4. JakeJamesCarl
4
JAKE OR JAMES OR CARL
DAKOTA
“ W ho was that guy at the rodeo earlier today?” the sexy paramedic asks as I straddle him, topless, on my leather couch.
“I don’t want to talk about the rodeo,” I nearly growl, mostly because I want to get my orgasm over with so I can get a good night’s sleep before my dad lectures me tomorrow on everything I could’ve done better for those eight seconds.
Well, four seconds since I couldn’t manage to stay on the fucking bull.
Right now, I want a distraction so I don’t have to think about my failure. Ever since I called it off with Boone, I prefer to keep things casual because the fewer people who love me, the better. That way, if I get snuffed out by a bull, the less people get hurt.
Though, I’ll admit, it’s getting harder and harder to find random one-night stands, since most of the guys in town have seen me from diapers to braces to prom dresses. I have to stick to tourists or cowboys passing through for a rodeo.
I swipe my tongue along Jake’s bottom lip—or maybe his name was James? I can’t remember, but it was something with a J… I think.
It also could’ve been Carl, but he’s already put his tongue in my mouth, so now it would just be rude if I asked for his name. It’s probably best to stick to calling him “sugar” so I don’t get mixed up.
He pulls me closer on his lap. “I take it the rodeo’s a sore subject?”
“How about we don’t talk when I’m topless and straddling you on my couch, sugar?”
“Good point,” Jake or James or Carl murmurs against my lips. “I’ve got a beautiful woman on top of me, and I don’t really want to use my mouth for talking.”
I tangle my fingers in his brown strands, leaning in for a kiss. I’ve always preferred men with dark hair. They just do something for me. Blond guys are too… blond. Don’t ask me to explain it.
I can’t.
I’ve always been drawn to the broody cowboys.
Call me a walking cliché, but I’m that girl—the one who goes after the tall, dark, and handsome types. The one who thinks she can change their scoundrel ways with a flirty wink. I view them as a challenge, and I love a solid challenge.
Give me a dark-haired man with a mean smirk who tastes like bourbon whiskey over a blond sweetheart every day ending in Y.
“That’s my kind of man,” I say against his lips. “Let’s put that mouth of yours to good use.”
He grabs my hips. “And what kind of man would that be?”
“The kind who prefers kissing over talking,” I say, stealing another kiss, this one deeper, more insistent.
The guy kisses my neck, and this, this is exactly what I need, not to think about anything other than the man beneath me. To turn off my brain for one damn second and stop worrying about making it to the Pbr.
It’s always been difficult for me to focus during sex. My thoughts tend to wander, and right now, I’m thinking of Wyatt Patterson and wondering about his cute little girl .
I’ve stalked all his socials, and he doesn’t post about his daughter often, but when he does, my breath always hitches. She looks just like him with those sunny ringlets and green eyes big enough to see everything.
Wyatt Patterson couldn’t scare a fly, so he’s going to have trouble keeping all the boys away from her one day.
I’ll be honest—it hurt when I found out he had a child. He might’ve had a crush on me growing up, but I only ever saw him as a kid. He grew out of it, thankfully, and we became friends. Best friends. And best friends tell each other shit like that.
More than anything, he hurt me by leaving, and when I’m hurting, I get angry, but I don’t want to trauma dump my feelings on him, which is why I shut down and left him at the rodeo.
“Come here,” I growl, pulling the guy closer so I don’t have to think about my summer boy.
Jake or James or Carl’s fingers dig into my ass as I straddle him. It feels good to stretch my legs like this since my thighs are sore as all get out from the grueling bull ride.
“I want to be inside you so bad,” he mumbles.
“I bet you do,” I say, even though I’m not feeling the same way.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt desperate to sleep with someone. The last man was probably Boone, but we had a whirlwind romance—too fast, too hot, too intense to survive.
Sex to me is mostly a routine now: kiss a little, proceed to doggie style (or reverse cowgirl if I’m feeling frisky), and then kick them out of my bed so I can sprawl starfish-style with my pooch, Luna—my ten-year-old, three-legged, rescue black lab.
Speak of the furry devil; Luna lets out a particularly loud snort-snore from her dog bed.
He jolts beneath me. “What the hell was that noise?”
“That’s my dog. She’s a sleep-barker, so she’s probably just having a heck of a dream about running through the flower fields. Just ignore her.”
“You sure you don’t want to put her up? ”
“What?” I gasp, lurching back. “No. She’s not going anywhere. She’s my fur baby.”
Her black body’s curled up on her dog bed. If I’m home, she’s never more than a room away. She’s the sunshine to my grumpy, and she always lets out the cutest snorts when I get home. I rescued her from the shelter because no one wanted a three-legged dog, and she’s been my best friend for ten years.
I sniff. Great. Now, I’m tearing up just thinking about losing her one day. Sometimes, I think about how dogs can’t live forever, and it’s one of the few things that makes me cry.
Pets should be immortal.
There’s a knock on the door.
Luna jumps off her bed and hobbles over to the red front door, tags jingling, tail wagging, leg still missing.
He jerks his head up, eyes narrowing. “You expecting someone?”
“No?” I go back to kissing him.
There’s another knock.
Louder this time.
Luna barks and starts wagging her tail, peeping through the window. She barks again, and it sounds like her excited bark. It’s probably my best friend, Alanna, asking me to come out with her again, so with a grunt, I get off him.
“Let me see who it is real quick,” I say. “Why don’t you wait for me in my bedroom?”
“Oh yeah?” He winks. “Should I keep my boxers on?”
“Nah, take ’em off, sugar.”
As I walk away, my lips fall into a frown. I don’t bother putting on a shirt over my bra since it’s just Lana, and we have no problem changing naked in front of each other. I swing open the wooden door, but I’m not looking into Lana’s familiar hazel eyes. Instead, I find a pair of emerald ones.
My teeth grind together. “What the hell are you doing here, Patterson?”