Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

I lift my chin, acknowledging them, but look away without waiting to see if my salutation is returned, heading back to my spot at the bar with Mark and a few of his friends from the fire station. I signal for another, realizing the second the bartender moves to fill my glass that my spot gives me yet another clear view of Clayton and Maverick Davis. They appear to be alone, but the buzz still crawling across my skin tells me their sister is most likely with them somewhere. They always were a close bunch.

“She’s the one in the purple,” Mark grunts, leaning his heavy bulk into my side and lifting his hand with a slight tremor toward the open area people are using as a makeshift dance floor. I narrow my eyes to see where he’s pointing and almost fall off the fuckin’ stool when I see the women he’s referring to.

Two scantily clad, sexy-as-hell women wearing bright-ass wigs, one in pink and one in purple. Both attractive with great bodies, but the one he’s referring to catches my eye over the other and keeps it. She’s got everything a man would ever think of putting on his dream list. Killer body, round ass, full tits, and legs that would look great wrapped around my waist.

“No shit?” I wheeze. Fuckin’ wheeze like an old fuckin’ man on life support. My eyes remain on her as if I’m in some sort of trance as she rolls her hips to the music, moving in a way that screams, Good in bed. I remember with absolute clarity just how good she is in bed, getting even better each time we shared that together.

Yeah, Quinn Davis knows how to ride her man almost as well as she could ride a horse.

Mark chuckles appreciatively as he watches the women dance. “Those two used to do this shit every weekend a few years back. Sit back and enjoy, man. Even with Clay and Mav here, those girls are gonna get rowdy, and I promise you it’s funny as hell to watch. ’Course, last time they did this shit, they were both single, so who knows how rowdy it’ll get tonight.”

The breath stills in my lungs, his words slamming into my brain and clearing out my buzz with a sobering impact.

I turn my head and look at Mark. “She’s taken?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer to that.

“Huh? Oh, shit, I forgot what we were talkin’ about. Yeah, gettin’ married in a few weeks, I think. ’Bout damn time too,” Mark slurs, still looking off toward the dance floor. He turns when I don’t speak and looks at me, confused, before whatever lightbulb switched off with the first sip earlier snaps back on. “Fuck, Tate, I was talkin’ ’bout Leighton. She and Maverick are gettin’ hitched.”

“Quinn?” I grunt harshly, not willing to have him get confused this time. My fuckin’ heart can’t handle it.

He laughs like I just said the funniest thing in the world and I narrow my eyes.

“You got nothin’ to worry ’bout there, Tate. You fucked that girl up real good because ever since you, no man can get close enough to attempt changin’ that, not that there haven’t been plenty tryin’. She went through a wild stage but never had a serious relationship. Her wild hair got cut off ’bout the same time her brother got back last year.”

I feel my body deflate, instantly eased by his words even if it churns my gut to think about what that wild stage might have meant. Makes no fuckin’ sense for me to feel this overwhelmingly possessive over her, not when I ruined what we had. Logic be damned, though. There isn’t anyone standin’ in the way of us now and I don’t care what it takes, I’m gettin’ back in there.

I sit back, drinking beer after beer, and watch her move like a wet dream brought to life. Her denim miniskirt wrapped tight around the ass that’s only improved with time. Her flat stomach bare, belly ring winking every now and then when the light catches it just right. I haven’t the slightest clue if the plaid material covering her chest is some fancy-as-fuck bra or an actual top, but the way it’s showcasing her breasts has my cock pressing hard against my jeans in a matter of seconds.

Soon, I mentally promise my throbbing cock.

Soon, I vow to the ache in my chest.

“Very fuckin’ soon,” I declare, mumbling the words low under my breath while I sit back, get comfortable, and enjoy the show.





8


QUINN


“80s Mercedes” by Maren Morris

- -

I can’t remember the last time I felt this alive.

They’re playing nothing but dance music tonight at the Dam Bar. Those country hits from almost a decade ago that make you want to shake your ass, toss your head back, and rebel yell to the moon. Well, maybe not go out yellin’ at the moon. I might be drunk off my ass, but I’m not that drunk.

I grab Leigh’s hands and pull her in for a hug, laughing when she almost falls on her ass.

“—looks so hot,” she yells over the music.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think?”

“What are you talkin’ about?” I scream back, not understanding her.

She looks over her shoulder, in the direction that I last saw my brothers standing, and I feel her body sag slightly. Giggling, I steady her only to end up with her head resting against my shoulder and a mouthful of pink wig hair. I sputter, pulling the strands out while she reaches up, one hand landing on the top of my head, and pets my wig so hard I feel like she might pull it right off my damn head.

“Guess what,” she whisper-yells in my ear.

“Chicken butt?” I snicker, laughing at my own joke.

She snorts, lifts her head, and smiles at me. Her dazed eyes aren’t focusing on me all that well, but since I’m pretty sure I’m not holding two Leightons, I’m guessing mine aren’t that clear either.

“I’m gonna get him home and ride him like a pony.”

“Oh, gross, Leigh! That’s my brother!”

She snorts again. “He has a really nice penis. It’s so pretty. Like, really, really pretty. I saw a mold thingie in a magazine Jana had. You reckon he’d let me do that to him? That way I could carry his pretty penis around with me everywhere I go.”

I push that disturbing image right outta my head and help support Leigh while walking back over to the table where we left Maverick and Clay a few hours ago.

“She’s ready to go,” I announce, hoping my words aren’t slurring as I attempt to thrust her into Maverick’s arms, Leighton slumping against me as one hand reaches out to stroke Maverick’s chest.

“Pretty sure you told me earlier if I took her outta here, for any reason, before the bar closed you would take away my ability to have children. Let me tell ya, Hell-raiser, I’m not takin’ any chances testin’ how serious you mighta been,” Maverick grumbles, taking a sip of his longneck, grabbing Leigh’s hand when it gets down to his belt buckle, not letting her continue her journey.

“If you play your cards right, I’m pretty sure she’s willin’ to start on that tonight, not that I cared to hear about it, but I did, so can you please get her home before she tells me again how pretty your penis is?”

He chokes on the gulp of beer he was just swallowing. I can’t see his eyes in the shadow his cowboy hat is casting over his face, but I feel an uncomfortable awareness when his scrutiny leaves me and settles on his fiancée.

Gross.

I feel like I’m in the middle of something I damn sure don’t want to be in the middle of. Especially since Leigh won’t let me go and still has her hand way too close to Maverick’s crotch.

I register that Davis, party of two, has somehow morphed into a party of one. “Hey, where’s Clay?”