Chapter 4 #2
The bar is exactly what I expected. Dim lighting inside, with pool tables in the back, a long bar, and several tables.
There’s a stage with a dance floor on one side, where I assume a live band must play once in a while, but it’s empty now.
Instead, music spills out through invisible speakers, and I recognize this song as a classic country hit from the ’90s.
You can’t go wrong with Shania.
I glance around as I walk through to the bar, and several heads turn to see who walked in, but no one catches my eye as I boost up onto a stool at the bar and come face-to-face with maybe one of the most visually stunning people I’ve ever seen.
“Hey there,” she says with a friendly smile. She’s a petite little thing with long red hair that falls in curls almost to her ass. She’s in a tight-fitting black tank top that’s tucked into white jeans that show every curve. “What can I getcha?”
“Just a Corona in a bottle, no lime,” I reply, and she nods, then quickly gets my drink for me and passes it over, and I give her my card.
“Shall I open you a tab?” she asks.
“Nah, I’m driving, so just one for me.” I need the liquid courage if I’m going to let a strange man touch me tonight.
She nods again, runs my card, and then returns it to me with the receipt.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she says. “I’m Ivy.”
“Darby,” I reply, and take a sip of my beer. “I’m new to town.”
“Well, that’s exciting. I was born here, in this very building.”
I lift an eyebrow, and Ivy shrugs.
“My parents own this bar. I’m just filling in for the night, since they’re down a bartender. I’m actually a physical therapist.”
“That’s cool. I’m finishing up my veterinarian degree.”
“That’s cool too.” Ivy gives me a smile. “Welcome to town, new friend. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She hurries off to fill drink orders, and I turn on my stool to take in the place. The walls are covered with old business signs. I wonder if they’re businesses that closed down over the years and gave their signs to Ivy’s parents. I like it. It’s . . . whimsical.
Four guys are shooting pool in the back, but they all have wedding bands on their fingers.
I’m not a home-wrecker.
There’s a guy sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a beer and tapping away on his computer. Is this his version of working at a coffee shop?
I can respect that.
I’m going to be honest. I’m not interested, not even vaguely, in any of the men in this bar.
No one makes me want to dismiss my no-touching rule long enough to do the deed, hopefully score an orgasm, and get gone.
There has to be a hell of a lot of attraction on my part, and none of these guys does it for me.
I’d have to drink a lot more than one beer.
I’m so fucking romantic.
After finishing the last swallow of beer, and resigning myself to not having any orgasms tonight, I ask Ivy for a glass of water and watch the hockey game playing on the TV behind the bar.
Ivy has also paused in her scurrying around to watch, and when Xander Hendrix makes a goal, she jumps up and down and claps her hands.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she hollers and high-fives her coworker.
“Are you a Denver Flurry fan?” I ask her.
“I’m a Xander Hendrix fan,” she admits, and her face flushes bright red. “Can’t help it, I grew up with the guy.”
I smile at her, loving her enthusiasm. I get it, it seems all the Hendrix brothers are hot. I have to spend all day, every day with one.
“He’s impressive.”
Ivy flushes again, but turns to stare at the screen, as if she’s soaking up any glimpse she can get of the hockey star.
“Good job, X,” she mutters.
So, I stay and watch the game with Ivy, and once the Flurry have won 4–1, I decide to pack it in for the night and go home to my vibrator.
Sad.
Except, I’m not really sad. I’m kind of relieved because I don’t have to hold my breath and pretend that letting a guy touch me is worth the orgasm he might give me.
On my way out the door, a man I hadn’t noticed before smiles at me and says, “Can I talk you into staying for one more drink?”
He’s handsome. At least six feet tall with dark blond hair and a nice smile, and before I started working for Tucker, he might have done the trick.
Now? He does nothing for me. Zip. Nada.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d better head home,” I reply with a polite smile.
He doesn’t argue. Instead, he cringes. “I should have asked earlier. Drive safe.”
“Thanks.”
See? He’s perfectly nice. Good looking with big hands. Probably not horrible in bed. What in the hell is wrong with me?
I drive back to the ranch, still feeling sexually frustrated but also relieved, and being keyed up the whole time I was at the bar means that I’m tired now.
