Broken Trails (Wattle Creek #4)

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Simple Man – Lynyrd Skynyrd

M y first rule of The Loose Lasso?

Dive headfirst into the madness or get out of the way.

The pub is alive tonight—beer-soaked air, rowdy laughter, the occasional crash of a pool cue hitting the floor.

It’s chaos, yeah, but it’s my kind of chaos, where regrets are just tomorrow’s stories.

I lean against the bar, nursing my pint as Harrison grins like he owns the place.

His energy is infectious, even as Jono and Jack launch into their usual debate over who’s the real snooker champion.

The clamour around us is almost loud enough to drown out the twang of some generic country song on the speakers, but not quite.

Harrison elbows me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Oi, are you even awake, mate? You’ve been staring at your beer for ages.”

“Just pacing myself,” I reply, taking a sip. “Unlike you lot, I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Oh, piss off. As do we, mate,” Jono calls over, grinning. “You’re as bad as Harrison these days. Might as well be married with a kid, too.”

Harrison laughs, lifting his beer. “That’s two kids now.”

Jack whistles. “Bloody hell. You’re multiplying like rabbits.”

A sheepish grin spreads across Harrison’s face. “Yeah. Imogen’s already on me about finding a bigger place.”

“You’ve been looking?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, turning to me. “Been checking out houses closer to town. Something with a backyard big enough for the kids and the dog to tear around. And with Hope growing by the minute, Immy’s not letting me rest until we’ve sorted it.”

“Makes sense,” I say, nodding. “What happens to your flat?”

Harrison claps me on the shoulder. “It’s all yours, mate. About time you got some space to yourself, yeah?”

“About time you stopped freeloading off Joe,” Jack quips, earning a laugh from the group.

Harrison grins. “Can’t say I’ll miss the late-night phone calls about your questionable dinner choices setting off the smoke alarm.”

“That was one time,” I retort, though the corner of my mouth twitches.

Harrison drains the last of his beer and sets the glass down with a thud. “Alright, lads, I’m calling it. My wife is waiting for me at home. Kids are down, which means, well…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. The table erupts in laughter and catcalls.

“Get out of here, you lucky bastard,” Jono says, shaking his head.

I watch him leave, shaking my head. Smug bastard. But if anyone deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s Harrison. He’s carried more than his fair share of the weight, so seeing him finally have it all—a wife who can match his energy, two kids now who idolise him—it’s a bloody good thing.

“Oi, Michael,” Jack says, nudging me. “Your turn on the table.”

I roll my shoulders and step up, sinking the first shot easily.

One round turns into another, and before I know it, the boys are ordering another round of drinks.

By the time I’m halfway through my pint, a woman with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes catches my attention from across the room.

She’s leaning against the bar, a glass of red wine in her hand, wearing confidence like a second skin.

Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and there’s a spark in her eyes that makes her stand out in the sea of Thursday night regulars.

“She’s been eyeing you all night.” Jono nudges me, again. “Go on, mate.”

“She’s out of your league,” Jack adds, with a smug grin.

“Good thing I’m not in a league, then.”

The boys laugh, and with their whistles and shouts egging me on, I make my way to the bar. She notices me immediately, her lips curling into a playful smile.

“You’ve been caught staring,” I say, leaning against the counter.

“You caught me? I think you’ve got it the wrong way around,” she fires back, her voice is feminine and smooth.

“Fair enough,” I reply, chuckling. “I’m Michael.”

“Sophia,” she says, extending a hand. Her grip is firm. “You come here often?”

“Not really. Work keeps me busy,” I say. “But tonight, I guess I got lucky.”

“Is that so?” Before I can respond, Jono and Jack let out an exaggerated “Ooooh” from the pool table, followed by more whistling. I shake my head, trying not to laugh. Sophia glances over at them and raises an eyebrow.

“Friends of yours?”

“Unfortunately,” I say dryly. “Ignore them. They’re harmless.”

We chat a bit more, the banter flowing easily. Eventually, she leans in closer, her voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken. “You should come back to mine. Unless you’re not the type to take risks.”

