Gridlocked (Bounty County Series Book 3)

by Maren Lee

  “Swear on your marriage she likes me?” He pointed his finger at her.

  “I can't believe every one of you assholes in the Department uses that shit against me. Yes, I swear on my marriage. Besides your gross beard, what is there not to like?”

  “I'm not in her swimming pool, Sierra.”

  “What? I don't even know what that means.” Sierra looked confused.

  “It means she’s an eleven and I’m a dumb ass!” Wesson huffed and took a drink.

  “You’re not that dumb.” Sierra shrugged.

  “Shut up, Sierra.”

  “I’m joking. You’re not dumb, you just put your foot in your mouth and say dumb shit... a lot.”

  “Thanks, that makes me feel better. Oh wait, no it doesn't.” Wesson sighed heavily.

  “Don't be so sensitive. You’re pretty fucking hot, so that makes up for most of the dumb shit you say.”

  “Oh my god, stop.”

  “What? You’re fuckin’ sexy, Wesson. I haven’t seen you naked, but your arms are cut and your forearms are super veiny. I’d fuck you if I were single.”

  “Sierra, please don’t give Brenden a reason to kill me.”

  “Oh please. He knows who he’s married to. Look, Molly knows how you are. And despite it all, she still likes you. You should ask her out.”

  Just then, Brenden sauntered up to the bar and put his arm around his wife. Sierra looked up to him and smiled. Her aura completely changed. Light just beamed out of her. Jesus, she was hot and sassy. Wesson had no fucking clue how Brenden kept her under control, but somehow they made it work.

  “Hey, Wess. What’s going on?”

  “The usual. Your wife is torturing me.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of her thing.”

  “Hey!” she elbowed Brenden in the gut. “You love me.”

  “Of course I do, darlin’. That’s why I put up with you. Is she matchmaking again, Wesson?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “That’s also sort of her thing.”

  “Shut up, Bren. Don’t you think he and Molly are perfect for each other.”

  “Nope,” he said immediately.

  “What!? Why the fuck not?” Sierra sat straight up in protest.

  “She’s a doctor. And Wess is not a doctor.”

  “So? Doctors don’t just date each other, Brenden.”

  “She’s really smart, Sierra.” Brenden raised an eyebrow.

  “So?” Sierra was still confused.

  “Come on, you know. Wesson’s a damn good shot and a great cop, but he isn't the brightest crayon in the box.”

  “Hey!” both Sierra and Wesson said in unison.

  “Sorry to ruin your fantasy babe, but I just don't see it working.”

  “And that, Bren, is why you aren’t a matchmaker. Your pessimism and assumptions kill your potential. Bet you would have never thought Jake and Lane would be good together. And look at them now!”

  “Yeah, you also didn’t think they’d be good together. I believe your words were, ‘Jake’s a manwhore, Lane. Stay away from him.’”

  “Well, he was a manwhore, so I was right about that.”

  “Well, this one isn’t going to work out like they did. Wesson constantly puts his foot in his mouth. Molly is too smart to stand for that for very long.”

  “Fuck off, Brenden. I’m sitting right here,” Wesson protested.

  “I mean no offense, man. Just quit letting my nutty wife pump your head full of this shit.”

  “Fuck off, Brenden. I’m sitting right here.” Sierra smacked his bicep.

  Just then the door opened and a beautiful blonde in black rimmed glasses walked through the door. Molly Mooney. She had the attention of the entire bar.

  “Sierra,” Brenden admonished her, furrowing his brow. “Did you do this?”

  “What? Little ole me? I would never,” she mock gasped. “Time to nut up, Wess. She’s yours if you try hard enough. Make your move.” Sierra looked him in the eyes then swung her gaze to Molly.

  He felt his knees weaken as he watched her walk over to them. God, she was beautiful. Blonde hair with soft curls. It needed to be pulled. Her blue eyes, round plump ass, small waist leading to her big, juicy tits. Gorgeous, soft skin. She was fucking perfection. His mouth watered. He was so completely not worthy. But Sierra was right. If he ever had a shot with her he needed to go for it now… before she was snatched up by one of these cowboy-fucks in the bar.

  Here goes nothin’...

  ➰

  When Molly walked into the bar, her stomach flipped the moment she saw him. She couldn't believe she’d let Sierra talk her into hanging out, especially after she told her about her last experience with Wesson. Just seeing him here made her nervous as hell and weak in the knees.

  After the ride home from the hospital a few weeks ago, she couldn't get him off her mind. She couldn’t stop picturing the muscles in his arms flexing as he gripped the gear shift. So dang hot. The scent of him was imprinted in her nostrils; his mouthwatering woodsy citrus scent followed her everywhere she went. She imagined his strong hands on her body. Her breasts...her thighs…hell, everywhere. Shoooooot.

  Everything about Wesson intrigued Molly. His intense gaze. His sexy green eyes. Defined cheekbones. Strong, square jaw. All topped off by his shaggy, brown, slightly wavy hair. Wow.