I park in front of the cabin, but instead of walking inside, I circle around to the back and am surprised to find the firepit already roaring with a fire and Tucker sitting in his chair.
And just like that, all the tension I’ve been carrying melts away.
“What if I didn’t come back tonight?” I ask him as I sit in my seat. I like the warmth of the fire, but I like being in Tucker’s soothing presence more.
His green eyes shift to me, and he watches me for a long moment before answering. “Then I would have sat by the fire by myself and missed your company.”
God, he’s swoony.
I flinch as I shift in the seat, reminded that I rode a horse for the first time this morning, and of course he catches it.
Tucker doesn’t miss much.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just stiff. Not used to riding a horse.”
He nods. “I bet you have a salve for that.”
With a laugh, I turn to face him. I’d rather look at him than the fire. “You know, I do. But I think a bath with some Epsom salts will do the trick.”
Tucker frowns. “Your tub is tiny. It’s not really a soaking tub.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got, Hotshot.”
“You’ll use mine.”
I blink at him slowly. “Tucker—”
“We really need to work on your argumentativeness, Duchess,” he says slowly and crosses his arms over his chest. “You can soak in my damn tub. It’s ten yards away.”
“You’re bossy.”
He just grins at me, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life. I can’t take my eyes off his lips, and the longer I stare, the smile slowly falls away.
“Where did you go tonight?” he asks softly.
I could tell him that it’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to know every move I make. But he’s not asking to be an asshole. He just wants to know.
“I went to the bar in town.”
He swallows thickly. “Date?”
I huff out a laugh. “No. Thought I’d try to find one, but no. I met Ivy, though, and she’s really nice. Also, your brother won his game tonight.”
“I know. I watched it inside before I came out here.” He licks his lips. “I’m going to touch you.”
My throat locks up. I can’t speak, so I just nod, and then he slowly, so slowly, reaches out and gently brushes my hair back behind my ear. His calloused fingertips drift down my jawline before his hand falls away, and he takes a long, deep breath.
“Come upstairs and soak in the tub, Darby. I won’t do anything inappropriate.”
Well, that’s a damn shame.
“Okay.” It’s a whisper, and his lips tip up into that smile again.
Tucker stands and offers me his hand, and without thinking, I slide my palm against his and he pulls me out of the chair. He doesn’t drop my hand as we walk to the house. In fact, he shifts, so our fingers are laced, and it feels so fucking good.
I don’t want to flinch back. I don’t want to yank my hand away. I don’t have the heebie-jeebies from his touch. And I don’t think that I’ve ever been this comfortable around a man in my life.
The farmhouse is everything I could ever dream of. It’s everything my childhood home wasn’t.
High ceilings with wooden beams, a pretty kitchen with clean granite countertops and a stove that looks like it’s cooked many delicious meals for a loving family. The dining room seats eight, and the living room is cozy, with big leather furniture, a TV, and a beautiful fireplace.
Without a word, Tucker leads me up the stairs and down the hall to the primary suite, and when I step over the threshold, I instinctively take a deep breath.
It smells like Tucker, like trees and fresh air with a hint of earth.
His king-size bed is made with blue linens, and his furniture is simple but pretty.
“Bathroom’s in here,” he murmurs, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Holy shit, it’s brand new.”
I step inside, shocked by the black-and-white bathroom, with a double vanity, a shower the size of my cabin, and a claw-foot tub that makes me want to weep with joy.
Or rather, my ass wants to weep with joy.
“I remodeled it after Dad moved out,” he says, casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “I wanted to make it my own. So, I redid this and the bedroom.”
“That makes sense.”
He moves past me and turns on the faucet, then fetches a bag of Epsom salts out from under the sink and sets it on the countertop.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “Would you like some wine? Or a beer?”
“No, I had a beer earlier. But thanks.”
He pauses and looks like he wants to say something else, but then he simply nods.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Tucker.”
He pauses in the doorway and looks back at me. God almighty, this man is beautiful.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He chuckles and pushes a hand through his hair. “I’m just relieved you didn’t find another date.”
He shuts the door behind him, and I let out a breath.
That makes two of us.