CHAPTER ONE #2
“Hi!” She holds out her hand, and I take it automatically. Her skin is soft and warm, her hand almost comically small in mine. I notice the small butterfly tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “I’m Pinky. Well, that’s what everyone calls me, anyway.”
Her voice is higher than I expected, sweet with a slight Southern twang.
“Aaron,” I hear myself say.
What the fuck? I never tell people my real name. Never. I fucking earned my road name. And yet, here I am, offering it up to this little slip of a woman on a silver platter.
She beams at me like I’ve just given her the best gift. “Nice to meet you, Aaron.”
Morpheus grins, clearly picking up on something I wish he couldn’t see. “Pinky, be a doll and show Rambler to the guest room. Last door on the left upstairs.”
“Sure thing!” She releases my hand and gestures toward the staircase. “Follow me!”
As she turns, I catch Morpheus’s eye. The smug bastard winks at me.
I’m going to kick his ass later.
“Coming?” Pinky calls over her shoulder, already a few steps ahead.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Right behind you, butterfly.”
And I am. Right behind her. Watching the hypnotic sway of her hips as she leads me up the stairs, those tiny shorts riding up with each step to reveal more of her perfect ass.
Jesus Christ, get it together, old man. She’s young enough to be your daughter.
I try to focus on anything else. The scuffed wood on the stairs. The pictures on the walls. The Christmas garland wrapped along the banister.
But my eyes keep going back to her bottom.
We reach the top of the stairs and turn down a hallway lined with doors.
“So, you’re from St. Louis?” she asks, glancing back at me.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“I’ve never been there. Is it nice?”
I shrug. “It’s alright. Cold this time of year.”
“I bet.” She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like the cold. That’s why Florida is perfect.”
She stops at the last door on the left and pushes it open, stepping inside. I follow, acutely aware of the fact that we’re now alone in a room with a bed.
The space is simple but clean. Queen-sized bed with a dark blue comforter. Dresser. Small bathroom off to the side. Window overlooking the ocean.
“This is you,” she says with a smile, gesturing around the room. “Bathroom’s through there. If you need extra towels, just let me know.”
I drop my bag on the floor by the bed, my eyes never leaving her face. “Thanks.”
She lingers by the door, fidgeting with the edge of her bikini top. A nervous gesture that draws my attention to her chest. Her breasts are small but perky, the fabric of the bikini stretched tight across them.
I force my eyes back to her face.
“You’re beautiful.”
The words come out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us.
Her eyes widen, a pretty blush spreading across her cheeks. “Oh! Um, thank you.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “That was inappropriate.”
She shakes her head, the blush deepening. “No, it’s okay. It’s just…” She bites her plump bottom lip. “It’s been a while since anyone called me beautiful.”
Something in her voice makes my chest tighten. There’s a vulnerability there that makes me want to punch whoever made her doubt herself.
“Well, the men around here must be fucking blind, then.”
She laughs, the sound light and musical. “You’re sweet.”
Sweet.
No one has ever called me that in my entire life.
“I’m a lot of things, darlin’,” I smirk. “But sweet ain’t one of ‘em.”
Her eyes drag over me, taking in my 6’2” frame, the muscles that haven’t gone soft despite my age, the tattoos covering my arms, and the gray creeping into my hair and beard.
“I think you might be nicer than you want people to know,” she says with a little smile. “Like one of those hard candies with the gooey center.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Jesus Christ, butterfly. Don’t let that get around. You’ll ruin my street cred.”
Her smile widens, and she rocks back on her heels. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Something about the way she says it makes my blood heat. I need to get a grip.
“So, how long have you been with the Jacksonville charter?” I ask, changing the subject to something safer.
Her smile dims a little. “About six months.”
There’s something in her tone that makes me think there’s more to that story. A darkness hiding behind those bright blue eyes.
“You like it here?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She shrugs, her fingers going back to fiddling with her bikini top. “It’s okay. The guys are nice, for the most part.”
“For the most part?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just... you know how it is.”
I do know how it is. Club life ain’t easy, especially for the women. And from what Morpheus said, she was a Cherry—a club whore who sleeps with the members.
The thought of her with other men makes my jaw clench.
“Anyone giving you a hard time?” I ask, my voice dropping lower.
She looks up, surprised by my tone. “No, not really. Not anymore.”
Not anymore. There’s definitely a story there.
“Good,” I say, taking a step closer to her without really meaning to. “Because if they were, I’d have to do something about it.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
She tilts her head to the side, studying me with those big blue eyes. “What do you know?”
That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. That I want to know every secret you’re hiding behind that smile. That I’d burn this whole fucking place down if someone hurt you.
“I know you’re somethin’ special,” I say instead.
She breaks eye contact first, looking down at her bare feet. “You really are sweet,” she says quietly.
I’m close enough now that I can smell her, watermelon and something warmer underneath, like vanilla. It’s intoxicating.
“How old are you?” I ask, needing to remind myself why the things I’m feeling are all kinds of fucking wrong.
“Twenty-five,” she says, looking back up at me. “How old are you?”
“Fifty-three.”
I wait for the disgust to cross her face. The polite step back. The quick excuse to leave.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, she nods like I’ve just confirmed something she already knew. “I figured you were older. I like the gray in your hair. It’s sexy.”
Christ. This girl has no clue what she's doing to me.
“I’m old enough to be your father,” I point out the obvious.
She smiles, a sly little smirk that makes my dick hard as steel. “But you’re not my father.”
No, I’m definitely not. And the things I wanna do to her right now are far from paternal.
“You should go,” I growl. “Before I do something we might regret.”
She bites her lower lip, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to toss her on the bed and have my way with her. “What if I don’t want to go?”
I take a deep breath, fighting for control. “Trust me, you do.”
She studies me for a moment longer, then nods. “Okay. If you say so.”
She turns to leave, and I almost reach out to stop her. Almost.
At the door, she looks back over her shoulder. “I’m working the bar tonight. If you want a drink, come find me.”
And then she’s gone, leaving nothing but the scent of watermelon and the echo of her voice in the room.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, running a hand over my face.
What the fuck just happened?
I’ve been with plenty of women in my time. Beautiful women. Experienced women. Women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it.
But none of them have ever hit me like this pink-haired pixie just did.
It’s like being struck by lightning. Or taking a bullet.
Instant. Violent. Life-altering.
I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling fan rotating above me.
I’m in Jacksonville for three days.
I’m here to support Klutch with Demi, and then I’m getting my ass back on the road.
I need to keep my head on straight and my hands off the pretty little pixie with the pink hair and sad eyes.
“Fuck.” I blow out a heavy breath.
This is bad. This is really bad.
Because when I want something—I take it.
And I want Pinky more than I’ve wanted anything in a very, very long time.
Fuck.