4. Ava
CHAPTER 4
Ava
A Party: Or, Two Bottles of Champagne, Some Condoms, and a Pack of Parliaments
I don’t even pretend to want to go anywhere but Sawyer’s hotel room.
So much for having fun with my girls. That idea went out the window somewhere around the time this man showed me just how well he could dance. He’s so unself-conscious, always ready with a laugh or an encouraging smile.
As for Sawyer, he doesn’t pretend to slow down. Instead, he twines our fingers as we stalk out into the night, nudging me toward the inside of the sidewalk and away from the street.
I’m a little breathless from trying to keep up with him. This urgency, this hunger , is ridiculously sexy.
My body lights up at the don’t-fuck-with-her vibe he gives off. A couple of guys check me out, and Sawyer glares at them, dropping my hand so he can grip the nape of my neck. He draws me even closer, practically curling his big body around mine.
My scalp prickles, the throb between my legs blaring to renewed, vibrant life. Is it wrong that I like being claimed this way? Protected?
No one, not even Dan, ever made me feel this safe, even though Sawyer is practically a stranger.
I feel safe, and most of all, I feel sure.
I have never been surer of anything in my life: this guy’s not a frog, he’s totally a prince. One I want to sleep with. Right now. All night. Because I have a very strong suspicion he’s going to be very good in bed. He’s hot, he’s funny. He likes my wild side. He’s a great dancer. And he’s a cowboy.
He’s also not a serial killer. Really, what more could a gal ask for?
My phone keeps buzzing in my bag. It’s my sisters, no doubt, freaking out—in a good way—over the fact that I’m the one going home with a guy. Especially this guy. I’ll have to thank Bee later for pushing me into him.
“You see a drugstore, let me know.” The deep, even tone of Sawyer’s voice sends a shiver up my spine. “I need to get a few things.”
“You don’t have?—”
“Told you I don’t get out much.”
The fact that Sawyer doesn’t have condoms is actually kind of endearing. Makes me wonder what his story is. I feel guys who go to bars to pick up women are always prepared. But Sawyer isn’t. He did say he doesn’t get out much. Why not?
I’m tempted to ask him, but I don’t. Part of me likes how anonymous this encounter feels. I don’t know Sawyer’s last name and he doesn’t know mine.
This is a one-night stand, and I want to keep it that way. I want to have fun. And yeah, maybe forget my responsibilities for a little while. Pretend I really am this carefree and impulsive all the time.
I nod at the gleaming tower that comes into view. “Bet the hotel has what we need.”
“Let’s hope they do. Otherwise I’m about to spend a shit ton on a delivery service. Wonder what they’ll think of the sinner’s chest I’ll order?”
I laugh. “Bet they’ll think you’re a lot of fun.”
“Guess I am.” His eyes flash when they meet mine. “But only when I’m with the right people.”
My stomach dips. God this man is gorgeous. The scruff, his prominent Adam’s apple. And that mouth . It’s lush, all soft lips and white teeth.
Something tells me he knows how to use it.
Also, he just complimented me in a way he hasn’t before. Yeah, he made me feel like a million bucks when he told me back at the honky-tonk that he was turned on by my spontaneity. But now he’s saying I’m rubbing off on him—making him wild—and that just might be the best compliment of all.
That makes me feel powerful.
Alive.
I’m not dead. Getting divorced didn’t kill me, didn’t destroy my spirit, even though the process was an eye-watering expense that nearly bankrupted me.
But I’m still here, and apparently I can still be a good time. I’m proud of that fact.
Squeezing my neck, Sawyer reaches for the door. “After you.”
But a doorman beats him to it. “Welcome back, sir.”
“C’mon, Bobby, how many times I gotta tell you to call me Sawyer? And y’all don’t have a little shop inside, do you? Someplace I can grab some beers to bring up to the room?”
Bobby is good at his job. The guy doesn’t blink as he smiles politely at us, holding open the door. “Of course. The Mercantile is just past the check-in desk. It’s open until midnight on Saturdays.”
“Excellent.” Moving his hand to the small of my back, Sawyer gently pushes me inside. “Have a good evening.”
“You too, sir. Y’all enjoy.” Bobby dips his head at me as I pass.
I’m holding back a giggle as Sawyer follows me into the lobby.
“What’s so funny?” Sawyer’s hand is back on my nape. He’s squeezing it again. “The fact that Bobby knows exactly what I’m about to do to you?”
“What are you about to do to me, sir?”
His eyes flash. “Told you I got ideas.”
“I do too.”
