Something Reckless(26)

No, hairy Harry, I don’t want it anywhere near me. But I don’t say that. He’s between the ages of twenty-three and thirty-four (or so says his profile), has a steady job, loves his family, and is looking for someone to settle down with, preferably in New Hope. These are all the qualities I’m looking for in a man, and I’m supposed to be giving him a chance. I want to give him a chance.

Hot bodies and stellar bedroom skills have always been my priorities when choosing what men to date—which probably explains why I’m twenty-four and haven’t had a single romantic relationship that lasted longer than three months.

“Hmm,” I reply, dodging a second beer-flavored kiss. “Sorry, I don’t have sex on the first date. Ever.” Anymore would be more accurate than ever, but I don’t think God cares about lying when it’s done to avoid regrettable sex.

We’re in the back hallway at Brady’s. I met Harry here for a drink, and he cornered me after I finished in the ladies’ room, which was an expert seduction move on his part because nothing says “sexy” like the smell of urine and stale beer.

His breath is hot and sticky against my neck, his hand inching up my shirt. I grab his wrist to stop him, and decide to give a mental count to ten before pushing him off me. He seemed nice online. Maybe nerves are the reason behind tonight’s metamorphosis into a douchecanoe.

“You want me to take it slow, baby? I can take it slow. With me, you’ll want it to last all night.”

Yeah, I doubt that. “Listen, Ha—”

“If you’d excuse me?” a deep voice asks.

I push Harry back so I can see over his shoulder and find myself looking at Sam Bradshaw. Sam God-Between-the-Sheets Bradshaw. Sam Knows-What-I-Look-Like-Naked Bradshaw.

The look on Sam’s face says he has witnessed more of my private time with Harry than even I wanted to witness. I’m not sure mortification is a strong enough word for what I’m feeling right now.

I lift my chin. “Did you need something?”

Sam points behind me. “Restroom.”

“Oh. Right.”

Sam gives Harry a once-over then looks at me, smirking a little. “You two kids have fun.”

Now there’s a man who knows how to talk dirty. Sam pushes through the swinging door into the restroom. He’s all broad shoulders and swagger. And there’s not a tuft of chest hair in sight.

Harry clears his throat. “You know him?”

Biblically. “He’s an old friend.”

He nods toward the back exit. “Wanna bounce, baby?”

I’m trying, I really am, to keep an open mind about men who don’t look like Sam Bradshaw—men who don’t turn me on like Sam Bradshaw—but a thirty-something white dude with a gut shouldn’t try to talk like the frat guys down the road at Sinclair University.

“I’ll take you back to my place,” he continues. “Show you what I have to offer.” He winks at me—to make sure I’m picking up on the double entendre, I guess.

I shift uncomfortably. “Sorry, Harry, but I meant it when I said I don’t have sex on the first date.”

Of course Sam would choose that moment to appear again. Sam, for whom I’ve put out on two different occasions and with whom I’ve gone on a grand total of zero dates. He grunts softly, flashes a knowing grin, then heads toward the barroom and leaves me alone with horny, hairy Harry.

“We don’t have to have intercourse. I’ll show you a real man can give you pleasure without crossing that line.”

“It’s just that . . .”

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

I know what Harry means, but my eyes are on Sam’s retreating form and I can’t stop thinking that what I want is a second chance. With Sam. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Next time, then.” He pulls me forward and presses a wet kiss on my mouth, sucking both of my lips between his. I’m not sure if he’s trying to kiss me or eat me. Yuck. “Night, sugar.”

I mumble a good night and watch him exit through the back door, simultaneously relieved and defeated when I’m alone again.

What am I supposed to do with myself now?

I could go home to my empty house and warm up a TV dinner, but that would be a lonely reminder of why I’m driven to dating guys like horrible Harry. I could surprise my twin, Hanna, at her house and visit my gorgeous little nieces, but then I’d have to watch my soon-to-be brother-in-law drool over my twin. Nate’s adoration would remind me why guys like Harry will never seem good enough. Or I could spend some quality time on the job websites, continuing my seemingly endless search for a new job.