Man Handler (Man Cave - A Standalone Collection Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I had a lot of time to think, Austin.”

  “It’s been two weeks; it ain’t that long.”

  “You’re right,” she agrees.

  “I know I am.” Her gaze lazily skates down the center of my body and her breath shudders in response. I suppose it’s nice to know my body still has an effect on women. “So, what were you thinking about for those two whole weeks?”

  “Whether or not I should stay in this weird little town,” she says.

  “Good,” I tell her. “What’s your decision?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she says.

  “Well then, there’s nothing left here for you to see, perv.”

  She scoffs and draws her head back with shock. “Did you just call me a perv?”

  “You did just walk into the locker room without knocking.”

  “And to think I came in here to be the ‘forward’ person you were expecting.”

  “When you decide to stay in this town, give me a call.” There’s no humor in my words. I’m as serious as a pig looking at a plate of bacon. My heart isn’t capable of handling more destruction in this one lifetime, so unless I’m sure that a chick isn’t wearing me like a temporary fashion trend, I’m all done with getting involved. No matter how damn good a kiss is.

  “Oh, you’re not a risk taker. I get it,” she says. “I suppose there is no real good reason to let life just play out on its own, I guess.”

  “You’re right. There isn’t.”

  “Then why did you kiss me?” She tries to cross her arms over her chest in a movement of frustration, but she realizes it’s not possible to comfortably manage with her cast, so she drops her hands by her side. That kind of makes me feel bad for her. She can’t even be pissy in a proper manner. “Well?” It’s been a second since she asked me the question and I get that I’m not fast enough for her, but damn, she is up my butt, and I’m cornered in a locker room of all places.

  “I only kissed you in case the opportunity never came up again,” I tell her. “So, it’s a good thing I did what I did, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Ah, the risk factor. It makes sense.” Scarlett takes a couple of steps back, and I’m debating every single decision I’ve made about her. I know why I’m single. I know why I can’t find the right woman. I know all this, but nothing changes. The outcome will always be the same. “Except, why would you care if the opportunity to kiss me never came up again?” She releases a groan of frustration and sweeps her hair off her shoulder. “You know what, Austin? If you don’t take a risk, you don’t stand the chance to win or lose, and that’s just sad.” Scarlett moves across the room quickly, grabbing ahold of the door handle to leave.

  “Is that what you were thinking when you went walking through the woods with four-inch heels?”

  She snickers and points at me with sarcasm oozing out of every feature on her cute face. “That’s the best comeback you have? You’re a funny one. Seriously though, it was a nice kiss to hold onto. So, thanks for that I guess.” With the door partially open and a foot into the hall, she turns back once more. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m not the type to make life changes for any man. I make them for me, and that’s why I’m single. So, if you thought your sexy tan, ripped ab muscles, and tats were going to be the reason I stay here, you’re a little cockier than I thought.” Holy shit. She’s me, but she doesn’t know it. “Bye, Austin.”

  When the door shuts, I throw my shirt on, change my pants, and I’m out of the locker room within thirty-seconds of Scarlett’s dramatic, but impactful goodbye.

  I don’t do this.

  I don’t go after a woman just because she’s got a sassy mouth and says all the right things at the wrong times. So, I don’t know why the hell I’m doing it right now.

  “Go get your girl,” Daisy yells as I jog by the desk.

  “Will you quit your yappin’?” I shout to her.

  I walk out through the emergency room sliding doors where the sunset is blazing down on me, causing a glare I can’t see a damn thing through.

  “It’s okay, Austin, I can be a little cocky too.”

  I spin around, looking for where her voice is coming from. I almost miss her while struggling to see through the blinding light, but I find Scarlett casually leaning up against the brick wall next to the doors.

  “Cocky as in, you knew I’d be leaving work at the same time you walked out, so you figured you’d just wait a minute to see if I would, in fact, follow you?” I say.

