Or shit, a lot of someone like Emmy Sue.
Living in the tight quarters we have over the last year, I know my cousin’s wife better than I should. And like I said . . . he’s a lucky fucking bastard.
“Save it for the honeymoon!” one of Emmy Sue’s bridesmaids shouts out, thankfully breaking up their kiss and yanking me from my absurd pipe dream. No fiancées in my future.
Shaking my head at my own ridiculousness, I lift the frosty mug of dark lager to my lips and guzzle the entire beer in one swallow, drowning out any ludicrous thoughts that may be lingering. No matter how much I think I want something like my cousin and his girl have, I know better than anyone that I’d fuck that shit up before it ever got started. I’m a selfish bastard and have no plans of changing anytime soon. Especially not for some pussy, when I can get it on demand like movies on DirecTV.
The room suddenly feels stuffy, too many people crowding around the bar, making me feel pinned in. I need some fresh air. Setting the empty glass down on the bar, I turn to go outside, but before I make it very far, Gunner calls out after me with a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Hey, Levi, you coming back inside for another beer, or heading on to the hotel?”
Stopping midstride, I glance down at my watch as I twist to face him. Eight-thirty. Hmmm. Damn, it feels so much later. “I’ll come back in for one or two more, as long as we don’t have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn again tomorrow.”
Relief settles over his face as his chest tremors with a silent chuckle. “Nah, the only thing we have tomorrow is the rehearsal at four and the dinner afterwards. You can get all the beauty rest you need. Lord knows your ugly ass needs it so you don’t ruin my wedding pictures.”
“Fucking hilarious, cuz. Too bad the entire female population doesn’t see it that way.” I snicker arrogantly while pivoting back around toward the door.
Busy laughing and not paying attention to where I’m going, I run smack-dab into a girl approaching the bar.
“Oh shit! Sorry, sweetheart!” I exclaim as my hands instinctively shoot out to grab her hips, steadying her before she tumbles to the floor.
Yelping with surprise at the unexpected contact, her chin jerks up, throwing her long, straw-colored hair over her shoulder, and her startled blue gaze lifts to mine. She hisses in a breath when our eyes meet. Or I do. Maybe it’s both of us. I’m not sure, but someone definitely sucked in an oh-hell-yeah hiss.
“Easy there, big guy.” Curling her lips up into an impish grin, her eyes twinkle with mischief as they drop down to focus on where I still have a grasp around her center. “If you wanted to touch me so bad, all you had to do was come over and ask. I’d have totally let you.”
Her snarky comment jolts me out of the guttural fantasy my mind plummeted into at the sight of this sexy-as-fuck chick with a smart mouth. A mouth I’d like to see wrapped around my cock.
Hastily dropping my hands, I retreat back a step before I act on my primal urges. “Well, aren’t you a sassy little—” Before I can finish my thought, Emmy Sue appears beside me, jumping up and down elatedly, with her excited gaze honed in on my body-slam victim.
“Dakota Shavell? Oh, my God! It is you!” She lunges toward the beautiful blonde, engulfing the girl in a massive hug, all while still bouncing on the balls of her feet. “How have you been? Do you still live in town? How’s your family? I can’t believe it’s been, what . . . four or five years?”
Keeping her hands resting on her friend’s shoulders, Emmy Sue leans back far enough to allow her gaze to sweep up and down Dakota’s body before squealing and wrapping her back up in a suffocating embrace. “This is perfect! You look amazing. Can you come to my wedding on Saturday? Mom and Dad will be so happy to see you, and Gabe is flying in tomorrow. He’ll want to see you too! Do you think you can come?”
