Meat Market Anthology

by S. Van Horne

  Watching him walk into the Brown Bottle, I try to dig deep into myself and find the courage I’m going to need. I take in the way he moves. His casual, calm demeanor is there, but there’s something else. He’s steadier, more confident, as he swerves and smiles at the people he passes, as if there is a huge weight off his shoulders.

  He’s gorgeous, and I’m not the only one who has noticed. Women, young and old, all do a double-take whenever he’s around. Tall, an even six feet, he is solidly built. Always has been. Packed muscles without being overly beefy or overwhelming, simply perfect. Masculine perfection. Perfection that, no matter who you were, makes your mouth water at the idea of skimming his body with your hands to memorize every dip and edge until your dying day. Dark hair that curls when wet or too long. Bright blue eyes that give Caribbean waters a run for their money. A classic masculine face with a slight edge of ruggedness thrown in, just enough so you wouldn’t think of him as a pretty boy. He’s also a man who time has been extremely kind to. At forty, he’s better looking than when we first met.

  He’s also the main reason my heart plays patty cake with my rib cage and every nerve in my body does jumping jacks.

  I manage to tear my eyes away from him and get the attention of the bartender and quickly order two beers. I’m going to need more than beer for liquid courage.

  The green glass bottles are set in front of me. With a smile, I thank the easygoing bartender before I take a long pull. As the cool liquid runs down my throat, I pray I find the inner courage to ask for what I want.

  It’s time to do something about the way I feel about him. My fortieth birthday is only days away and the perfect reason to treat myself. He doesn’t see me the way I wish and dream of, but maybe I could pay him to. Just for a night.

  “Hey,” his deep voice rumbles in my ear and drapes over my skin like smooth velvet. I turn toward the voice that turns me on and am surprised to find him standing so close.

  “Hey,” I breathe out, a little too huskily, and I’m taken aback when he doesn’t move, crowding me slightly.

  “This mine?” he asks without taking his eyes off me, and just like that, my mouth runs dry. With him looking at me like that, asking if what was his? Me? God, I would be. I’m willing to even pay him to let me be his for a couple hours.

  “Wh…what?” I stutter, trying to not to wince at how stupid I sound.

  “Row, is this mine?” he asks again, bringing the extra beer bottle to my sightline, crushing my heart like a bug.

  I can’t ask him.

  “Yeah,” I clip harshly, feeling stupid. Here I am daydreaming about what being his could be like and all because he’s asking me if the beer is his?

  It’s time to move on.

  Not that I’ve been holding my breath for him for the past twenty-three years. I haven’t. I just need to find a way to forget how being around Jason Somers makes me feel. I need to put some space between us.

  Infinite space.

  I take a long swig of my beer and pretend the Cubs game is captivating. What was I thinking? How can I ask if it would be okay to pay him to fuck me like crazy?

  He sits down at the barstool next to mine. His thick muscular thigh brushes against mine, and the heat his body radiates drives me crazy.

  Maybe I can ask?

  “You asked me to meet you.”

  “Yeah.” I shrug, not bothering to look at him, trying to figure out my next step.

  “So we could watch the game?” He leans toward me playfully and gently bumps his shoulder against mine.

  “No.” I wanted to see if I could pay you for sex. My eyes narrow at how ridiculous it sounds. Never mind the fact he was the man in charge of what used to be our town’s dirty secret escort service, dubbed The Meat Market. It has women all over in a tizzy. And I’m about to place my own order.

  “Then?” he presses, and I shake my head.

  “Forget it.” There is no way I can ask. Would he laugh or simply feel disgusted at the idea of taking me to bed?

  “So you asked me to meet you here for no reason?”

  “Look,” I turn to stare at him, and my breath catches in my throat. God, he’s handsome. Closing my eyes, I shake my head. I can’t. No way.

