by Chelle Bliss
“Hello, Triple A, how can I help you?”
I could barely hear the tiny female voice above the loud classic rock that pulsed throughout the smoky bar. City chatted with the bartender as I tried to drown them out and give my location and details about my car. They wouldn’t be able to make it out to my car until morning. Fuck. I thanked her for helping me before hitting the end button.
“What’d they say?” City asked with a sincere look as the bartender sashayed away from us.
“They won’t make it out here until morning because they’re busy and we’re in the middle of nowhere. I’m to leave it unlocked so they can get in and put it in neutral or something. I don’t know how it works. I’ve never had my car towed before.” Now what the hell was I going to do? I was stranded at the Neon Cowboy with Mr. Sexalicious and my dirty thoughts.
“I’ll bring you back to your car when I’m done eating. I guess you’ll need a lift home too?” he asked, sipping his drink as he eyed me.
I smiled at him. Though I hated the thought of him going out of his way, and I wasn’t that comfortable with a stranger knowing where I lived, I couldn’t say no. “I’d appreciate it, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Suzy. I can’t just leave you here and walk out the door. I got ya, babe.” He turned his stool toward me and leaned into my space. “Where do you want me to take you after we leave? Home?” He quirked an eyebrow, waiting for my response, and held me in place with his hard stare.
Home? Whose home was he referring to? City looked to be the type that had different women falling out of his bed every morning…or maybe he kicked them out before he fell asleep. His fingers brushed against the top of my hand and my internal dialogue evaporated.
“Where. Do. You. Live?” The laughter he tried to hide behind his hand made it clear that I’d sat there longer in thought than I had realized.
I cleared my throat. “I need to unlock my car then I need a lift home. I live about fifteen minutes north. Is that okay? I mean, I don’t want to—” He put his finger over my lips and stopped me mid-sentence.
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll take you anywhere,” he said with a sly grin that made my pulse race and my body heat. He licked his lips, and I stared like an idiot. My sex convulsed at the thought of his lips on my skin. What the fuck was wrong with me? Every movement he made and word he spoke turned sexual, as if permeating my brain. I needed to get laid; this man was not hitting on me, was he?
“You want some? I can’t eat it all,” he said as the plate was placed in front of him.
I shook my head and picked up my drink, trying to cool my body off from the internal fire caused by City. The cool, sweet strawberry slush danced across my tongue and slid down my throat.
I swirled the red straw in my mouth, trying to occupy my mind. His arms flexed as he lifted the burger to his mouth, forearms covered with tattoos. The left arm had various designs woven together—a koi fish, a tiger, and a couple of other nature-themed pieces that seemed to move across his skin, and his right arm had a city skyline. I wanted to touch his arms and run my fingers across his ink. He looked big everywhere, and my gaze drifted down his body and lingered at his crotch. I wondered if his motorcycle and tattoos made up for shortcomings elsewhere, but I couldn’t believe a man like him was tiny. There was no way in hell he had a party…
“Pickle?”
I blinked and moved my eyes away from his crotch to his eyes. Pickle? He held it and motioned for me to take it.
“No. Thanks, though. You eat it,” I said, feeling like he was reading my mind. God, I hoped he didn’t see me staring at his crotch. I sucked down the rest of my drink, wishing now that it did have alcohol in it. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so embarrassed. “I noticed your tattoos. What’s the one on your right arm?”
“That’s the Chicago skyline,” he said, as he took another bite.
“You from there?”
“Born and bred, baby.” He grunted and continued to chew. I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth. Watching him eat was erotic to me; his lips moved as he chewed, and he sucked each finger in his mouth to clean off the juices that flowed from the sandwich. Damn. It had been too long since I’d had sex—when eating becomes sexual. Houston, we have a problem.