Dakota takes Emmy Sue’s ramblings of a crazy person in stride, laughing heartily at the barrage of questions. When they finally release each other, Dakota briefly looks up as if she’s searching her brain for answers, and then blurts out, “Yep, it’s me. I’ve been great. I live right outside of Denver, but the rest of my family is all still here in Breck. They’re actually right over there.” She points across the restaurant, but I don’t bother following her finger, ’cause I can’t tear my eyes away from her face. “We’re here for my sister’s boyfriend’s birthday dinner. I just got back in town today for summer break from school, and I’d love to come to your wedding, though saying your parents will be happy to see me may be a stretch. I’m pretty sure they chalk up every bit of trouble you got into because you were hanging out with me . . . which is exactly why Gabe will most definitely want to see me again.”
Before I can mull over how much this stranger’s last comment about some fucker named Gabe bothers me for no logical reason whatsoever, Gunner sidles up next to his girl and extends his arm toward her friend. “Hey, I’m Gunner, Emmy Sue’s fiancé. I heard her making all kinds of ruckus over here about something.”
Shaking his hand, her face illuminates with a wide, friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Gunner. I’m Dakota. Emilia and I went to school together from middle school up until she moved to Montana the summer before our senior year.”
“Cool.” His mouth ticks up with a smirk as he kisses the top of his fiancée’s head. “I’d love to hear stories sometime about what this firecracker was like when she was younger. I can’t even imagine the trouble she used to get into.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Emmy Sue protests, pretending to cover Dakota’s mouth, both of them laughing hard. “Girl Code says none of that stuff can ever be repeated.”
Dakota’s eyes slide over to where I stand awkwardly observing their entire reunion, like a fucking weird-ass creeper, my desire to escape outside now a distant memory. “You’re still hanging around, big guy?” she asks, her head cocked slightly to the side while she boldly peruses my body from head to toe. A daunting grin dances across her petite facial features. “Do we know each other too, and I don’t remember?”
As I take a single step forward to close the gap between us, her bright, expressive eyes grow wide, not with concern, but with anticipation. “No, Sunshine, I promise if we’d have met before, there’s no way in hell you could ever forget something like that.” I wink. “Nor would you want to.”
Dakota presses her lips together in a straight line, trying hard not to show her smile, but a combination of amusement and curiosity are evident in her animated sapphire stare.
“Good Lord! Sometimes I think even you believe all the ridiculous shit that falls out of your mouth. And that stupid wink is just . . . just no.” Emmy Sue rolls her eyes, momentarily pretending she doesn’t love my cockiness before reaching out and grabbing my shirt to pull me over next to her and Gunner. Then, returning her attention to her friend, she continues, “Kota, this is Levi, Gunner’s cousin and best friend, who will also be his best man this weekend, and a pain in my ass for the rest of my life. I would apologize for his condescending overconfidence, but he’s not sorry so I won’t waste my breath.”
A chuckle bubbles up inside me at the introduction, mostly because it’s all true . . . especially the part about me not being sorry. I own my awesomeness without hesitation, and it has nothing to do with feelings of superiority. Genetics blessed me with my natural, all-American-boy good looks, one of the only positive things my parents gave me, but I work damn hard to keep my body in top shape and take pride in the amount of time I’ve spent learning the secrets of the female body. I ensure when I’m with someone sexually that she knows I’m just as concerned about pleasing her as I am myself. ’Cause that’s what a real fucking gentleman does. No apologies necessary.
“Levi? That’s an interesting name.” Her eyes drop down to my jeans, checking to see if I’m actually wearing Levis—which I am—and based on the way the tip of her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, I’m assuming she approves. “Wow. Button fly and all. Color me impressed.”
Penetrating the worn denim, the heat from h
er enduring stare, as well as the now wet, pink, pouty flesh of her mouth, stirs my cock immediately and sends a myriad of X-rated visions through my brain. Most of them involve me bending her over the nearest table, hiking up that yellow sundress around her waist, and plunging balls-deep into her sweet pussy. Color me fucking hard.
“James Levi,” I finally reply, holding my hand out to Dakota, once I realize Gunner and Emmy Sue are both watching us shamelessly eye-fuck each other in the middle of the bar. “And I didn’t mean to barrel over you there.”