  “No,” she laughs, regaining all that control she once thought was gone. “Cocky as in, I know you like me. I know you know I like you, but we’re both too stubborn to consider something good is happening.”

  I walk over to her, holding my back to the sun, shielding us from the surrounding glare. “Good things don’t happen in my life, Scarlett.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “They just don’t.”

  “Telling me that good things just don’t happen to you isn’t a good answer,” she argues. This woman sounds so knowing and sure, yet she has no clue what she’s talking about.

  “Fine. If you don’t like my answer, what should it be, then?” I ask.

  “Your answer should be, ‘Because something good hasn’t happened … yet.’”

  Pretty, smart, and a hellion—just my type. Lord, am I in trouble … “Maybe you’re right.” Did those words just come out of my mouth? It’s like she made me say it. She’s an evil little thing.

  “I know I am,” she says, confidently. “I’m going home. You can stop me if you’d like, but I’m not giving you what you want.”

  “What do you think I want?” I ask her, taking another step closer.

  “To escape whatever loneliness you’ve brought upon yourself.” If she had any clue how true her statement was, she might not have even said it.

  “You have a lot of words to say, but what I don’t understand is how a risk-taker like yourself is basing a life decision on some self-imposed thirty-day trial. What kind of person follows a thought process like that?”

  “Austin, I don’t follow my thoughts. I listen to my heart, and that’s scarier than any risk I’ll ever take.”

  “Come back to my house with me,” I tell her. Fuck everything. Fuck my past. Fuck my future, and fuck everything in between. I want this girl. I want her now, and I’ll give her a million reasons to stay if that’s what she needs. I didn’t want to be a factor in her decision to stay or go, but I was lying to myself when I came up with that thought. I hardly know a thing about her, but she sees life through the same colored lenses I do, and it’s a rare trait to find in someone. I have to know her more. I need to learn her ways of battling the world around us because I’m envious of the shield she proudly holds in front of her.

  “You want me to come back to your house?” She chuckles and slides her foot down the wall she’s been leaning against. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” With a raised brow, she steps out in front of me.

  “Miss Scarlett, will you please join me at my house tonight for dinner and—a movie or something?” I try my hand at charm rather than dominant firmness because I think I’ve only perfected one of those tactics.

  “It depends,” she says. With a questioning smile on her face, she pulls a pair of sunglasses from her purse and slides them over her eyes while continuing to walk ahead of me. This chick is going to take every damn opportunity there is to torture me. Yet, I’ve thrown all caution to the wind; ready to endure every single damn weapon she intends to use on me.

  “What does it depend on?” I play her game.

  She pauses and stares at me with what appears to be a serious intent, seeing as her tell-all eyes are now covered. “Well, what time are you planning to walk me home?”

  I’m about to throw her over my back and carry her to my house like a goddamn caveman would, but I’ll be a gentleman, even if it’s just for show. “Miss Scarlett, I will walk you home whenever your little heart desires. How ‘bout that?”

  �
��Fine, twist my arm,” she says.

  “I’m gonna go ahead and say no to that, seeing as your arm is injured, but I’ll lead the way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Scarlett

  I’m chomping at the bit to know Austin’s story. I’ve been intrigued by him since we met and if there’s anything I’ve learned throughout my dating and relationship experiences, it’s to be patient. Anything that’s rushed never works out, not in my world, anyway. I figured if things were meant to be, they’d happen in their own time, and if I end up going home, it’s because nothing was going to happen between Austin and me. I don’t believe in fate. I just believe that someday I’ll end up in the right place at the right time with the right guy, which is ironic, since it’s difficult for me to be on time.

  “Do you live alone?” I ask.

  “No, I have a roommate.”

  “Oh, what’s his or her name?”

  “Waldo,” he answers. Mmmkay.

  “Oh, how fun.”

  “He gets out a lot.” I’m trying to figure out if he’s joking or serious, but I probably won’t know until I get there.