  He’s never seen me as more than one of the guys, permanently benched in the friend-zone, and it’s time to let it go. A guy like him would probably end up with a twenty-something perky, bubble of energy who could be his arm candy and give him a family. At almost forty, that’s a door closed to me. My eyes sting at how stupid I’ve been…pining away for the impossible.

  Why didn’t I take a risk with someone else years ago? I could have made a life with my ex, Brad. It wouldn’t have been with the man of my dreams, but I would have something more than a small, empty house waiting for me at the end of a work day. I shake the thoughts away because I know myself. There’s no way anyone else would have done. I won’t be able to stop the tears about to plop out.

  “I gotta go,” I blurt, hopping off the stool and grabbing my purse. “What was I thinking?” I mutter to myself, searching for my wallet, and then placing a couple bills on the bar top to cover our beers and tip.

  “What?”

  “I have to go,” I repeat, not looking at him, feeling like a complete moron.

  “Row, row, row your boat, what’s going on?” I scowl, my eyes pinned on the man of my dreams. My poor, pathetic dreams. God, I’m an idiot. Pinning my heart to a man who still has a stupid, silly little nursery rhyme nickname for me so he can tease me.

  His words are like an ice-cold pail of water over my head.

  “You’re forty.” I point out, poking his hard, muscly chest, trying to ignore the images of him shirtless. His eyes widen in surprise. “Can you knock it off with the teasing?”

  “Babe—”

  “I gotta go. I’m sorry I wasted your time, Somers,” I clip, knowing he hates when I call him by his last name. I turn around and walk right to the exit.

  “Rocio!” he calls out, but I ignore him.

  It’s past time to move on. I let myself believe something was changing between us, but that’s all it was. I let myself think that hugs that lasted a little longer than usual and sweet baby’s and babes meant more than they did.

  For all I know, it’s his own personal practice for how to be with strange women when he wines and dines them for “work.” Not that I’m even sure he offers himself up as a “special,” but I wouldn’t be surprised if he does.

  Hell, he is probably his own best seller. Though the way he’s been talking, his guys retiring, I wonder if that side of his business is actually over. Obviously, he doesn’t think it’s any of my business or else he would have shared.

  I reach my car and search for my keys when two strong hands gently grab my shoulders.

  “Rocio,” he whispers in my ear, and I hate how much I like his hands on me. How much my name on his lips awakens my body.

  I can never have more than what I have from him, I remind myself, and my eyes burn with frustration.

  “Honey, talk to me,” he gently pushes, and my shoulders slump forward.

  “Nothing—” Except I have to move my ass across the country so I’m not pining away for you like some crazy schoolgirl instead of the grown, confident woman I am.

  “I know you, Row. Talk to me, baby.” Baby. One stupid, four-letter word takes my breath away and makes me cling to hope.

  “I’m tired.” I lie.

  “Row, look at me,” he pleads; his scent surrounds me. It’s woodsy and slightly citrusy from the soap he uses constantly to wash his hands at work. Being this close to him makes me feel safe and like I can have a small glimpse of what I want from him, so I turn.

  Staring at him under the moonlight, while pressed so close to his body, makes my knees weak. “You’re sad,” he points out, and I laugh. I am sad. Sad and pathetic, not that I would admit that to him.

  “I’m not. I’m just—”

  “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?” His hands
rub up and down my shoulders.

  “I…”

  “You look like you’re going to cry.” His eyes fill with worry. “Jesus, babe, is it your mom?” I smile weakly at how sweet he can be without realizing it. My mom suffered a heart attack last year and has been having a hard time recovering.

  “No Jay, she’s fine.” I put his mind at rest.

  “Then talk to me…what is it?” he presses, leaning closer, and my heart goes from fast into overdrive.

  “What are you doing?” I ask a little too harshly.

  “Asking my best friend what’s making her upset.”

  “Is that what I am to you?” I ask, searching his eyes, trying to find any indication that maybe, just maybe, he cares a little more.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I sigh and take a deep breath.

  Fuck it, it’s now or never.

  “Is it true the meat shop is closed?” Not the smoothest way to bring up the subject.