I grin, finishing the last of my beer. “I can handle a risk or two.”

The boys cheer as I grab my jacket. “Go on, Mick!” Jono shouts. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I call back, earning another round of laughter.

The Uber ride is a blur. She’s pressed against me, warm and eager, filling every bit of space between us. Her fingers trail over my arm, absentmindedly, like she’s been waiting for an excuse to touch me all night. Her perfume is sweet. Vanilla, maybe. Or caramel. Whatever it is, it suits her.

“I noticed you the second you walked in.” She bites her lip, then grins. “You’re even hotter up close.”

I just smirk, resting an arm along the back of the seat, letting her talk. Women like to fill the silence. I don’t mind listening.

By the time we stumble into her apartment, I’m done thinking.

The door barely shuts before she’s on me, hands tugging at my shirt, mouth brushing my jaw.

My fingers tangle in her hair as her mouth works down my neck, teeth grazing skin.

I tip my head, granting her more, and when I bite—just enough to pull a gasp—she shivers.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her nails scraping down my chest as I yank her shirt over her head and toss it aside. She fumbles with my belt, shoving my jeans down as I back her toward the couch.

My hand slides from her neck to her scalp, tugging just enough to make her breath hitch. She leans in, aiming for my mouth, but I angle my head, letting her lips land on my jaw instead.

Does she notice? Maybe. Do I care? Not in the slightest.

Kissing is too intimate. This isn’t about that. This is about a good time, nothing more.

Her fingers work my waistband, and when my cock springs free, her eyes widen, and she licks her lips. “God,” she breathes, wrapping her hand around me, “you’re—”

I don’t answer. I just thread my fingers through her hair, dragging my lips down the curve of her throat. She gasps when I bite, nails sinking into my back like she wasn’t expecting me to take control. But I always do. I like it rough. Always have.

Not every woman can keep up, but Sophia doesn’t hesitate when my hand skims her throat, my grip tightening just enough to pull a moan from her lips.

Sophia kneels on the couch, hands gripping my hips as she takes me into her mouth.

Her tongue flicks over the head, teasing, drawing it out.

They always start there. Like they think that’s where all the magic happens.

Truth is, the whole damn thing exists for a reason, and it feels a hell of a lot better when they take their time with all of it.

“Take it all,” I murmur. My voice sounds like gravel as I thread my fingers through her hair, as I guide her.

This way. That way. She adjusts, pressure changing finally, and my head tips back with a groan.

Better. Much better. But I’m too close. I pull out of her mouth with a pop , smirking, and grab a condom from my jeans on the floor.

“Turn around.” I nudge her toward the armrest, and she scrambles up, ass in the air. Running a hand over the curve, I smack it once, just enough to make her squeal.

Dragging the head of my cock through her slickness, I tease, drawing it out until she’s squirming. Then, slowly, I push in—inch by inch—until I’m buried deep.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans, louder this time. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

I start to move, setting a rhythm that has her gasping, nails biting into the cushion, and crying out, “Don’t stop. Hmm, don’t stop, baby.”

The term of endearment makes me cringe a little. Affection’s never been something I’ve wanted—it was burned out of me a long time ago—so I keep it where it belongs. Distant. Out of reach. This isn’t about that. Not tonight.

My fingers find her clit, pressing down, circling in time with each snap of my hips.

She jerks, sucking in a breath. As much as I need to come, I’m not about to get there before she does.

I keep the pressure steady, my fingers working her clit until her moans turn into screams, and her body trembles as she comes undone beneath me.

“That’s it,” I murmur, gripping her hips tighter as her body clenches around me. A few more thrusts, and I follow, groaning as I come.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing. I pull out, tie off the condom, and smirk as she collapses onto the couch, a satisfied smile on her face.

Nothing intimate. Nothing complicated. Just exactly what I needed.

This is the part where I should be sinking into that post-sex haze, letting the pleasure settle deep into my bones.

The part where I exhale, fully sated, already considering another round.

But something’s off this time. A quiet, nagging thing I can’t quite pin down. I roll my shoulders, shake it off.

Hell, nothing another round or two won’t fix, right?