I sprawl out on the bed with the romance book. Nestling myself into the perfect comfortable spot, I open the book to the first page. Almost right away, it’s not bad.
The heroine has got herself a sassy mouth, which I find annoying but it works. The story is pretty good, and the historical details are pretty well researched.
Soon, as I’m reading about this heroine in her ruffly blue dress with a whalebone corset flirting with the sheriff in the story, all I can picture is her. Wren.
And why wouldn’t I? She fits the description. About the same age, small stature, wispy, plucky, friendly. Cusses a lot.
God, even trying to escape with a fantasy is getting me into trouble.
I read on and eventually find myself knee deep in a scene of graphic lovemaking, the likes of which I’ve never read in any of my favorite westerns.
Honestly? I don’t hate it.
What starts with a “Take me to bed, sheriff. Leave me something to remember you by,” ends with the most thorough plowing of a woman as I’ve ever read.
Jiminy Christmas. This was written by a woman? I probably should never ask that out loud; it’s probably sexist as hell.
Picturing Wren struggling to free herself of a dress like that, wrapping her legs around the sheriff, cussing like a sailor… It’s getting my dick hard. So hard I can’t quite contain it.
In fact, I’m going to need to…
Oh hell. Here I go.
I slide my hand down inside my drawers and keep reading. The descriptions are almost pornographic. I must look ridiculous. I’m holding a romance book in one hand, and my cock in the other, stroking myself alone in a hotel room. But I don’t care. I’m so full of need and I just have to get her out of my system.
The thought occurs to me, as I squeeze and pull my shaft on a powerful exhale and a grunt of pleasure, that maybe other people read these books one-handed. Specifically, this copy of this book.
And that’s all I need to toss the book on the floor, roll to my back, and go to town. Stroking myself up and down tightly, I imagine — no, I wish — it was Wren riding me. Tasting me. Closing my eyes, I picture her mouth on it, teasing the tip. Sucking. Her hand cupping my balls. It’d be just like those words I heard coming from her phone yesterday.
Shit.
This is fucked up. But I’ll never get to sleep tonight if I don’t finish.
A quiet rapping on my door interrupts my frenzy.
I freeze.
I look over at the alarm clock on the nightstand; it’s 8:30 pm. Who the hell is knocking on my door so late at night?
I cuss, sit up and throw my jeans on, prepared to feed someone a knuckle sandwich.
But when I throw open the door, I see that it’s her.
Wren.
And she’s standing there wearing a flimsy tank top, pajama pants, open bathrobe, and no bra.
How do I know? Because her nipples could not be more erect, or fully outlined, in that tie-dyed orange fabric.
I thought her sexy tattooed legs were a problem for me, but now I know the outline of her breasts, her nipples. My clouded brain now pictures her small frame with a swollen belly, carrying my baby. Where the hell did that image come from? She’s killing me.
I can barely rasp out, “Ma’am?”
For a second I can see a shadow of fear cross her face when she looks at me. I must look angry to her. She recovers and turns on that smile again and holds up something in her hand. A box that looks like one of those stupid party games.
“Jenga?”
Chapter Four
Wren
Sam looks mad.
How does someone get mad in the face of Jenga? It’s delightful.
I have to say I was pretty excited to get assigned a seat next to Sam in the jury box. I have no idea why nobody seemed all that interested in sitting by him at lunch today. But he looked so lonesome I could have cried.
He seemed to have a hard time making eye contact whenever I sipped on my soda straw.
“All you’re gonna eat is fries?” I asked him at one point.
“All you gonna drink is sugar water?” he asked me. I like the way he sometimes answers a question with a question.
“I thought cowboys lived on Mountain Dew?” I remarked.
He didn’t say anything, only raised one eyebrow at me. That look creased his forehead, giving me serious Daddy vibes, and I liked it. I kind of want to make him a daddy for real and have ten of his babies right away. Oh man. I like him way more than I should, I thought to myself. Does he even know how sexy he is?
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m in my late 20s, have been single for so long, and I’m starting to get baby fever from watching Juror Number 8 crochet baby blankets all day. That’s gotta be it. My head was clouded by being stuck with these same people all day, combined with hunger.
We ate in comfortable silence and I was careful to keep that silence when I drained my cup by not making any noise with the straw. I find that extra annoying myself.
“So. You got a wife or what?”
His face changed—darkened even more, if that’s possible.
He simply shook his head and went back to dipping his fries into his ketchup.
“OK. Are you going to ask me about me?”
I noticed how he thoroughly chewed and swallowed before answering me, then dabbing his face with a napkin. Man, this dude. Wound so tight, I could bounce a quarter off his asshole, I’d wager.
“Fine. You got a husband? Boyfriend?”
“Nope. Single as can be. Young, wild and free,” I chirped. I tried to wink at him but he seemed to be looking over my head, trying to avoid eye contact.
Undeterred, I continued. “Parents? Middle child of three, as you know. Mom’s still around but we don’t see each other much. Dad had a secret second family, and left us all behind when I was a kid. Mom never remarried because she’d lose alimony, but she let her douchebag boyfriend move in and he was a creep. Mom didn’t believe me when I told her I caught him in my room, watching me sleep at night. More than once. So, I left home at seventeen and never looked back.”
I finally stopped talking and saw him staring at me intently for the first time. He seemed to have forgotten his fries, his hands clasped together on the table.
“What’s wrong, Sam?” I had to ask because his jaw looked tight. Something I said made him ... what? Uncomfortable? Angry?
“What happened to your brother and sister, if I may ask?”
I could not help but smile at the way he asked that. “Dee was already away at college when I left. She didn’t speak to me for a long time because she said I’d abandoned the family just like dad had. We’re working on that. My younger brother Raven came and found me a year after I’d moved out to ask if he could come live with me. Mom kicked him out after he came out as gay. So we lived together for a while and now he’s studying to be a teacher. I’m the only one who never made anything for myself.”
Sam leaned back and said, “Well now, I know that ain’t true.”
“Kind of you to say, but it’s hard not to feel inferior, as a 25-year-old cashier at a farm supply store, in a family with a soon-to-be teacher and a lawyer.”
He laughed a derisive laugh. “Ridiculous.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing wrong with being a cashier. You tell your sister to kiss your grits.”