Ride Me Sweetheart

“I’m really starting to worry about your sanity,” she laughs.

“If that’s so, then aren’t you afraid to let me in your house?” I ask her, voicing what I was thinking about earlier.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a woman alone. You don’t know me.” I shrug, watching her face.

“I think I can take care of myself, Stud. Now, either get in here and peel the potatoes or stay on the porch,” she says, going inside. I follow her in, and I begin plotting out ways to get rid of some schmuck named Larry. I don’t know him, but he’s clearly not watching over his property like he should and it’s time a real man shows him how it’s done.

That thought makes me grin almost as much as watching the way Red’s curvy ass bounces when she walks in those damn pants she’s wearing.

3

Finley

“You cook a lot.”

I turn to look at… I grin. I still don’t know his name. I’ll find it out soon enough. To be honest, I kind of like the game we have going with one another. I can also admit that I’m extremely attracted to him… damn it.

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell you cook a lot.”

“I’m almost twenty-seven. I’ve had to learn how to cook if I wanted to eat.”

“You could eat out?” he laughs. “That’s what I do.”

“I cook better than take out,” I tell him honestly, secure in my ability. There was a time I thought of opening a restaurant, but it just never worked out.

“That you do, Red, but you fried enough chicken to feed an entire army.”

“Larry likes my chicken, Stud.”

“I bet he does,” he growls, sounding irritated. “I think I like when you call me Stud better than Einstein,” he adds, changing the subject—which amuses me for some reason.

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” I ask, finishing the frosting on the cake I made earlier. Larry would whine for days if I didn’t have his dessert. He’s the reason I ended up in Sweetheart, but as much as I love him, I haven’t been able to find a home in Stillwater or Sweetheart. I’m actually starting to think Colorado in general isn’t for me. It’s pretty, but it just leaves me wanting something different. The thought makes me sigh. I had hoped things would work out. Larry and I both hoped it would.

“Because that means you’re thinking about my dick now. It’s exactly what I want. Poor old Larry boy doesn’t have a chance now,” he jokes, making me laugh.

“I could just be thinking you’re as dumb as a two-by-four,” I tell him, figuring his ego needs to come down a peg or two.

“Nah, Red. You’re thinking of my dick. And if it makes you feel better, it’s much bigger and thicker than a two-by-four.

“Oh God. You have a one-track mind, don’t you?”

“When you’re around, I do. What’s the story with you and Larry-boy?”

“What do you mean?”

“He can’t be much of a man, Red.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, leaning on the bar, letting my hand prop my head and look at him, just anxious to know what comes out of his mouth next. He keeps making me laugh. He has all day. He also peeled potatoes and helped me cook without so much as blinking. It’s probably the most enjoyable day I’ve had in… maybe ever.

“Well, come on, Red. A real man doesn’t leave his woman alone, especially when another man is with her staking his claim.”

“Is that what you’re doing, Stud? Staking your claim?”

“Damn straight.”

“If you start pissing on everything when Larry gets here, it’s not going to end well for you, Stud.”

“No worries there. If anything, I’ll stretch you out on the table and show pretty boy Larry how a real man takes care of his woman,” he brags.

“You do know somewhere in that deranged brain of yours that we just met, right Ricky Cucumber?”

“I still know what I want, Needa Dicking.”

I shake my head, refusing to laugh, but it’s hard not to. The only thing that saves me is the sound of vehicles pulling up out front.

“Larry’s early,” I sigh.

“That’s not Larry. That’s bikes. That’s the damn club, and it sounds like all of them are showing up. I don’t want all of them here around you. I told them I just needed a tow. Jesus, nobody uses their damn head these days.”

“You get upset when people don’t do what you say, Stud?”

“I do when I give an order,” he grumbles.

“An order? Are you like the leader of the club? Like…the…. Shoot, what are they called when they rule over the others? Dictator of the club?” I ask, really trying not to laugh at the look on his face.

“The word is President, Red. And no, but I’m kind of a big deal. You don’t need to be nervous around all of them. I’ll have them leave a bike and get them out of here,” he says, and my eyes go round.