  His muscular frame and broad shoulders demanded respect. He was just over six feet tall and totally swoon worthy. Wesson caught a lot of grief from their common circle of friends for putting his foot in his mouth and mixing up words in common phrases, but she found it adorable. It was unique. It was totally Wesson. Molly seriously dug him.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as she closed in on the bar.

  “Hey, pretty lady!” Sierra turned to her and gave her a hug.

  Molly whispered in her ear, “I feel like an idiot.”

  “Well you're not, I just confirmed with him that he’s into you. Now let's get you loosened up,” Sierra whispered.

  Sierra turned to face Darla. “Shots please. We doing whiskey or tequila, Moll?”

  Both of those would do the job. “Tequila, I guess,” Molly smiled then looked to Brenden who smiled and shook his head.

  “You women are crazy. We playing darts or pool?” Brenden asked.

  “Pool.” Both she and Sierra said in unison.

  “I've got to hit the ladies’ room. Wesson, can you help Molly carry the shots? Great, thanks.” Sierra took off without waiting for a response.

  Wesson shook his head with a smile and turned toward Molly. “Well, I guess I'm carrying shots.” His eyes went wide when he met hers.

  What the hell? Did she have something on her face? He’s so not into you, Molly. Molly shrugged and stepped up next to the bar. “You don't have to carry anything if you don't want to.” She started grabbing shot glasses as she felt his warm hard body press against her back.

  “Oh, I want to.” His arms reached around her as he picked up the other two shot glasses.

  Holy hell. She felt a wave of heat move through her. Molly took the shot in her right hand and slammed it, quickly followed by the shot in her left hand. There, that should help me loosen up.

  “Two more shots please, Darla?” Molly shouted.

  Wesson leaned in next to her, “I've never seen a woman take shots of tequila back-to-back with no runners.”

  Runners? What? Ohhhhh...chasers. Molly grinned.

  “Well, I like to take it fast, Wesson.” Oh my heck, Molly! Could you have sounded any more desperate? “That's not what I meant.” Yeah, that will clear things up.

  Wesson cleared his throat. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead he just closed his mouth and smiled. “Come on. We've got a game of pool to play,” he nodded toward the back of the bar.

  Molly grabbed the two shot glasses Darla had refilled. “Lead the way.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. She was happy to follow Wesson. Tha
t ass in those jeans was one of the best views in town. Hello, tequila! She smirked. The booze was doing its job loosening her right on up. Tonight just might be fun.

  Chapter 2

  Playing pool with Molly was hard. In more than one way. The woman was dangerous with a pool cue. She was whipping it all over the place, not realizing human heads were an obstacle to avoid. But hot damn did she look good bent over that table.

  Fuuuuuuuck.

  Wesson was grateful she hadn’t asked for any instructions (despite the fact that she clearly did not know what she was doing), because it would have been almost impossible to keep his boner hidden. Her breasts - good god - they were practically spilling out of her royal blue sundress. It was tied at the neck, pushing her cleavage up for Wesson’s viewing pleasure. And it was way too short. When she bent over, the hem rode up to show that sexy little curve where her legs turned into her perfectly round ass. If her legs looked that good in some flats, he couldn't imagine what heels would do.

  Jesus.

  Wesson’s thoughts were interrupted.

  “Come on, love, I want to get you outta here and into my bed.” Brenden wrapped his arm around Sierra’s waist and scooped her up into his arms.

  Sierra screeched. “Damn, Romeo, you don't have to tell me twice! Molly, hand me my purse, please! I need to get laid!” she shouted as Brenden marched out with her in tow.

  “Wrap it up!” Wesson shouted after them.

  Sierra shook her head and shouted back, “No need!”

  “Lucky bastard,” Wesson mumbled in reply.

  Molly sat down next to him, her sexy blue eyes glazed over. She was definitely hammered. Her hair was a little mussed, but it looked exactly how he pictured it would if he woke up next to her. Fuck me.

  “Wess…” Molly put her hand on his knee. Whoa. Wesson felt that in his dick.

  “How you planning on getting home, sweetness?” he asked.

  “I can’t drive. Do you think you can give me a ride home?” she asked as she laid her head on his shoulder.

  He wanted to pull her on top of him right there in the back of the bar and take her all the way home. That's not what she asked you for, asshole.

  “Yeah, I can ride you. Fuck! I mean...give you a ride.”

  Molly giggled out loud. Loudly. She bit her lip as she looked back up at him, “I’d really, really, like that.”

  His cock hardened hearing her words. “Let's go.”

  ➰

  “Molly,” Wesson whispered. “Molly...burger bun. We’re here,” he stated as he placed his truck into park. Burger bun? Dammit. Honey bun! He shook his head to himself. This is why I can’t possibly date Molly Mooney.

  No answer.

  “Molly,” he shook her. “Molly!” he shouted.

  “Ugh. Oh, god. Arewehere?” Molly slurred, looking around his truck like she was in a foreign country.

