raccoons?
They both examined the dog, who was
panting happily. The same dog who couldn’t be bothered to bark when he’d pulled
into her clearing—and that was now licking the back of his hand. Yeah. So
vicious. Then she looked down, a playful smile tugging at her pretty mouth. Even
underneath all the crazy, every-which-way curls, he could see she had what his
older brother had called One of Those Mouths. Pouty and kiss-shaped, her mouth
made a man fantasize about the Victoria’s Secret catalog—or guiding those
lips down his dick. He needed to work on his dating life. He needed to not get a hard-on for the damsel in
distress.
“I’m not hearing you offer me a
beer.” And… he was still holding her breast like it was the handle of an ax.
“Sorry.” Fuck . He yanked his hand back. “The campground’s under a mandatory
evacuation, ma’am.”
Yeah. Definitely a ma’am . At least, he hoped like hell he
hadn’t just felt up a minor, because then he’d have to kick his own ass. She
shoved her hair out of her face and recognition hit him. Nope. He didn’t have
himself an underage, illegal camper, but a whole different kind of trouble.
Deelie Jacks.
Her heart-shaped face was downright
unforgettable, as were the hazel eyes with the flecks of green he’d spent days
of his high school career trying to describe in excruciatingly bad rap lyrics.
Deelie had always been the prettiest girl in town, although he suspected that
had hurt more than it had helped her. People didn’t always bother to look past
the pretty package and see who she was inside. They got stuck on the honey-colored
hair tumbling around her face to her shoulders and how she looked—in the
best possible way—like she’d just rolled out of bed. She’d won homecoming
queen and at least two magazine competitions, but then she’d stuck around
Strong when the rest of their high school class was busy leaving.
The pink streaks in her hair were
new, but otherwise, she hadn’t changed a bit in the twelve years since he’d
seen her last. The part running down the center of her head was the only portion
of her that stuck to the straight and narrow, and even then, it wasn’t
perfectly straight. No, there was nothing perfect about his Deelie—except that once upon a time he’d looked at her and
thought that she was perfect for him. His friends and family had been happy to
explain just how stupid that particular plan of his had been. She’d dumped his sorry ass spectacularly.
From the slow smile on her face,
she remembered him too. Her gaze dropped like she was trying to eyeball his
crotch through the side of her Caddy. Yeah. She definitely remembered him.
“Why, if it isn’t Luke Dawson.”
~*~
The last time Deelie had seen Luke,
she’d had his pants and his boxers down and her mouth on his dick. It had been
a shockingly good look for him, and she’d enjoyed the heck out of herself that
night. That had been just one of the many reasons why she’d cut him loose the
next day. Luke’s parents owned a cattle ranch, and he’d helped out there all
through high school, making him a bona fide part-time cowboy. She’d enjoyed a
good (or bad) cowboy fantasy even then. The younger Luke had been tall and
lean, although not so big that he approached mountain territory. He was still
cut, moving with a confident prowl. She’d bet he still kissed with that same
confidence he’d shown twelve years ago. Mr. In Charge, right up to the moment
she dropped to her knees and gave him his first blow job. A boy didn’t forget
his first.
She could feel her lips curving up
in a smile even as his eyes narrowed briefly, before the edges crinkled up in a
smile. He’d always had a sense of humor.
She waited to see if he recognized
her. She’d learned the hard way a few shifts into her second career at Ma’s
that guys didn’t always remember the cocktail waitress they’d fucked the month
before, the week before, or even the night before. And it had
They both examined the dog, who was
panting happily. The same dog who couldn’t be bothered to bark when he’d pulled
into her clearing—and that was now licking the back of his hand. Yeah. So
vicious. Then she looked down, a playful smile tugging at her pretty mouth. Even
underneath all the crazy, every-which-way curls, he could see she had what his
older brother had called One of Those Mouths. Pouty and kiss-shaped, her mouth
made a man fantasize about the Victoria’s Secret catalog—or guiding those
lips down his dick. He needed to work on his dating life. He needed to not get a hard-on for the damsel in
distress.
“I’m not hearing you offer me a
beer.” And… he was still holding her breast like it was the handle of an ax.
“Sorry.” Fuck . He yanked his hand back. “The campground’s under a mandatory
evacuation, ma’am.”
Yeah. Definitely a ma’am . At least, he hoped like hell he
hadn’t just felt up a minor, because then he’d have to kick his own ass. She
shoved her hair out of her face and recognition hit him. Nope. He didn’t have
himself an underage, illegal camper, but a whole different kind of trouble.
Deelie Jacks.
Her heart-shaped face was downright
unforgettable, as were the hazel eyes with the flecks of green he’d spent days
of his high school career trying to describe in excruciatingly bad rap lyrics.
Deelie had always been the prettiest girl in town, although he suspected that
had hurt more than it had helped her. People didn’t always bother to look past
the pretty package and see who she was inside. They got stuck on the honey-colored
hair tumbling around her face to her shoulders and how she looked—in the
best possible way—like she’d just rolled out of bed. She’d won homecoming
queen and at least two magazine competitions, but then she’d stuck around
Strong when the rest of their high school class was busy leaving.
The pink streaks in her hair were
new, but otherwise, she hadn’t changed a bit in the twelve years since he’d
seen her last. The part running down the center of her head was the only portion
of her that stuck to the straight and narrow, and even then, it wasn’t
perfectly straight. No, there was nothing perfect about his Deelie—except that once upon a time he’d looked at her and
thought that she was perfect for him. His friends and family had been happy to
explain just how stupid that particular plan of his had been. She’d dumped his sorry ass spectacularly.
From the slow smile on her face,
she remembered him too. Her gaze dropped like she was trying to eyeball his
crotch through the side of her Caddy. Yeah. She definitely remembered him.
“Why, if it isn’t Luke Dawson.”
~*~
The last time Deelie had seen Luke,
she’d had his pants and his boxers down and her mouth on his dick. It had been
a shockingly good look for him, and she’d enjoyed the heck out of herself that
night. That had been just one of the many reasons why she’d cut him loose the
next day. Luke’s parents owned a cattle ranch, and he’d helped out there all
through high school, making him a bona fide part-time cowboy. She’d enjoyed a
good (or bad) cowboy fantasy even then. The younger Luke had been tall and
lean, although not so big that he approached mountain territory. He was still
cut, moving with a confident prowl. She’d bet he still kissed with that same
confidence he’d shown twelve years ago. Mr. In Charge, right up to the moment
she dropped to her knees and gave him his first blow job. A boy didn’t forget
his first.
She could feel her lips curving up
in a smile even as his eyes narrowed briefly, before the edges crinkled up in a
smile. He’d always had a sense of humor.
She waited to see if he recognized
her. She’d learned the hard way a few shifts into her second career at Ma’s
that guys didn’t always remember the cocktail waitress they’d fucked the month
before, the week before, or even the night before. And it had
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