When she places her dainty hand in mine, a jolt of electricity surges through me, culminating at my now throbbing erection, and the goose bumps blanketing her arm assure me I’m not the only one feeling this thrill. I need to fuck this girl. ASAP.
“No worries. I may be small, but I’m a tough cookie.” Leaning in to me with our hands still joined, she lifts up on her tiptoes and whispers, “Plus, I like it rough.”
Holy shit. This girl. ASAP just became right fucking now.
Unfortunately, before I can verbalize our goodbye to my friends still gawking at us and drag her out of the restaurant and directly into my hotel bed, a girl who looks a lot like Dakota, but taller and with longer hair, and a guy approach to tell her they’re leaving. She runs through a quick introduction. I hear the word sister, but I’m not paying any attention to their names because all I can think about is her. Naked. Underneath me. Screaming my name.
As soon as they leave, I twirl her around to face me to tell her what’s about to happen, about how I’m going to show her all about what rough is, but then another couple strolls up. Again, with a girl who looks incredibly similar to Dakota. Dude, how many sisters does she have?
This time, however, when Dakota introduces us, I see something else in her expression. Regret? Confusion? Guilt, maybe? I’m not exactly sure, but when she offers me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and announces she has to leave with them, I want to explode with frustration.
Is she serious? Leave? Now? What the fuck?
I try to think of something to say, short of sounding like I’m pathetically begging some chick I don’t know not to go, but I come up empty. Seconds later, she’s hugging Emmy Sue goodbye and exchanging phone numbers with her, and then, right before she turns to meet up with her family at the door, she tips her chin at me as one side of her mouth curls up wickedly.
“See ya at the wedding, James Levi.”
THURSDAY, JUNE 14
OH MY GOD.
Oh my God.
OH MY FUCKING GOD!
How in the world I just walked away from him—the most spectacular sampling of the male species I’ve ever seen up close and personal—I honestly don’t know. I should win an award for Most Willpower of the Century or some shit. Any other female between the ages of sixteen and eighty-six with a pulse would’ve taken him up on the offer his eyes made . . . and probably quite a few guys too. He really was that gorgeous. Jaw-dropping, breath-stealing, panty-wetting kind of gorgeous.
But, despite my sometimes debatable moral integrity, I’m not that kind of girl.
Even I, Dakota Marie Shavell, hold myself to some sort of standards, and showing up to a place with one guy and leaving with another is pretty close to the top of the “Unacceptable” list. My ranking on the sexual experience scale may fall closer to slutty than prude, but I’m at the top of the fucking class in regards to self-respect. Promiscuity doesn’t have to mean sleazy.
All that being said, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit of regret as I wait inside my Jeep for Rory, who I’m watching through my rearview mirror, engage in the most awkward goodbye hug I’ve ever witnessed with my older sister, Nali. It’s almost as if they’re afraid to touch at first, but then when they do, it seems a little too tight, a little too comfortable. When they let go, they jump away from each other as if they’ve been electrocuted and stare down at the ground self-consciously. Like I said, awkward with a capital A.
Yeah, I should probably be concerned about that . . . but I’m not. Instead, the vision of Mr. Button Fly bending me over the a table, hiking my yellow sundress up around my waist, and plunging his hard cock deep inside me flickers in my brain, causing me to clench my thighs together and squirm uncomfortably in my seat.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard him think those exact thoughts when we were being introduced, almost as if our brainwaves were tuned in to the same radio frequency. Like some unrealistic connection from one of those ridiculous romance novels Grams is always trying to get me to read. I must really need to get laid. All this abstinence is fucking with my head.
Finally, Rory climbs into his two-door black coupe and pulls out of the parking lot, prompting me to do the same. If he’d have taken one more damn minute, there’s a good chance I would’ve started masturbating right here in the driver’s seat, desperately needing to take off some of the heat that the arrogant, dark-haired hottie inside the restaurant sparked inside me. An act that would be questionable at best on the list of acceptable, dignified behaviors.