  Whoa. In the approximately fifteen minutes it had taken Wesson to drive from the Cadillac Ranch Club to Molly’s house, she had both fallen asleep and become extremely shitfaced.

  “Yeah, Moll. We’re here. You wanna get your key out for me?” Wesson asked.

  “Uhhhhh.” She opened up her purse and dumped it on his lap. Well, shit.

  He turned on the light in the cab and carefully went through all of the contents. Lipstick. Tampons. Birth Control. Note taken. Grocery store receipts. A couple of mismatched earrings. Passport. Interesting thing to keep in your purse in Imminence, Montana, of all places. Chapstick. Sunscreen. Wallet. Loose Costco card. Also good to know. Flat screen deals in Billings. A few loose business cards. Mace. Good girl. And finally, keys...with a cat keychain! He liked her even more.

  “You don't fucking move.” Jesus, bro. Calm it down, she's not a criminal. “Sorry, cop mode. I mean, please don't fucking move. I’ll help you out.” He hopped out of his truck and ran around to her side and opened her door, her purse slung over his shoulder. “Come on, candy cane,” he said as he grabbed her under the knees and behind her shoulders to carry her out.

  “I...I can walk, Weshon.”

  “Just let me carry you, Molly.”

  “Mmmmm. Okay,” she said as she nuzzled into his neck. She wasn’t light, but she wasn't heavy. Wesson felt like he could carry her across the entire county. “You shmell so good, Weshon,” she slurred.

  “I smell like the Cadillac. You’re probably just drunk,” he smiled.

  “No...you shmell like the woods and citrus and something else…” she took a deep breath, rubbing the tip of her nose on his chest, moaning as she exhaled. Fucking torture. She turned her head and laid it softly on his chest as he walked up the steps on her front porch.

  “Molly, I have to put you down so I can get your keys.” Wesson put Molly down and she grunted. “Hold onto my neck.”

  “I’m shorry I’m sho ship faced,” she practically cried.

  God, she was so cute.

  “It’s okay, Molly. It just snuck up on you.”

  “I don’t ushually drink this mush.”

  “I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said as he unlocked her door and walked them both inside.

  “I really like you, Weshon. Y’know?”

  He really hoped she wasn’t just saying that because she was drunk. “I like you too, Molly. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Oh yesh. Pleash. Take me to bed. I need to be fucked, Weshon. Like, youdon’tevenknow. Les go.”

  What? Whoa.

  “Holy shit, Molly. I’d love to fuck you till you walk bowlegged, but you’ve had too much to drink, baby,” Wesson pleaded.

  Molly grabbed his dick through his pants and started stroking. “Ohhhhh, that's big. Mush bigger than my B-O-Beeeeeeeee. We might need slum lube.”

  Fuck. Me.

  “Molly. Babe,” he warned.

  “Come on, Wess. Pleazzzz fuck me. I need it. I’ve washed pornnnnn. It looks like their vashinas are gonna esplode. I wanchoo to blow up my vashina!” she slurred as she continued rubbing, tilting her head up to nibble his earlobe.

  Not. Fucking. Fair. He couldn't believe this angel of a woman could get so dirty. He wanted her, for sure. But he couldn't do it. Definitely not like this. She was so much better than a drunken hookup. But god damn, her hand on his dick was killing him.

  “Honey, as much as I love to hear you talk like that -- and believe me, I would make that pussy rain -- we should have this convention when you’re more...sober.”

  Wesson was more than disappointed that she was currently too drunk to make a move on, but he was also super stoked that at least Molly’s drunk-self wanted him. Fuck, I hope she remembers this tomorrow.

  “No. We’re doing it now,” Molly declared as she defiantly stripped off her sundress, up and over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra and had only the tiniest scrap of white lace underwear covering her promised land. It was the smallest, laciest pair of underwear Wesson had ever seen. Molly was definitely a waxer. And then he looked up.

  Holy shit.

  His brain short circuited. Her breasts. Were. Amazing.

  Best. Tits. Ever.

  Better than anything he’d ever seen. In movies. In magazines. In porn.

  Never better.

  They were huge. Natural. In Wesson’s experience, fake tits were huge, but they sat a little too high. A little too perky. Like rocks duct taped to a woman’s chest. Molly’s were big, but they hung slightly. Not like rocks. They were perfect. He knew when she was riding him, they would bounce and sway in front of his face at just the right level. Just the right speed for him to latch onto her rosy pink nipples and suck hard. Those beauties were destined for his mouth. And if there was a God, they were destined for his dick too.

  You probably shouldn’t be asking God for the chance to titty-fuck Molly. Shit.

  He’d never seen better. Ever.

  Never.

  Holy shit.

  Wesson wasn’t a breast size expert. He was
going to have to ask Molly later. Maybe double Ds?

  But her entire body was fucking classic. A ‘57 Chevy. He’d drive that fucking Chevy all damn night.

  She cannot possibly want you, Wess. Are you seriously going to even try?