  “What?” he frowns and releases my shoulders, making me instantly miss his touch.

  “You know, the after-hours meat shop,” I ask again. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “Why?” His arms cross over his delicious chest, only defining the muscles tugging his shirt, and I shake my head so I can focus on what’s at stake.

  Screw his meaty choices, for me, only the butcher would do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JASON

  “I WAS CURIOUS,” SHE REPLIES, and I try to tamper down the anger I feel at the images of her with any of my guys.

  “Curious?” I repeat, trying to stay calm, though I know I’m failing. “Why would you need a meat special?” I ask her, and she scowls with a flippant shoulder shrug that drives me crazy.

  “Never mind, Somers,” she scoffs, only adding fuel to the anger by calling me by my last name. “I didn’t know an interrogation was part of hiring—”

  “Don’t do that. What are you really asking here, Row?”

  “I’m not doing anything. I was just…curious.”

  “Curious,” I repeat. The idea of her being curious about my guys, what they did and what they would do for her, makes my skin prickle and tighten with unbridled jealousy.

  “Simple curiosity,” she states again, her chin standing stubbornly. I close the small space I had placed between us, not missing the way her dark brown, almost black, eyes widen.

  “Ask me anything you wanna know,” I order, my voice sounding too deep in my own ears. I watch her lick her lips. I watch her swallow, and, fuck, if it doesn’t make my cock come to life. “Cat got your tongue, Row your boat?” I tease gently.

  “Don’t call me Row your boat, I’m not some stupid teenager anymore,” she whispers. Her eyes stare into mine, then move down to my lips and back up.

  “You were never a stupid teenager, Row,” I remind her. “You are still the smartest person I know.” Her cheeks flush at my compliment. Fuck, it makes me want to kiss her.

  “Did you really, umm, close up shop?”

  “The Meat Market is open from nine to six, Monday through Saturday, babe, like it has been from the day my family opened its doors.”

  “You know what I mean.” She stomps, the apples of her cheeks flushing even brighter under the moonlight, and it makes me want to know if her entire body would react the same way.

  “Why? You looking to place a special order?” I ask, hating she’s even curious.

  “I…”

  “Why would a pretty thing like you need to make a meat order from a place like mine, baby?” I ask, stroking the side of her face. Her cheeks pass pink and move onto crimson. When I meet her eyes, I can see I messed up somehow.

  “Pretty thing?” Her eyes narrow. “Baby?”

  “Row—”

  “You are a piece of work, Jason Somers.” She stands stiffly in my arms, pinned against her car, obviously wanting to get the hell away from me.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You don’t have to make fun of me,” her voice cracks, and it’s my turn to hold still, confused by what she might mean.

  “What?”

  “We both know you don’t, nor have you ever, thought I was pretty, so you don’t have to be a condescending ass.” She pulls away from me, and I don’t know what to say. How the hell can she think that? If she only knew the truth.

  “What…I—”

  “I’m turning forty in a couple days—”

  “I know that.”

  “And I want to have a little fun,” she spits out, shocking the hell out of me.

  “Fun,” I rasp; my eye twitches.

  “Fun before I move away,” she ends her sentence as if she didn’t just shift my entire world with four fucking words.

  “Move?” I ask in a growl.

  “Forty and fabulous, not to mention single, I’m ready for an adventure.”

  “Like a vacation?” I ask her, but I’m blown away when she shakes her head.

  “Do you remember Trish?” she asks, and I search every corner of my mind. It takes a minute before a petite redhead with a great sense of humor pops up.

  “Yeah, you went to college together,” I voice as the idea of not having her close kills me slowly.

  “Right.” Rocio nods, and I don’t miss the way her eye twitches, right before she stands taller and straighter; an obvious tell when she isn’t being honest. “Well…she’s been begging me to go out and check out Scottsdale.”

  “Arizona?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What would you do there?” I question, knowing there is no way in hell she would leave without a plan. My girl isn’t the type to fly by the seat of her pants.