“Oh yeah?”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. “Yeah.”
“But you’re not gonna tell me what they are.”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“Maybe you’re the serial killer, being all secretive and shit.”
“Maybe I am.” I wag my brows. “But think of it this way, you’re gonna die happy. You did say I’m a good time.”
“I did.” His eyes flick to my mouth. “Let’s be quick.”
He keeps his hand on me as we walk into the Mercantile. It’s tiny but cute, an insanely expensive convenience store covered in subway tile and filled with branded sweatshirts and fourteen-dollar cups of freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice.
Standing in front of the cooler, Sawyer surveys the selection. “What are you feelin’? Should we stick with beer? Try wine? They have champagne.”
“The champagne is really good.” The girl behind the counter nods eagerly at him.
I can’t help but smile. Seriously, how did I end up with this guy? How is he taking me home when he clearly can have anyone he wants?
The only explanation I can think of is that maybe the universe finally took pity on me and sent a cowboy my way. One worth spending time with.
“Let’s try the champagne, then.” I grab the bottle, then laugh when I see the price tag. “Just kidding. It’s a hundred and fifty bucks.”
Sawyer grabs another bottle. “We’ll take two.”
“What the hell are we celebrating?”
“My final night on earth, of course.” His dimples pop when he smiles, and I get that weak feeling in my knees again.
“You’re funny.”
“And you laugh at my jokes, which I appreciate.”
“Just doing the Lord’s work.”
“Amen.” Sawyer sets his champagne on the counter. He drops his hand from my neck to take my bottle and sets it beside the other one. Then he’s digging into his pocket and pulling out a money clip before thumbing through a wad of cash.
“And some of those too.” Briefly looking up, he nods at the box of Trojans behind the counter.
The girl at the counter blushes. “Just one box?”
“Make it two.” He smirks. “One for each bottle.”
The throb between my legs becomes acute. I’m smiling so hard that my face hurts.
“And a pack of Parliament Lights.” I point to the cigarettes. “Only one, though.”
Sawyer chuckles, a deep rumble that draws my nipples to hard points. “I like you, Ava.”
“I like our sinner’s chest.”
The girl drops everything into a shiny plastic bag. Sawyer throws out four hundred-dollar bills and grabs the bag, telling her to keep the change.
He puts his hand on my neck and steers me to the elevators. No words. Just the sound of his boots on the marble floor, his footsteps sounding a steady, if slightly hurried, beat that coincides with my pulse.
Holy shit, I’m about to have sex with a hot, and apparently loaded, cowboy. Only in Texas would you find a man with rough hands and deep pockets.
What other surprises does he have up his sleeve? To be honest, I’m not sure how much more I can take before I really do swoon. I can’t remember the last time someone turned me on like this.
Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever been out in Austin on a Saturday night with nothing to do and nowhere to be. I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Not my time, my energy. My attention. This isn’t real life.
This kind of freedom doesn’t exist in my world.
Except it does tonight. And that could very well explain why I’m gripped by such ferocious need.
Or maybe that’s what I have to tell myself, because I’ve learned that insane chemistry only leads to insane complications. That’s the last thing I need. I’m finally standing on my own two feet, and I have no plans to let anyone knock me down.
The elevator doors open with a ding. Another couple joins us inside, which is kind of a bummer because I was planning on attacking Sawyer the second the doors closed.
He pushes the top button, then guides me to the back of the car. He moves his thumb down the slope of my neck, applying the faintest pressure to the muscles there.
I suck in a quick, quiet breath at just how good it feels when this man puts his hands on me.
Sawyer lets out a dark, gravelly chuckle. “You’re tight.”
I look at him. There’s a very dirty joke in there.
He looks back. Oh yeah?
“You’re really going to make me say it?” I ask.
His eyes crinkle at the edges. “Yes ma’am, I am.”
Laughter bubbling up inside my chest, I glance at the couple at the front of the car. “I won’t do it.”
“We’ll see about that.” He works his thumb into the knot between my neck and shoulder blade. “I’m pretty persuasive when I wanna be.”
His accent gets thicker when he flirts. I love it.
I am going to devour this man. If, of course, he doesn’t devour me first.
The couple rides all the way to the top of the hotel with us. They exit first, and then Sawyer moves his hand to my nape and, grip tight on my neck, guides us out of the elevator.
I like the way he leads, turning me right, then left, our footfalls quiet on the carpet. It’s nice to have someone else take charge for once. He’s the one with the plan, and I’m all too happy to be taken along for the ride.