  “So, answer me this, Austin Trace. It’s dawned on me from hearsay that you might be the most sought-after bachelor in this town. True or false?”

  “I’d be cocky if I said true,” he responds.

  “But, you’d be lying if you said false,” I correct him.

  “Look, there aren’t many options here; let’s be real about this.” This is true.

  “I met Laurie-Cate. Her parents are staying at the hotel, and she seemed quite intent on knowing your business.” Just throwing it out there to get a better read on who I should and should not be talking to.

  “Aw shit, you met Laurie-Cate?” I look over and cup my hand over my eyes to see him through the glare. “She’s a nut.”

  “Well, she seems fairly typical as far as the locals go.”

  “Are you saying I’m nuts?” he asks.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “So, you’re coming back to my house with me, admitting you don’t know if I’m nuts, and that’s okay with you?”

  “I’m a risk-taker, remember?” I tease.

  “You’re full of it,” he snaps back.

  “How would you know?”

  “You’ve never broken a bone, had surgery or even stitches before you got here. That doesn’t exactly describe a typical risk-taker.” He has a point. Maybe there are just different types of risk takers, and he hasn’t met my type yet.

  “Being risky is different when you live in a big city.” He doesn’t even know the risks involved with touching a handlebar on the T, our Boston subway system. “Here, I have an idea.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what your idea is,” he says.

  “Isn’t that the bar you … oh, how do you say it down here … ‘fancy’?”

  “Dickles?” he asks.

  Who the hell names a bar Dickles? Do they even know what it sounds like? “Yeah, that place.”

  “I’ve been known to ‘fancy’ that bar on occasion.”

  I cut in front of Austin, forcing him to stop short, and I walk right into the bar full of men. There wasn’t a sign that said Men Only, but I assume it isn’t a place that women here prefer to spend their time.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Austin asks.

  “Having a drink? What does it look like I’m doing?” I sit down at the bar, surveying the back shelf to check out what they have. “You know what I haven’t had in a while?”

  “I feel like there’s a lot of ways I can answer that question,” he says.

  “I haven’t had a nice stiff—” I hesitate as I look over at him because I feel like driving him nuts. He strikes me as the type to like the challenge of pursuit. Austin clears his throat, almost as if it were at my command. “Drink. I haven’t had a nice stiff drink in a while.”

  “I’d be concerned if you answered that any differently,” he says, twisting around in his seat so he’s facing my side profile. “Are you stalling?” I think he’s asking if I’m nervous to go back to his house. No. Am I stalling? Yes, but for his benefit, not mine. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true either. It is a little bit for my benefit.

  “I think I need to start with a shot. Are you down?”

  “A shot?” he questions.

  “You do have shots down here, right?”

  “Yeah, bruiser, we have shots.”

  “Good.”

  “Jack,” he calls to the bartender.

  “How y’all doin’?” Jack answers, reaching out his hand for Austin’s.

  “Good, bro. We just stopped in to have a quick drink.” I’m pretty sure Austin just threw him a wink. Wow. I guess it doesn’t matter what part of the country I am in, men are still men. It must be like a universal bro-code to announce he thinks he’s getting laid tonight.

  “You’re the new girl in town, right?” Jack asks me.

  “That would be me. Scarlett,” I say, reaching my hand out to shake his, except he kisses my knuckles instead. Not weird. Not at all.

  “Austin clears his throat. We’re ready to order, I think,” he says, looking at me so I tell him what I want.

  I want to laugh before I order, but I’m able to compose myself. “I’ll have a blowjob and a Sex on the Beach.”

  Jack drops the glass that he was drying. Austin nearly falls out of his chair, and I’m still trying so freaking hard not to laugh.

  “Ah, did you just say—” Jack begins to repeat my order, but I’ll spare him.

  “A Blow Job shot and a Sex on the Beach,” I enunciate each word, making sure Jack understands.

  “Wow,” Austin says. “Interesting choice of drinks.”