  “She has a custom jewelry shop, and it’s been doing really well. She’s about to open a second location and wants me to be her office manager.” She’s biting her goddamn lip telling me this shit, and I’m getting harder.

  “And you were thinking of doing what? A last Chicago hurrah before you leave me?” I ask her, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of me.

  “Jason—” she starts to say before shaking her head. I watch her inky black tresses shift back and forth, and my hands ache to get tangled in them…to pull them as she screams my name. “I’m not leaving you. I mean, look, it’s just a matter of time ‘til you get busy with your next flavor of the month. We would still text and—”

  “Are you shitting me right now?” I growl. What the fuck is she even talking about? Flavor of the month? I haven’t gone on a date in over a year with anyone because she’s the only one I want.

  “I’m not…” Her eyes fill with tears again, and whatever anger I was drowning in vanishes. The need to make her smile floods me.

  “Babe—”

  “Dammit! Stop calling me babe!” she bites and steps back. “You never used to call me that, and you sure as hell never pinned me against stuff!” she huffs, and I take a step closer to her, and do just that.

  Her beautiful body is caught between her car door and my body. We’re so damn close, the only way to get closer would be to take our clothes off.

  Not yet, but soon.

  “What? Jason—”

  “I have the perfect guy for you,” I breathe out, and it’s not an outright lie. It’s just not the complete truth. I’m just going to keep the fact that I’m the perfect guy for her to myself.

  “You do?” her eyes are wide in surprise, but when I stroke the side of her face, she leans into my touch.

  “I do.”

  “Jason—”

  “What do you want?”

  “What?”

  “What do you want from him tomorrow?”

  “What can I…umm…well uh…get?”

  “Anything,” I grit; my hard dick presses against her hip.

  “How much would it be…don’t they all cost—”

  “Call it a birthday gift from me.” Not that she would be with any of my guys. The shop is closed. This is my chance to prove to her how good things can be between us if she gives me a chance.
/>   “You’re going to pay for me to get laid?”

  “What do you want?” I ignore her question.

  “I thought they didn’t umm…”

  “He will.” And fuck, will I ever. I’ll do anything so by the end of tomorrow night, she’ll finally realizes she’s mine. “Tell me what’s your fantasy?”

  “Jason, I—”

  “Please, tell me,” I say a little softer, leaning my face closer to hers, my lips only a whisper away. Rocio has been in the picture for over half my life, yet I’ve never had a taste of her lips. How is that possible?

  Timing.

  Our timing has always been off.

  First with me fucking around in college, not realizing the amazing woman right in front of me. God, the time I lost. When I woke up from my haze of stupidity, I had to sit on the sidelines as she dated guys who didn’t appreciate her.

  About two years ago, our paths realigned, and I thought I would finally have my chance. But time was not my friend once again. With the economy tanking, my grandfather’s loans were called in, and I had to decide.

  Not that I was ever one of the guys who went out on dates. Though I did have a standing appointment to accompany Mrs. Baxter every Monday for dinner, but I did that because the lady was sweet, and I never took money from the almost ninety-year-old spitfire who had no one to visit with.

  But I’m done waiting. There’s no way I’m going to let her leave.

  She just handed me the perfect opportunity to show her how good things can be between us, and I’m not going to lose it.

  “Jay,” she moans in a husky whisper, and I lick my lips at how hungry that little fucking sound makes me.

  “Fantasy.”

  “I don’t want to make decisions,” she blurts, her face now crimson. My cock strains to get closer. She won’t have to choose anything with me. In bed, I will dominate her…own every gram of her pleasure. Over and over.

  “You want him in charge?” I swallow, my throat desert dry, and sweat forms at the back of my neck.

  “Yes.”

  “His dirty little play thing kinda gig or—” I don’t have to say another word with how her eyes flash bright. My sweet little Rocio is a dirty girl. My dirty girl. Just like that, she’s more perfect than I could have ever imagined.