18. Dallas
DALLAS
I’ve already come on him once, but the second he shoves inside me, I can feel another orgasm looming.
But then the unwelcome panic rises. I fight against it, blinking at the wall to force the tears away.
“Look at me.”
His deep voice draws me back to reality. My eyes snap back to meet his, bright and blue like a clear sky.
I used to mentally check out during sex, tallying up grocery items and going over my to-do list. It was the only way to survive the assault. It was survival.
“Stay with me, darlin’. I’m right here.”
I nod, gripping his shoulders tighter, silently begging him to keep going.
He brushes a kiss on my neck. My lips find his ear. “Fill me up. I want every drop inside me.”
It takes three thrusts for me to shatter around his dick. I’m not drunk or even tipsy, but I’ve never been so turned on before. Who would’ve thought sex in an alley with a guy who wasn’t even in high school when I graduated would give me the best orgasm of my life?
After feeling him do exactly what I asked, which was to fill me with all of his cum, I return to reality.
When I look around and realize we’re still very much in a public alleyway and the people on the street probably heard me screaming, panic slithers up the back of my spine.
He’s still panting into my neck, his dick pulsing. I struggle against him. My legs start to go numb.
He pulls back, his blue eyes bright with lust. I look away, unable to hold his steady gaze.
I’m a mother with responsibilities, and we just broke so many laws. We could literally go to jail for this.
What’s the punishment for having sex in public in Tennessee?
I don’t want to find out. I squirm against him.
He squeezes my ass cheeks one more time with his big, callous hands before lifting me off of him.
I gasp at the sudden empty feeling. He sets my feet down on the ground, making sure I’m steady before he lets go.
I catch a fleeting look at his dick before he tucks it into his jeans.
I’m adjusting my thong back into place when he reaches over, tugging my skirt back down over my hips and shifting my top to cover my breasts.
The rational side of my brain clicks back into place. I glance around, hoping no one saw us. I look up around the building, and I spot a camera in the corner.
“What did we just do?” I whisper.
He’s tucking his shirt into his jeans. His eyes rise to look up around the area. “They won’t check them without a reason to.”
His semen is seeping out of me, soaking my underwear. My throat dries up when he grabs my hand, lifting it to kiss my knuckles.
“Don’t stress about it, Mamas. I’ll take care of you.” He reaches up, running his thumb over my bottom lip. “By the way, since when do you have such a filthy mouth? I never expected that from the single mom who usually acts like I don’t exist.”
I bat my lashes at him, the concern pinching my stomach fading away when a giggle bubbles out of me.
“You liked that, hmm?”
He nods, groaning when he pulls open the big metal door. He smacks my ass when I walk through.
“I fucking loved it.”
The next morning, butterflies flutter through my stomach when I see a glass of water, cloudy with electrolytes, and ibuprofen beside the bed.
Wow. I am pathetic with a capital P.
Someone thinking about me enough to make sure I have a hangover cure shouldn’t get me that excited. Before becoming a mom, I always thought my love languages were gifts and words of affirmation. I loved to receive expensive, well-thought-out gifts and to be told that I looked pretty.
Both of those things seem petty to me now.
Acts of service, hands down, are what makes me feel loved now. Someone doing simple, nice things for me means the world.
I down the two tablets and half the water. When I climb out of bed, I look down and realize I’m wearing Duke’s button-down from last night.
The drunken events of the night before tumble through my mind.
Duke and I had sex.
In public.
In a fucking alleyway.
Then I danced on him all night, and we made out multiple times in front of his family. I sat on his lap on the way home and passed out before we even made it back to the rental house.
He must have carried me inside and tucked me into bed before going to sleep in his own room.
I flush with embarrassment and stumble into the bathroom.
“Oh my God.”
My friends are going to hate me for hooking up with their brother when I’m barely divorced and actively dating other men.
I was already feeling nauseous, but the contents of my stomach are really threatening to resurface now.
I take a quick shower, pressing my face to the cool tiles while I let the water run over my body. After toweling off, brushing my teeth, and changing into a pair of pink sweatpants and a cropped tank top, I finally venture out into the main area.