  “I mean, in Boston, we usually just call it a good night, but things seem a bit different here.”

  “I’m thinking I should move to Boston,” Austin says.

  “That would be a shame if I stayed here, wouldn’t you think?” I ask him.

  “I don’t know. You do you and I’ll do me,” he responds.

  “Hot,” I tell him.

  “Okay … and that’s about enough of that,” Jack says, still waiting for Austin’s order. “I still have to work for the next five hours, so if you wouldn’t mind just spittin’ out—mannn—give me your damn order.”

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” Austin spikes back.

  “Oh, you want a Blow Job and Sex on the Beach?” I ask him, pressing my lips into a straight line across my face.

  He leans in toward me, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Do you have any clue what you’re doing to me right now?”

  “Why yes, I do,” I answer, matter-of-factly.

  “You are a tease,” he says. His words tickle my ear, sending delightful pains down the center of my body.

  “I’d only be a tease if I didn’t have good intentions, Austin.”

  “And we’re going to sit here and sip on drinks?”

  “Isn’t that how you drink down here? Slow?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. He turns his stool toward the bar and adjusts his pants while doing so. I’m pretty much turning myself on at this point, and I don’t think I’ve ever played this game as well as I’m playing it right now. I know I’m just as guilty for not contacting him these last two weeks, but clearly, he was testing me, just as I was testing him.

  Jack returns a couple minutes later with two shots topped off with whipped cream and the two cocktails.

  I wait and watch as Austin reaches for his shot, lifting it up and holding it toward me to clink glasses.

  “Have you ever played soccer?” I ask him.

  “Of course I have. What does that have to do with alcohol?” He’s totally confused, so I guess we do shots up north differently too.

  “What’s the number one rule everyone knows about soccer?” I ask.

  “I dunno, no hands?” he replies.

  “Same goes for Blow Job shots,” I tell him. “It’s a rule.”

  “Says who?”
he asks.

  “Whoever came up with the shot? I don’t know.”

  “Well then, why don’t you go ahead and show me how it’s done since you’re obviously more experienced with this than I am.”

  The looks I’m getting from every other man in this bar are hysterical. I’m not usually one for wanting attention, but this is funny.

  Austin centers my shot in front of me so I don’t have to use my hands, which I appreciate since it would ruin the effect.

  I twist my hands behind my back and duck down, wrapping my mouth around the tall shot glass. I suck it in, pick it up, tilt my head back, and swallow the liquid with the whipped cream, all without choking. I always choke on these shots, especially when I’m trying to be funny, so I’m glad I held it together today. I have to play the part.

  “Oh my … damn,” Jack says from a few feet down the bar.

  Being the competitor Austin has proven to be, he places his shot in front of him and dives right in to reenact my perfect shot-taking abilities.

  He gets the shot glass up in the air and swallows most of it, but the whipped cream gets him like it usually gets me. The glass falls, rolls toward the edge of the bar, and the whipped cream shoots from his mouth with a choking cough.

  “We got a spitter,” Jack yells.

  Austin rights his shot glass and snaps his head toward me. “You’re going down, princess.”

  “How so?” I ask.

  “I didn’t mean like that,” he tries to correct himself.

  “Tequila, Jack. Two. Oh, and bottom shelf. No lime or salt.”

  Jack rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle to pour two shots. He places them down in front of us and raises a brow. “Should I call a winner at the end?”

  “Ready?” Austin asks, looking at me.

  I grab the shot glass and look back at him. “Whenever you are.”

  He lifts his glass and I follow. This is going to be nasty and we’re going to need a chaser, which means I’ll have to just grin and bear it. I won’t be the first to grab my drink. I refuse to lose this competition.

  We take the shots, and dammit to hell this shit burns all the way down. I don’t know what bottom shelf means here, but this tastes like sewer water. Austin immediately grabs his Sex on the Beach to chase it. Just after he takes a swig, he looks over at me, and I smile. I might puke all over him, but I smile.