Examining her body, what I could see of it in this light, I admired her tiny waist, giving way to thick thighs. Her jeans were expensive and her heels high. If I was lucky, she came here to forget about a man who broke her heart. I had just enough time to help her forget before I had matters of my own to attend. The thought of relieving some stress between Emery’s thighs sprang my Johnson to life, and I adjusted myself under the bar. “Let me guess? Who’s the jerk?”
“My husband, the fucker.” Her fourth shot was gone.
I glanced at her hand, and there was no ring. Grabbing her petite fingers, I felt the indention around her bare ring finger. She didn’t yank her hand away. Her eyes met mine, deep brown eyes I finally noticed, but they didn’t cast off the desire she read in mine. Her chest heaved like she was mulling over the possibility herself. Downing half the beer next, her eyes twinkled as she finally swept them over all of me. Yes, I was a hunk of a man, I’d been told. Naturally, wavy, sandy locks swept back on my head and just enough manly stubble on my chin to drive the ladies wild was nothing compared to my rock hard, bulging six foot two body. Women had sworn they’d seen me on the cover of GQ, but it’d never be me. I didn’t take my shirt off often. Tonight I wore long sleeves to hide my many tattoos.
Not to mention, flattery would get them nowhere. During my time as owner of Shark Baits, I had to keep it in my pants. I’d made it this far, had three days to go and was jonesing for an early reward. Pouring a shot for myself and enjoying the burn in my throat, I remembered the General always said my impatience would dig me an early grave, but fuck, Emery looked like one hell of a reward.
I rubbed my thumb over her hand. “Some men just don’t know how to treat a lady.”
“Excuse me.” She let go of my hand with a jerk and walked to the back. I followed her, clasping her hand again, turning her around before she could reach the bathroom. Before I could question it, my lips crashed onto hers. I palmed the back of her head while I nibbled, encouraging her to part her lips. Soon her tongue melded with mine as I pressed my body to her, my cock against her. Like butter, she melted into my hold. Still holding her hand, I ran it down my torso, down to the bulge in my pants. Breaking our kiss, I whispered, “Let me make you feel better, if just for tonight.” Emery responded, stroking my throbbing erection up and down. Sticking my tongue in her ear, I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her ass.
Emery lurched away before my hands could explore more of her.
“Forget that asshole,” I stressed.
Her words slurred, as she shook her head and broke down. “He left me, and I’m the big idiot. Reported him missing and everything. I was worried sick.” She clutched her stomach and excused herself to the ladies’ room. She hesitated for a minute. “It’s the clam not the shrimp.” I pointed to the ambiguous gender sign. A little puke wouldn’t bother me none. Strolling back to the bar, I poured myself a congratulatory shot. Emery was a sure thing. She’d never make it out of here without my help. I’d help her all the way to my bed. Eager, I began wiping up the bar and settling all the tabs I could while she was gone. “We’re closing up, Joe.” I patted the old man’s back, handing him a paper bag. He could take his beer with him for all I cared. “Celia sugar, go on home.” I didn’t have to tell the one barmaid left to leave twice. She was out the door in the next five minutes, along with the last guest. I locked the big double doors behind them, but Emery wasn’t back. Her purse and untouched fifth and final shot still sat on the bar, so I knew she didn’t get away while I was cleaning up. I lit a cigarette and waited, imagining forgetting the bed in my dingy hotel room and just fucking Emery right here in the bar on the pool table. Fuck, if she took too much longer I could just surprise her in the ladies’ room while her pants were already down.
My cigarette dangled from my lips, half-finished as the thought hit me. Fuck! She could be passed out in the bathroom. Hell, I knew I could be having sex with a very inebriated woman but I didn’t need a lawsuit. Entering the little clam’s room slowly, I wasn’t surprised when I saw her sprawled out on the floor face first, her blonde hair circling her. “Shit.” It looked like I wouldn’t be getting my dick wet after all. Squatting down, I turned her over. “Emery,” I tried loudly, patting her cheek, noticing I’d streaked red across her face. Red… I studied my hand. Covered in her blood, my hand must had landed in it at some point. I jumped back the same instant, realizing she’d been lying in a puddle of her own blood. My stomach twisted, not because of the blood but because of the flashes, the memories, vivid and clear as the day they were made. Closing my eyes, I tried not to remember. “Fuck!” I breathed in deep, trying to snap out of it. I checked her pulse. She had one. Searching her body frantically for a wound, I found her right wrist slit, dripping blood. How could this happen? I thought briefly before spotting the small nail scissors on the floor beside her. Hunching down, I searched for feet under the stalls and considered the untouched window over the sink leading to the alley before I realized the obvious. Taking off my shirt, I ripped until I produced a long strip, tying and tightening it around her wrist to stop the bleeding before leaving her to go call 911.