Bad Behavior(7)

I didn't like that he felt worked. I mean, he was right, of course, but still. I liked Jonesy. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. I stopped fucking him after that first time because I wanted to stay friends. He wasn't bad in bed. He was actually pretty good. 

I remembered our misadventure fondly. Well, parts of it. Too much alcohol and a too-late night. He'd taken me back to his tiny apartment, about the size of my walk-in closet. We'd stumbled in and fallen into his bed. He'd been gentle, undressing me as if I were a gift to be unwrapped and savored. I ripped through his clothes like a spoiled brat on Christmas morning, pissed off that she hadn't gotten a pony. I'd dropped to my knees and taken his gorgeous uncut dick in my mouth, tasting him for the first time.

He'd run his hands through my hair and said my name reverently before pulling me up to his lips. He'd kissed me. Really kissed me, as if he were searching for the me who lived deep inside. The woman he was looking for wasn't there. Hadn't been for years.

And then he'd laid me down and made love to me. He started slow and maintained his control. He locked eyes with mine, pinning me beneath him and silently telling me things that I'd wished he wouldn't. I didn't want to make love. I wanted to fuck. When I'd flipped him over and taken what I wanted, his eyes were bright and full of desire, but there was also a twinge of sadness. Like he'd planned something different, something more real. I didn't want real. I wanted an escape, a fantasy of no strings attached and no hurt feelings.

Jonesy was what I should have wanted. But for me, it was too sweet. Too tender. I didn't want tender. I didn't want him looking at me with googoo eyes while I rode him. So I made sure it never happened again. But if a too-sweet fuck was what was necessary to get good intel, I was up for it, and the rod in his pants told me he was, too.

I put my hand on his back and leaned into him. "Can I make it up to you?"

He tilted his jaw to the side and wetted his lips with his tongue. "Still working me, Evan?"

"I will if you want me to." I let my breath tickle his ear.

He stilled and tensed under my hand. But then he shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs from his mind. "Those are your two settings, Evan. Fight or fuck."

The frustration in his words stung me. I was offering something I knew he wanted. What was the problem?

"You know what, Mike? Forget it. I'm headed out. I'll pay my tab tomorrow night." He rose from the bar, the warmth from his body no longer against me. Goosebumps spread along my legs as he left in a hurry. He punched through the door and disappeared into the street.

"The fuck you do?" Wood growled.

I shrugged.

Wood drained his glass and motioned to close his tab. "The missus will be all over my ass if I don't get home. The grandkids are in town. Running around, destroying every goddamn thing they can get their hands on."

"I thought Leslie and Pete had moved to L.A.," I said.

"They did, but they like to visit every few months. Total chaos." Wood paid his tab. "Lincoln, see you in the morning. And you, man-eater, stay away from him." He gave me a warning look. The deep creases in his brow mimicked his frown until his weathered brown face was nothing more than a wall of disapproval.

"I'm sure Lincoln's a big boy. He can handle himself against little old me." I winked. The frowns did not abate. They likely stayed planted on Wood's face the whole way home and only grew deeper when he walked into whatever mess his grandkids had made.

I slid over the two seats to Lincoln. He watched me with interest in the mirror, his eyes disappearing behind a blue bottle, then showing back up, then gone again behind an extra-cheap tequila. I settled next to him and put my leg on his chair, testing him.

He looked down, giving me a view of his thick dark hair, no grays in sight. Then he held my gaze and moved his leg away. Denied.



       
         
       
        

I glanced at myself in the mirror to see if anything was off. No, I looked fine. My auburn hair still curled prettily around my face. My lipstick had faded a bit as I drank, but my lips were still a faint red. Enough to get attention. And I wanted his attention.

He was big next to me. Tall, maybe six foot five, an entire foot taller than I was. Well built. Even through the suit I could tell he had the inverted triangle. Broad back, narrower waist and hips. Perfectly lickable.

"What's your game?" he asked. His eyes were smiling, a slight twinkle lighting the green.

"No game. I just wanted to say hi since you're new around here."

"You already said hi, remember? When you were on your way to the ladies' room." The smile moved down to the corners of his full lips, the edges turning up ever so slightly. The smirk was gorgeous somehow, sexual. He wasn't a "cute" guy, not like Jonesy was. Lincoln was something a bit more primitive, masculine.