I wanted to have a pity party of one when I went for that beer. I never imagined I would meet a dark and dangerous man. That man took me on the wildest ride of my life. Literally and Figuratively. He quickly became my entire world.
I didn’t know I was looking for her. I saw her warming that bar stool and knew she would be mine. A man like me doesn’t deserve the likes of her. But damned if I didn’t take it.
When we met for the first time we didn’t know that we already had a connection. A cruel game was being played, and we didn’t know the rules. Sam would save us, but at what cost" Sam was one of my main reasons for living. If he wasn’t in this world anymore, would I still want to be a part of it"Books in Series:Freebirds Series by Lani Lynn ValeBooks by Author:Lani Lynn Vale Books
God. Could my week get any worse" I just turned twenty fucking five and still a virgin. No outing just for my birthday. No one here to celebrate with. No freaking career. Just a shit job for shit pay. I was really getting into my pity party; I even almost turned on the water works. I turned 25 today, and everyone I loved was away. My brother was in Iraq, my mom was in Kentucky doing the last day of her three month long travel nursing contract, and my best friend in the whole wide world was visiting her family in Colorado and I missed her flight. Deciding enough was enough; I made a split second decision and decided to celebrate by myself.
Time to go to Deacon’s.
I put my best jeans on that make my ass look a lot smaller than it really is.
I put on a push up bra that make me look I have a solid B cup when in reality I"m barely an A. Throwing on a black ribbed tank with a skull and cross bones I dug into the closet for my better pair of cowboy boots and put them on. I gooed up my hair and dried it with the diffuser, adding a few stray bobby pins to keep it out of my face, I started on the minimal make up. I swiped on some mascara, a layer of lip gloss and headed out.
I jumped in my 1987 single cab long bed Chevy Silverado and drove to Deacon’s.
Deacon’s is not my usual hangout. Really I don’t go out at all, so anything is actually not my usual hangout.
I parked my truck and headed into the building. I walked straight to the bar and ordered a Corona. Taking a seat, I contemplated my life. I ignored everyone and everything and just sat on my stool nursing my beer.
I needed a break from reality today. I needed to get away from the shop. I needed away from the reminder that I was a failure. We lost one today. She was on her way to Free, possibly only minutes away, but her father caught her and killed her before she could get to us. The team was as disappointed as I was, and we all dealt with it in a different way. Tonight was a whiskey kind of night.
I was on my second glass when she walked in. She had on jeans that hugged her ass, thighs and legs perfectly. They were the kind that looked like they had been worn a million times before. She wore a tank top that had skulls and crossbones across her breasts that just drew eyes to them. They were on the smaller side for my usual tastes, but they would fit into my hands perfectly. She had long curly blonde hair that just brushed the top of her ass. It would be perfect to sink my hands into and hold on while I pounded her from behind. I had only seen her for all of thirty seconds, but I knew she would be mine. She walked into the bar like she owned the place, sat down on one of the stools toward the end, and nursed the beer without acknowledging anyone.
I didn"t pick women up in bars, but she seemed different. Possibly because she didn"t seem like the type of woman to even be in a bar, or it also could be that she ignored every man in the whole place except for the bartender. She seemed to put off a vibe that said "Hands off" and it kept all the men at a distance.
The bartender placed her beer in front of her, and she chugged it better than any man could. She placed the bottle down on the bar top and stared at the label, picking at it with blunt fingernails.
The women I"m normally attracted to have perfect nails, perfect hair, and dresses. Their bodies are tight, with little fat to be seen on them. This woman had on nice clothes, but it didn"t look like she dressed to impress. It looked like she dressed for comfort, and I liked that. She also didn"t look like she got expensive manicures every day. Her body looked soft, like she ate what she wanted and didn"t give a shit what other people thought.
I got up and walked across the bar and took a seat next to her. She never even looked up. It made my lips twitch as I glanced at the bartender and gave him a nod in her direction and raised my finger for one more. He gave me a nod and placed the beer in front of her.
I saw someone take a seat next to me in my peripheral vision, but made no move to acknowledge whoever it was.
Another beer was slid to me from the bartender, and I looked up questioningly.
I hadn’t ordered a second beer. He tilted his head to the side, and I looked in the direction he motioned. I looked to my left and saw a massive shoulder. It was covered in a skin tight black cotton t-shirt that looked like it had been washed quite a bit, but still held its black color without being faded. I followed the shoulder down to his forearms which were very tanned and studied a Rangers tattoo that dominated most of the inside of his forearm. It was very good work, and looked a lot like one that my brother had. I glanced at his hands and wondered if the saying was true, big hands big feet. Eyes trailing to his thigh that his hand rested on, I had a stray thought that his thigh could probably be described as tree trunk like. They were massive. I wondered how much he could squat, by the looks of it, probably a small car.
Looking up I spied a very well defined tummy and chest, which probably sported a six pack, if not an eight. He had a massive chest, and his shoulders were very broad. His neck was corded and thick, which made me want to lick from his collar bone to his jaw. Finally allowing my eyes to connect to his face, I noticed he could be described as beautiful, except for a jagged scar that ran under his right eye, right about where the football players wear that black stripe of paint under their eyes. That had to hurt like a mother. His nose was straight; lips were full, and his eyes. His eyes were beautiful, the color of a new shiny penny. Those copper colored eyes were pinning mine to his, refusing to release them.