Drop Dead Sexy

With that internal pep talk, I pulled open the door and took a determined step inside. The moment my heels slid through the sawdust and peanut hulls that covered the floor, I knew I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. The happy hoots and hollers of the patrons brought my attention up from what had to be a blatant health code violation to the small stage across from me. As a Skynyrd cover band blared out the opening from Free Bird, lighters appeared out of the pockets of faded Wranglers and overall bibs, cutting through the hazy smoke rings. The firelight helped illuminate the room, giving me a good look at my male choices for the evening.

My raging libido instantly shriveled at the sight of what had to be the reunion crew of Deliverance. Instantly the tune of Dueling Banjos started to play in my head. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. I could not bring myself to go home with a hillbilly, regardless of the state of tumbleweeds blowing through my nether regions. It was time I turned around, tucked my tail between my legs, and got the hell out of there.

And then the crowd parted, and the banjo music playing in my head screeched to a stop. Sitting at a table alone was the living and breathing embodiment of my fantasies. Even though he was sitting down, I could tell he was tall because his knees bumped against the tabletop. His wavy dark hair fell across his forehead, which seemed to cause him great irritation judging by how exasperated he seemed each time he pushed it back with his fingers.

Instead of Wranglers or overalls, he had on a suit. The jacket was draped across one of the extra chairs while the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up at his elbows. His tie sat a little askew as if he had been itching to rip it off. Multicolored folders littered the table along with the foamy beer he was nursing.

Even though people bumped and jostled me in the crowd, I stood frozen to that spot, undressing him with my eyes. A wet spot formed on my chin, and I brought the back of my hand up to wipe it away. Oh yeah, I was drooling. After thinking of having to bed Toothless Joe, this was a dream come true.

As if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sinfully Handsome sensed someone staring at him, he jerked his head up, meeting my gaze. Then the most panty-melting smile imaginable stretched across his drop-dead sexy face. And in that bright and shining moment, my poor, male-neglected vagina, which for so long had been flat lining on life-support, coughed and sputtered back to life. The same jolt of electricity shuddered through its long dormant walls as if the paddles from a crash cart had been administered and a doctor yelled, “Clear!” Through a miracle, I had actually found the Dr. Feelgood who was going to end my longsuffering sex drought.

Considering his smile as an invitation, I pushed myself forward to close the gap between us. The sawdust on the floor, coupled with my nervously knocking knees, made it a little harder than I expected. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I stood before him.

My heartbeat drummed wildly when he stood up. “Well, hello there,” he said, his deep, rich voice sending a lightning bolt straight to my vagina.

“H-Hi,” I stammered.

He motioned to the empty chair across from him. “Won’t you join me?”

“Sure. I’d love to.” After I sat down, I thrust my hand at him. “My name is Olivia Sullivan.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to give him my full name. What was next? Rattling off my social security number?

When his hand touched mine, I literally felt a spark of electricity. The rational side of me argued that it was my heels rubbing across the sawdust floor that had caused it. “I’m Catcher Mains.”

Embarrassment flooded my cheeks when I realized I was still holding his hand. I quickly dropped his and used my hand to sweep my hair over my shoulder. “Catcher? That’s an interesting name.”

“I like to think so.”

“Let me guess. It’s your nickname from playing baseball.”

“You’re right that it’s a nickname, but it’s not from baseball.”

“Please tell me it’s not something cheesy like you’re a real catch or you always catch the women you chase?”

Catcher threw his head back and laughed heartily. “You could say that’s part of it.”

“Seriously though. What’s it from?”

“You see my parents were English teachers, so they named me after the main character in one of their favorite books—Holden Caulfield.”

“From Catcher in the Rye.”

Catcher’s blue eyes lit up. “You know it?”

I laughed. “So I must look like some bimbo who doesn’t have an appreciation for literature.”

“No. Not at all. It’s just I don’t find that many people who get the reference.”

After glancing around us, I cocked my brows at him. “Maybe you’re hanging out with the wrong people,” I suggested.

He grinned. “Trust me. This isn’t my usual Friday night hangout.”

“Mine either. I just happened to be passing through and was in desperate need of a drink.”

“And you just happened to be wearing a banging-hot dress.”

“You think my dress is banging?”

“Hell, yeah.” With a wink, he added, “I know I’d sure like to bang you in it.”

A nervous giggle escaped my lips. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”

“Maybe I am. I should probably be more of a gentleman by trying to get to know you better. Then I can feel pervy telling you how much I’d like take you to the bathroom, shove that banging dress up above your hips, and fuck you senseless.”