Chapter 7 Isaac
CHAPTER SEVEN
isaac
Bang bang bang.
The sound is gunfire ricocheting in my skull.
I jerk upright, heart pounding, hand instinctively reaching for the nonexistent sidearm I left back at the ranch. But it’s not there because I’m not at the ranch.
I look around and see that I’m in a hotel room.
And someone’s damn near taking the door off its hinges.
“Housekeeping!”
I blink. The bed’s empty. Sheets are a mess. The scent of her and sex still clings to the air like perfume.
“Spitfire?” I rasp. My mouth is dry as hell.
The bathroom door’s wide open. Lights off. No steam. No sound of water running.
Just a note on the nightstand when I reach for the bottle of water she must’ve left for me.
Not even a note, really. A napkin from The Wild Coyote with five words scribbled in what might be makeup:
Thanks for the ride, cowboy.
It is lipstick. I know because she kissed the napkin at the bottom edge.
Another knock. “Housekeeping!”
Son of a bitch.
I swing my legs off the bed and scrub a hand over my face. Every muscle aches, but in a good way. I find my boxer briefs discarded across the room and yank them on, then throw on yesterday’s jeans and pull my shirt over my head, half-tucking it in as I open the door.
The reins are nowhere to be seen. Looks like my spitfire took a souvenir.
The housekeeper’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of me.
“You’re all set,” I mutter, handing her a twenty-dollar bill because it’s all I have on me, and I know those sheets are a mess. Brushing past her, I tuck the room key into the back pocket of my jeans along with my five-word goodbye.
Looks like I’m taking a souvenir too. I’ve never been one for sentimental trinkets. But I’ve never called a woman “baby” before either.
Or given her everything I had while she demanded more. I can still hear her sultry voice in my head teasing and taunting me.
I’d pay every cent I ever earned just to watch her come one more time.
Fuck, that mouth. That body. Those damn eyes.
She was radiant when I first met her, but she was ethereal after an orgasm. And I should know. If I counted right, she had somewhere around five or six of them.
A new personal best for me, and I hope, for her.
Hook ups were typically just fun, a laid-back good time where I mostly focused on letting a woman use my body to get herself off.
There was some playful banter, not much kissing.
Kissing felt more intimate than sex, so I’d avoided it so as not to lead anyone to believe it was more than one body part going into another.
I’d never tell my brothers, but sometimes the women I went home with just wanted to talk—often about an ex who’d wronged them or their asshole of a boss or the latest frenemy drama. Sometimes we watched a movie and passed out drunk, maybe a little oral here and there.
The rowdiest time I’d had recently was with a tourist and unfortunately, Beau’s latest crush. They’d mostly been busy trying to outdo one another, doing more arguing than dick riding. I lost interest several times that night and never even came.
They didn’t notice or care. But my mystery girl made it clear she wasn’t going to be happy unless she got me off.
None of my previous encounters have been anything like last night.
This woman was a level of intensity that demanded my full attention from the moment I laid eyes on her until the second she drifted off in my arms. Sweaty, sated, with a small smile on those perfect plump lips.
I never even got her name.
And she sure as hell didn’t care to know mine.
That was a first, too.
I make it to the truck with five minutes to spare and a hell of a lot more questions than answers.
Today’s the meet-the-production-crew ordeal at the ranch. Tomorrow begins six weeks of training actors how to ride, rope, and fake cowboy their way through scenes my sister-in-law wrote.
And I’m late.
Of course I am.
Because I was too busy getting laid by a woman who it feels I dreamt into existence. I can already hear Wyatt giving me Hell.
Worth it.
I shift the truck into gear and gun it down the road, dust rising in clouds behind me.
At least I’m no longer worried about upholding that contract I have to sign and hand over to Ivy today.
Because no matter how many actresses show up on my family’s ranch today, none of them will be her.
An odd sinking sensation in my stomach tells me that every experience after that one will be less somehow. Less suited to me, less intense, and less satisfying.
For the first time in my thirty years, it’s going to take me a while to get over a woman.