The heady aroma of hot coffee wafts through the air toward my nostrils. I meander into the kitchen and find the pot filling with steady drops, but it’s being guarded by a set of perfect back and shoulder muscles.
I swallow. It’s my two second-favorite things to wake up to, right after the sound of little feet running to my room.
He turns, his gaze raking over me. “Morning.”
His sleepy, deep voice makes me want to clench my thighs together.
I gulp. “Hi. Good morning.”
“Coffee?”
I nod. He turns around and fills a mug with coffee before stirring in some sweet-cream-flavored creamer. His fingers brush mine when he hands me the cup. I wish I could stop the flooding memories of what those fingers feel like between my legs.
His heated gaze tells me the memory of last night is running through his mind too.
My voice is hoarse. “Thanks.”
“Sleep well?”
“Like the dead.”
“You didn’t even stir when I carried you in.”
He grins, and the tension in my stomach eases. Something about Duke’s easy smile draws a layer of peace over me.
I sip the coffee. The flavor is incredible.
He dips his head toward the back door. “Come sit outside with everyone.”
I grab his elbow. The coffee splashes over the rim.
“Wait.”
He turns, waiting.
“Are they mad at me?” I whisper.
His brows pinch together. “No. Why?”
“The way I acted last night.”
He still looks confused. “They don’t know about the—”
“I mean after that, with us.”
He grabs a towel off the kitchen counter and bends down to clean up the coffee mess. I watch the flex of his shoulder muscles, my mind traveling back to the events of the night before.
I didn’t panic. I was able to enjoy sex. For the first time in … years.
Small victories.
“I don’t know why you think anyone would be mad. Everyone drank a lot.”
He’s not getting what I’m talking about, so I just let it go.
Maybe I’m having this feeling just because of the way Matt always found ways to blame me for having fun or drinking too much.
It rarely happened, but the next morning was always a nightmare of him running through my actions like a strict, disapproving father.
“Never mind.”
He finishes cleaning up the spill and continues walking toward the door. “Everyone had a great night. We’re just recovering this morning, and tonight, we have the concert and rodeo. You ready for that?”
“Yes. I’ve been having fun with you. More fun than I expected, honestly.” I offer him a smile.
His hand is resting on the doorknob to the back door. He nods, clearing his throat.
“Yeah, me too. Listen, don’t overthink it. You’re not my girlfriend, and they know that. They know you’re not interested in anything serious. This should be a fun weekend with no pressure. We’re friends, having a little fun. Nothing more.”
The concert flies by. Duke holds me from behind, singing into my ear while Monroe is onstage, captivating the entire crowd. Being backstage is surreal. I’ve never seen what it’s like behind the scenes.
Duke is sweet and attentive and sexy. Every time he whispers in my ear, all I want to do is climb into bed with him or find another alleyway.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this amount of sexual desire. It got to the point in my marriage where sex was a chore and something I did to ease Matt’s angry outbursts. For at least the last year of my life, I haven’t felt a shred of arousal.
Until Duke ignited it in me.
I’m not blind to the fact that this is what he does. He’s a six-foot-three, twenty-six-year-old bull rider who’s been with a lot of women. I’m one of many to him. He said so himself earlier today—we’re just friends, having fun together.
Even so, I’m honestly relieved to be finally feeling this way. I was concerned it might never come back for me.
After the concert, we take the limo to the rodeo.
Cash and Monroe will meet up with us later, after she does her meet and greet.
Rosie and Dolly seem to be acting completely normal toward me, so I guess Duke was telling the truth about them not being angry at me for making out with their brother.
I’m a few years older than both of them, closer to Cash’s age.
We’re all at the bar, waiting for the bartender to take our orders. The bull riding is about to start, and the guys didn’t want to miss it. They’re waiting in our box seats.
“Hey, isn’t your birthday coming up? We should have a party! Thirty is a big deal,” Rosie says.
“Yes, it is. I really don’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”
She’s wearing a pink minidress with tall pink cowboy boots. Dolly and I are matching in the same outfits but different pastel colors, courtesy of Monroe’s stylist. Dolly’s is yellow, and mine is purple.
We already took a hundred photos together since the times when we’re actually dressed up and looking cute together are rare these days.
“Briggs! Hey, man. How you doing?” The bartender lifts a hand and grins at someone behind us.
