizzle and flash and fire. No more speed limits, no more detours, no more wishing I’d gone in a different direction.
I’m lonely, I want sex, and this big hunk of man mountain is checking all the boxes on my top ten sexiest man traits list. You think all those driving metaphors were bad? Well, I’m getting off the highway of fear. Pulling over, making a pit stop, taking some me time.
This hotshot’s mine.
“Sarah Jo?”
“Yeah?” Even the way he says my name revs me up.
“You dating the sheriff?” I can hear the amusement in his voice, along with something else. Something that’s darker, hotter, and way more dangerous to my panties.
“No dating at all,” I get out, before a big finger comes up and covers my lips.
“Better not to say anything, darling. Whatever you’re coming up with, I’ll wait for the truth.”
Chapter Six
Pick
Sarah Jo bites me.
Not hard, but enough to make a dent in my finger that will be gone within the hour. I’m a tough son of a bitch, partly because it’s a job requirement, but mostly because that’s how life’s made me. Teeth marks don’t put me off. Fuck, part of me likes the fact that she’s decided to sink her teeth into me. The rest of me knows I damned well deserve whatever she dishes up because I shouldn’t be pushing her. Shouldn’t be touching her yet since she hasn’t issued an invitation.
Yet.
Hasn’t issued one yet.
Apparently, I’m an eternal fucking optimist where this woman is concerned, too. Still, I move my finger. I’m not entirely certain she won’t try to detach it from my body otherwise, and I have all sorts of dirty plans for that finger and Sarah Jo’s body. I’d hate for her to miss out because I’ve been reduced to a nine-finger wonder.
Now that I’ve removed my finger from her person, her grip tightens on the pile of forks she’s clutching like they’re an arsenal of deadly weapons she just can’t wait to launch. Possibly, she’s entertaining fantasies of stabbing me. Although I’d rather she mentally undressed me and rode me like a cowgirl, I’ll take what I can get. She’s not ignoring me and that goes straight into the plus column in the Pick Revere Dating Ledger. Frankly, that ledger’s been a little too empty lately. I haven’t dated much in recent history—a fire call comes in and I go out, which makes me bad Friday-night fodder and a frequent flyer at the local titty bar where I can at least look if I can’t touch—but even I know that paying attention is a good sign. Besides, I get the feeling that Sarah Jo doesn’t do things the easy way. She won’t be Friday night and a movie.