Attached to You (Carolina Rebels 4)

September

Why do I do this to myself?

Come to bars, take shots of tequila, and hope to find another fuck. I can’t believe this, but I miss Zane. Of the few guys I have available to regularly fuck, he hasn’t been around for months. He’s a sweet guy. Honestly surprised me that he goes along with my ‘no strings attached, you won’t be the only guy I’m sleeping with’ lifestyle. He doesn’t seem the type to do that for long.

But he has.

He’s the nicest of the guys I see. Well, the guys I did see. That has to be the reason why I miss him. I’m in a dry spell. The other guys found girlfriends, so my pool of guys is down to Zane.

Which is what brings me to the bar.

I need to get laid.

As my gaze scans the guys on either side of me along the bar, I wonder if I’m getting tired of this or if the guys here look unappealing because my mistake was coming on karaoke night. Either way, I wish I figured that one out before I walked in. I down another shot. Surely I’m not tired of the hunt, of the thrill of finding a new fuck buddy. This is fun. No one gets close. No one gets hurt. It’s perfect. I sigh when no one catches my eye. This is not one of my good nights, apparently.

A body rams hard into my side, and my ribs go straight into the bar’s edge. “Fuck.”

“Damn. Sorry. Motherfucker bumped into me.” A hand gingerly rests on my elbow, the touch at odds with the harsh tone and words of the man. “You okay?”

A shudder runs through me at the sound of his voice. It’s deep and gruff and commands attention. My gaze runs from the hand, up the arm, across a vast chest, and then lands on his face. Holy shit, he’s hot. His eyes are dark green and so serious. His hair is a dark red, and he has ridiculously strong-looking jaws.

“You okay?” he repeats.

“My ribs hurt. Buy me a drink to make up for it?”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, the only sign that I’ve surprised him. “Yeah, sure.” He takes the empty barstool next to me. “A drink or another shot?” he asks as he waves the bartender over.

“Two shots, please.”

Once he orders me two more shots and a beer for himself, he gives me a once-over. I let him look, let him take in my tight, low-cut shirt, and my shorts. It might be September, but it was still warm when I walked in here. It’ll probably be a little chilly when I leave.

“I’m Brayden.”

“Deanna. You here by yourself?”

He nods. “Just needed to get out of the house. Ended up here somehow. Didn’t realize there would be karaoke.” He winces as the next singer, who is terrible but energetic, begins her song.

“Same here.” Needed to get out of the house, needed to get fucked. Same thing, right? Brayden would be perfect. He’s a big man, tall and wide, muscular too. Just the right amount, though. Not too buff that you’re worried a hug may kill you or that he’d be like a rock if you rest your head on him. He seems strong and sturdy. Have I mentioned lately that he’s insanely hot? And he has this whole serious look that makes me want to force him to be fun. What would his smile be like? Does he smile? Can he smile? He doesn’t look like he does, if he can. What a ridiculous thing to wonder. A man as gorgeous as him surely has plenty of reasons to smile, so obviously he does.

My shots are placed in front of me and I knock them back one after the other. Heat runs through me and I turn on the barstool toward Brayden. I think I’ve had a few too many at this point. “You’re smokin’ hot.”

A faint smile quickly appears on Brayden’s face and just as quickly disappears. I’m beyond disappointed that I got not even a half-assed smile. “You always tell people you don’t know that you think they’re hot?”

I lay a hand on his arm. His muscular arm. “But I do know you. Your name is Brayden and you injured me.”

He reaches out and gently runs his fingers over my ribs. I wince. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.” The expression on his face changes as he touches the tender area. He frowns when I suck in a breath. He must think it’s because my ribs are sore, but they’re not. His knuckles grazed my bra and I wish I wasn’t wearing one. Brayden’s hand falls. “Give it a few days and you’ll be as good as new. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I bumped into you that hard.”

“It’s okay. So, what do you do for a living?”

“I don’t want to talk about work.”

I frown. All I asked was what he did. I wasn’t going to dive in and ask every detail about his job. Quite frankly, I’m playing nice until it’s mostly appropriate for me to ask him to take me somewhere else to fuck my brains out. Plus, small talk helps weed out the creeps. “Okay. Then, what do you do for fun?”

Brayden eyes me for a moment. “Honestly?”

“Well,” I shrug, “you can lie if you want.”

He laughs and holy freaking shit, there’s a smile! I grab the edge of the bar to steady myself. The man goes from sexy and edgy to downright beautiful and I’m-going-to-faint-he’s-so-hot status. “I don’t do much for fun.”

“There must be something,” I push.

“We

ll, in my spare time, I like to buy houses, renovate them myself as much as I can, and then sell them.”

In his spare time? What does this man do for a living where he either has a lot of spare time or he has a lot of money to do such a thing, or both? And he does all of that hard labor for fun?

“So you’re good with your hands?”

Dear lord. There’s that smile again. My body leans forward on its own accord. “Of course I’m good with my hands, darlin’.” Swoon. Normally, I’d be internally barfing right now, but it rolls so easily off his tongue with a slightly Southern accent that a swoon can’t be prevented.

Holy hell, what is happening to me?

“What about you?” he asks.

I take a moment to let my brain reform from its state of mush before answering. “I find my fun in many ways. Just depends. Sometimes, it’s going to a concert, playing pool, acting silly, doing something a little wild, whatever.”

“Like karaoke?” he asks.

I laugh. “On occasion.” An idea hits me. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to visit the ladies’ room.” I step away and make my way through the throng of people. Elbows and shoulders bump into me along the way, making me feel like a pinball. Brayden watches me go; I know because I glance back and see him. Once I’m sure he can’t see me anymore, I move toward the DJ in charge of taking names for karaoke. Let’s hope Brayden won’t kill me for signing him up and picking his songs.

My excuse is that he can use some fun and if Mr. Serious goes through with it, then he’s definitely worthy of getting laid tonight.