Crazy Hot Love (Dirty Dicks 2)

“What you need is a tight, warm pussy.”

That’s the other last thing I need.

I’m not one to sleep around. Mostly because as much as I don’t want to turn out like my father, I really don’t want to turn out like my mother. Haven’t heard from her in years, but mention her name to anyone in town, and they’ll think of one thing: whore. She slept with anyone willing to put a beer in her hand and a dick between her legs. And that’s a title I don’t want to keep in the family.

Which leaves me with two options: stay single and keep my dick in my pants, or find a nice girl, settle down, and commit—something I put the brakes on years ago.

In my world, people cheat, steal, hit, and lie. And the promise of love is nothing more than an empty declaration designed to bring down a person’s walls.

Once those walls are gone, you’re left exposed and vulnerable to a world of hurt.

I’ve had enough hurt in my life, and I refuse to bring a woman into my fucked-up world because it’s inevitable: one of these days I’ll lose what little strength l have and fall fast and hard into the life my parents lived—the life I grew up in. And God help the woman beside me when that happens.

Until then, I do what any good ol’ boy does. I watch porn, work the hell out of my right hand, and when the urge gets too strong, I get rip-roaring drunk, take home a nameless, faceless woman, and the next morning I vow to never do it again.

Tonight that urge is strong, but not overpowering.

“Nah, man. I’ve seen what this bar has to offer. I don’t need a buckle bunny attaching herself to me.”

The Broken Boot is the best damn bar in Houston. The leather seats are torn, the hardwood floor is scuffed from years of dancing, and the smell of stale beer hangs in the air, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

Except maybe on the back of a two-ton bull in the middle of a sold-out arena, but that dream died, and The Broken Boot is second best.

Here, money doesn’t matter. No one gives a fuck where I come from or where I’m going. I’m just another bull rider in a town full of cowboys, and that’s how I like it.

“I’m not talking about a buckle bunny,” Deacon says. “I’m referring to a fresh face. Someone I’ve never seen in here before.”

Tucker lets out a low whistle. “Trust me, brother, this woman is just what the doctor ordered to pull you out of whatever funk you’re in. Perky tits, tight ass, and curves for miles.”

“If she’s so perfect, why the hell haven’t you hit on her?”

“He has,” Deacon says, laughing. “She shot him down cold.”

Tucker shoves Deacon. “She didn’t shoot me down.”

“You’re right. She smiled and patted your back. I think that’s worse.” Deacon’s eyes lock on something over my shoulder and his smile grows. “Don’t look now, but here comes the brown-eyed beauty.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up before I’m fully turned around. That’s only ever happened with one woman.

“Adley?”

Chapter 1

Lincoln

Five months later

There’s a special place in hell for a man like me—a man who shamelessly sleeps with his best friend’s little sister, knowing he’ll never be what she needs. A man who takes without giving anything in return, because the only thing he has to offer is a broken past that’s destined to destroy his future.

Adley Allen presses her naked body against mine and sighs. Her silky skin brushes against my chest, testing my strength—strength I’ve already proven I don’t have when I’m around her.

She looks up, her dark brown eyes finding mine. “That was the best celebratory sex I’ve ever had.”

“Damn right it was. We’re going to start celebrating everything. You wake up. We celebrate. You eat. We celebrate. You shi—”

“Don’t even say it.” She laughs, slapping at my chest.

“Fine, I won’t say it, but just so you know, we’re celebrating it.”