Damn James Levi. Within a half-hour of meeting him, he’s already got me itching to break the rules, which sets off all kinds of warning bells in my head. It’ll probably be in my best interest to steer clear of him at the wedding on Saturday.
But who am I kidding?
From the plush crimson and cream draperies and linens to the intricate, hand-carved wood furnishings, to the majestic, eye-catching three-story fireplace, the opulent lobby of Victoria Pointe Lodge reeks of greed and gluttony. Women dressed in the season’s latest Boho chic show off their surgically enhanced cleavage and collagen-filled lips, while lounging around with cosmos. Their practiced resting-bitch-faces track my movement across the floor and disdain oozes from their pores.
The men, on the other hand, stand around making small talk with one another about sports and politics, as they lazily sip bourbon that most likely costs more than a month’s rent on my apartment. Each and every one of them takes their turn undressing me with their eyes, all fantasizing about what I’d look like without this dress and spread eagle for them. Most of them don’t bother to hide their lustful perusal.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t get a kick out of this.
Knowing I could get every one of these snobby bitches’ men to cheat on them in a heartbeat is my way of telling them all to fuck off while they silently rip me apart from head to toe, starting with my untamed, windblown hair and ending down at my Target sandals. Of course, I would never act on it; married dudes aren’t my thing. But knowing I have that power over them shields my ego from their judgmental, icy glares.
At this perfect portrayal of elitism at its best, a sense of pride in my family’s simple and subdued, holistic, mountainside resort surges through me. Despite the tremendous success my parents have had with Fire on the Mountain, especially in the last several years with the increase of tourism due to the legalization of marijuana, they manage to keep the property modest yet well-appointed, and themselves humble.
“How did you get a room here?” I whisper to Rory as we wait to check in. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment because I do . . . I totally do. However, I’m also aware he lives on a bartender’s budget and probably doesn’t have the money to burn on a place like this just so we can get our rocks off without listening to Crew and Hudson do the same. It’s not like he needs to impress me out of my panties.
He leans over and brushes a kiss across my cheek. “Don’t worry, Kota. I recently made a connection here, and I thought you’d enjoy the Jacuzzi suite after stressing over finals the past couple of weeks. Just ignore all the hoity-toity assholes who think their shit doesn’t stink.”
I grab his hand and intertwine our fingers, my wide smile brimming with appreciation. His thoughtfulness proves what I already knew about him: Rory Tanner is one of the good guys. If only I was interested in a serious relationship, he’d be at the top of my list of candidates.
But I’m not.
And neither is he.
&nbs
p; So for now, I’m content with simply fucking one of the good guys . . . ’cause his good becomes the best kind of bad when his clothes are stripped away.
“Thank you,” I murmur as we step up to the reservations desk, and before releasing my hand to sign the paperwork, he gives it a quick squeeze and replies, “My pleasure.”
Minutes later, we stride across the marble floor toward the elevator bank with nearly every eye in the room on us, all of them wondering what a couple of young punks like us have planned in a place like this. As we wait for the next car to arrive, I can’t help but give them a small preview of what I have planned once we’re in our fifth-floor room. Pressing my body flush against Rory’s side, I lift up on my toes and begin to trail kisses across his jawline as I paw at his plaid button-down shirt with one hand and the other brushes over the crotch of his cargo shorts.
Gasps from the female side of the lobby can be heard clear as day, as well as longing groans from the men, both of which fuel my inappropriate public display of affection more. Sucking and nipping on the lobe of his ear, I continue to stroke my hand up and down his swelling cock, making no attempt to hide what I’m doing.
“You’re being extra naughty today,” Rory murmurs gruffly as his arms coil around my waist, holding me close to him.
“The viewing gallery wanted a show, so I’m giving it to them,” I whisper, not stopping my ministrations. “Plus, I’m really fucking horny.”
Shaking his head, a chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against my own. “I’m not sure the viewing gallery can handle one of your shows. You’re going to make that poor grandpa at the bar have a heart attack.”
“Grandpa will be fine. All he needs is—”