Decked in Red & Greene (Man of the Month Club)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

PHOENIX

10 MONTHS AGO

M ug Life Coffee is busier than I expected for a Thursday night, but that’s my fault for not checking. If I had, I would have seen it was karaoke night instead of just live music. I can deal with locals and tourists if the band is decent, but listening to everyone butchering popular songs due to a little liquid courage isn’t high on my list of things to do tonight.

I’m just about to leave, my glass raised so I can down the rest and make my escape, when long legs and a set of cowboy boots catch my attention. My reaction is immediate.

Regret and desire course through me in equal measure.

Because I know those boots.

And I know the denim shorts-clad legs they belong to.

Hell.

I’m thankful for the shadow cast over me in this corner because even though I should down my beer and go, I can’t seem to move. With rapt attention, I watch as Aspen Greene takes the stage, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders in perfect waves. It’s the kind of style I’ve seen my sister do a thousand times.

She smiles brightly as she takes the mic, nodding and laughing as she talks to the DJ. Jealousy simmers low in my gut, the feeling never quite going away where Aspen is concerned. But she’s off-limits, and for my own sanity, I need to remember that.

Because I hate karaoke and would rather get a root canal than sit through drunk people butchering song after song. But Aspen just does something to me. She’s mesmerizing, holding me captive on this stool.

My heart races faster because there was only one other woman who ever made me feel like she was the air I needed to breathe, and the scars she left on my heart still haven’t healed.

But I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The opening bars of “Little Red Wagon” by Miranda Lambert play, and my heart starts beating a little faster as Aspen’s hips begin to sway. I know the song—it’s sexy and fun and fuck me when Aspen starts working the crowd. Her voice is incredible, and it’s impossible not to watch the way she moves across the makeshift stage.

My dick punches at the zipper of my jeans when she sings the chorus, the breathy intonation of her words making me think of how she’d sound in bed with me deep inside her.

Fuck.

I gotta get out of here.

Finishing my beer, I dig some cash out of my pocket and throw it on the bar as the song ends. Turning to leave, I almost run straight into a group of people that I swear hadn’t been there a minute before.

I apologize as I try to move around them when slender fingers wrap around my forearm, the heat of her touch sending awareness through me at an alarming pace.

“Phoenix!” Aspen says my name over the start of a cringy rendition of “Sweet Caroline” that still has the entire place joining in with stomping and fist pumps. “Hey! I didn’t know you’d be here.”

I let her pull me off to the side and immediately regret looking at her head-on. Aspen Greene is stunning, her jade-colored eyes blinking up at me, the flecks of gold making them almost shimmer in the low light.

“I just wanted to grab a beer,” I say lamely, shoving my hands in my pockets to prevent me from reaching out and pulling her against me. Her cropped shirt and cutoff shorts have my mouth watering. I want to drag my tongue over every inch of her skin and see how wild I can make her.

Because girls like Aspen are always wild in bed.

Unapologetic about the pleasure they crave.

But that’s the problem.

No matter how much I want it—want her —it’s a mistake I’ll never recover from a second time. I learned my lesson.

Or I thought I had.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks, her fingertips trailing lightly over my forearm.

“I should go.”

“How about a dance then?”

“No one’s dancing,” I say without looking away from her.

“Does it matter?” Her head tilts to the side the slightest bit, a smile teasing her lips as I’m forced to lick mine.

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“Good enough,” she says with a laugh as she loops her arms around my neck. Her body presses against mine, and I have to fight awkwardly to pull my hands from my pockets to settle them on her hips. The movement forces her closer until we’re pressed together from chest to thigh as blood roars in my ears.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

She rolls her eyes and it’s so juvenile, but dammit if I don’t love that about her. “It’s just a dance. Besides, I wanted to know what you thought about me singing.”

It takes me a minute to process her question, her nails gently scraping the back of my neck and playing with the hair there and driving me out of my mind.

“You were phenomenal,” I finally manage. The words are honest—maybe too honest—if the way her eyes flair wide is any indication.

“That’s quite the compliment, thank you.” Her eyes drop to my mouth before meeting my gaze, and her back arches delicately, pushing her tits harder against me.

It’s not just a dance when all I want to do is fuck you senseless.

“I didn’t know you sing,” I rasp as we sway back and forth, her hips rolling enough to slide over my dick, making my reaction impossible to hide.

But still I can’t move.

Can’t stop her.

And dammit all to hell, I don’t want to.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” She grins. “That’s the question though, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Do you want to get to know me?” She pushes up on her toes, the movement erasing any space between us and bringing her mouth dangerously close to mine.

As if sensing my hesitation, Aspen grabs the back of my head with her hand and crashes her lips over mine. It’s hot and messy, and I can’t stop the way my hands move to grip her ass, digging into her flesh and grinding her against my erection until she’s whimpering and panting into my mouth.

“Take me home, Phoenix. Please.”

Somewhere between the implication of what home and please means, my brain comes back online—the ramifications of the last fifteen minutes slamming into me like taking a plunge into an ice bath.

A string of curses roars in my head as the silence stretches between us. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We can’t do this again,” I force out, taking a step back and willing myself not to take it back when I see the light in her eyes dim. “I gotta go.”

She stares at me, not saying anything, and the part that gets me the most is the fact that under her disappointment, she doesn’t seem surprised.

And I don’t know if it’s men in general or me that has her expecting to be disappointed rather than swept off her feet.

I want to be angry for her, for the injustice of it all. But I’m part of the problem, and even though I want to fix it for her, do better for her, I can’t.

Because I need to get out of here or else I will take her home and ruin us both.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I nearly stumble into the street, the air no less humid than it was inside packed with bodies.

I hate that I gave in.

That I liked it.

That I want more.

Aspen Greene ruined me with just one dance.

One kiss.

And I know if I let her in, I’ll never survive the fallout, because it happened before and I promised myself it would never happen again.

Now, I just need to figure out how to keep that promise.