We stop at a pair of doors all the way at the end of a long hall. Digging a key card out of his pocket, Sawyer waves it in front of the reader and the lock clicks.
He shoves open the door and holds it for me, nodding. “C’mon in.”
“Thanks.” I walk in and blink, my breath catching as I take in the exquisite—and enormous—hotel suite. “Wow. Wow, Sawyer …”
“Yeah?” I hear him drop the bag and key card on a table behind me.
“Is this?—”
“The presidential suite? Yep. They fucked up my reservation, so the front desk upgraded me. Pretty nice, right?”
“Nice? Sawyer, this place is sick .” I stare at the stunning view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that line two sides of the room.
The state capitol building is lit up in the distance, a stoic contrast to the colorful lights of 6th Street that twinkle in the darkness. A hazy full moon presides over everything, turning the night sky a deep shade of navy.
Sawyer laughs. “Glad you like it. Make yourself at home.”
Inside the suite, there’s a massive dining table surrounded by more chairs than I can count. A lounge area occupies the space to my right, complete with a cushy-looking sectional sofa that is just begging for a good, messy fuck.
But it’s the bed I glimpse through a door to my left that makes my heart beat faster. It’s massive, a low-slung leather behemoth dressed in crisply pressed white linens. Fluffy pillows are neatly lined up against the headboard.
Walking through the suite, I notice the lighting is low. Moody. Even the room scent is sexy—sandalwood, a hint of that leather.
The suite is neat as a pin. Of course room service has tidied the room, but something tells me Sawyer was the one who carefully lined up his toiletries—an electric toothbrush, a razor—on the bathroom vanity I see just off the bedroom.
Really, who is this funny, filthy-mouthed cowboy who apparently always has a Tide pen on him and stays in a hotel like this?
The kind of cowboy I like.
I jump at the sound of a pop behind me. Turning around, I see Sawyer pouring champagne into a pair of disposable coffee cups.
“All I could find,” he explains, looking up.
Our eyes lock. My stomach somersaults for the hundredth time tonight. He’s gorgeous .
Dropping my purse on a nearby side table, I saunter over and take the cup he offers me. “This is perfect. Any fancier and you might scare me off.”
“I’m a lot of things.” He searches my face, his full mouth curling into a smirk. “But fancy ain’t one of ’em. Cheers, Ava.”
The space between us thrums. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this turned on.
“Cheers.” I tap my cup to his. “To getting body-slammed.”
Bringing his cup to his lips, he laughs. “I got other plans for your body.”
Heaviness gathers inside my skin as I sip my champagne. Its dry, sweet flavor bursts on my tongue in a rush of starry delight. “Care to elaborate?”
Reaching out, he curls a finger through my belt loop. “You ride, don’t you?”
I can almost hear the way my blood crackles and pops inside my veins. “What gave me away?”
“These legs.” He gives the loop a tug while sipping his champagne. “That ass. And the way you dance. You’re strong. Quick. Graceful. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a barrel racer.”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. This guy pays attention, and that makes me feel some kind of way.
It makes me feel wildly … adored.
“You’re good, cowboy.”
One side of his mouth kicks up. “And I ain’t even kissed you yet.”
“Let’s get that out of the way, then.” I down the contents of my cup before setting it on a nearby table. “So I can show you exactly how well I ride.”
We both laugh. A wash of warm, liquid light moves through me that makes me feel like I’m glowing from the inside out.
This man really, really digs the Pisces in me.
“What?” I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I wasn’t gonna let you be the only one who drops terrible lines.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Kind of you.”
“A little kindness goes a long way.” I dig my fingers into his hair.
Sawyer’s eyes darken as I trail my fingertips across his scalp. I get the feeling he hasn’t been touched this way in a while. He’s leaning in, practically purring with pleasure when I put a hand on his face and arc my thumb over his thick stubble.
“It does, yeah.” His voice is husky. He stops, lips poised an inch over mine. Less.
My pulse throbs as the realization hits me—he’s waiting for me to make the first move. Waiting for me to give him permission. In my prior life, when I tried so hard to be the proper wife and woman Dan wanted, I would’ve suppressed my desire to take the reins.
Now, though, it makes me smile. There’s power in having the ball in your court.
Power, and freedom.
Joy, warm and potent, fills my center. At the same time, the desire between my legs twists tighter. I can still taste the champagne on my tongue. My buzz is light. Happy.
What a perfect fucking night.
Closing my eyes, I lift my chin and tilt my head. Then I gently press my lips to his, praying I don’t pass out from the sheer pleasure of the way his mustache tickles my skin.