A man steps up beside us, a tattooed arm reaching forward to shake the bartender’s hand.
“Hey, Kenny. Doing all right. How’s your sister?” His voice is a thick drawl.
The bartender shakes his head, laughing. “What can I get ya?”
“Six shots of Fireball. What do we have here, the Powerpuff cowgirls?”
I tilt my head to the side and turn to face him. He’s tall, around Duke’s height. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt that’s stained with dirt, and his arms both have full-sleeve tattoos that must cover his entire chest because the ink on his neck disappears underneath the neckline.
He looks vaguely familiar.
He flashes me a grin. “Sorry, Purple, did I hurt your feelings?”
I offer him a forced smile. “Nope.”
“Take a shot with me?” He slides one of the Fireball shots toward me.
He’s gorgeous, obviously, but he also knows it. I don’t love that. I shake my head, turning away. Rosie and Dolly are whispering to each other as we wait on the bartender to give us our pitcher of margaritas.
“I’m hurt, Purple. I don’t usually get rejected.”
Dolly smiles at me and widens her eyes like she’s trying to communicate something with me.
I tap my nails on the bar, wondering what’s taking the bartender so long and why he chose to serve Briggs before making our drinks.
“Is there a reason you lovely ladies all match tonight?”
“Just for fun,” Dolly pipes up.
“I like it,” Briggs says.
I turn to see him leaning toward me as he says it. I take a step away toward the girls. He takes the hint, shrugging. He grabs the small tray of shots.
“See you around, Purple. Come find me if you get bored.” He winks as he struts away.
“Ugh,” I groan, leaning into the bar. “Why did he get his drinks before us? What happened to pretty privilege?”
Rosie grabs my arm. “Do you not know who that is?”
Dolly barks out a laugh. “Oh my gosh, she doesn’t know who just hit on her.”
I gape at them, racking my brain for where I might’ve seen his face. The bartender finally finishes up the pitcher of margaritas and hands it to us with six cups.
“Thank you.” Rosie slaps the money on the bar top, and we turn to walk away.
“Okay, spill. Who was that?” I ask.
The announcer’s voice blares through the stadium as we’re walking up the stone steps to our box seats.
It’s too loud to talk while walking, so they don’t answer until we’re in the box with Holden, Sam, and Duke.
The announcer’s voice is replaced by music.
I hold out one of the empty cups toward Rosie, who has the pitcher.
“Girl, you just got hit on by Briggs Crawford!” Dolly squeals.
Duke’s head snaps toward me. My eyes narrow, and he frowns. The name sounds so familiar, but it’s just not clicking.
“Do we know him?”
Rosie laughs, shaking her head. “He’s probably going to be in the top three slots in bull riding tonight.
And he’s a model now for—I don’t know—Cinch maybe?
Justin Boots? I can’t remember which—” Her voice cuts off when Holden blinks at her.
She purses her lips, trying not to laugh. “What? Dolly told me.”
Dolly gapes at Rosie. “That was two years ago! I was brutally rejected and needed a fallback crush.” She turns toward Sam, folding her arms across her chest. “Besides, he clearly likes blonds.”
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. I shrug. Sam wraps an arm around his wife.
“Yeah, well, he’s just a pretty-boy model. Doubt he can actually ride.”
“No, he’s good. He—” Rosie sees Holden’s expression and cuts herself off again, biting her lip.
“What did he say to you?” Duke asks me, his voice unusually clipped.
“He offered me a Fireball shot.”
“And he asked if we were the Powerpuff cowgirls,” Dolly pipes up.
Duke’s face changes, his skin burning red. He looks around us, like Briggs might just pop up out of nowhere.
No way he’s feeling jealous right now.
“Yeah, I had no idea who he was.”
Duke pops his knuckles and wraps his arm around my waist. It feels possessive, which makes my stomach flip.
“Well, you’re single. You can do whatever you want,” he says.
I don’t think he can decide what he wants with me. He said that everyone knows I don’t want anything serious, but he’s been keeping what he wants a complete mystery.
“Yeah, you too.”
I guess we’re playing a game of Who Cares the Least. That seems like how he wants it to be.
Game on, Duke Redford.