Authors: S.E. Hall
Copyright 2014, S.E. Hall
Toski Covey of Toski CoveyPhotography
Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative
Erin Roth, Wise Owl Editing
E.E. Long, Biblio/Tech
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part,
without written permission from the author.
This book is intended for mature audiences only
“Love is like a butterfly, it settles upon you when you least expect it.”
Table of Contents
here do dreams come from? No one knows, and that’s what makes them cool; some are random as fuck, some stem from recent events, but never knowing what you’ll dream each night, how weird or erotic they’ll get, gives you that time with your mind to look forward to.
When your dream’s the same every night, it becomes a god damn nightmare.
I know, every single night, what I’m going to see from the time I close my eyes to the moment I drag my sorry ass out of bed in the morning. Without a doubt, I’m going to toss and turn in frustration, a rerun marathon of that night this past summer taunting me.
This bachelor party, for Parker, who I’ve known maybe eight weeks. God, I’m jealous as hell of him. That Hayden of his fucking adores him, and she’s even hotter knocked up than she was before. And she dotes on his ass in a very independent, non-bloodsucking leech kinda way. Why can’t I find a girl like that?
Obviously I’ve had too much tequila since I’m hosting my own little titbag party over here, feeling sorry for myself. Fuck this. I hold up two bills in my hand, I think they’re twenties, and Silver Cowboy Boots comes over, way too eagerly.
Challenge me, dammit! Engage more than my dick!
“What’s this get me?” I slur, shoving the bills at her.
She kicks one ankle, then the other, getting my legs just as far apart as she wants them and climbs over them, onto my lap. “This,” she croons and starts to grind. Her attempt to pet my chest all sexy-like is an epic fail, snagging one way too long silver nail on my nipple ring. She better not rip my fucking shirt—I love this shirt.
“How much to go in the back?” Two months on a farm is damn lonely.
She cuts quick, nervous glances around, then leans into my ear. “Not my usual club, so not in here,” she whispers. “But for a hundred, I’ll meet you outside, after.”
Just when I’m about to finalize the exact details, “Shook Me All Night Long,” my favorite song ever, starts blaring. Now this dance I gotta see, moving Dracula Nails off my lap and outta my view to the stage, aka the flat area in this place.
Spank me and put me to bed…who the fuck is that?
“Zach?!” I yell louder.
“Who. Is. That?” I point to the, um, we’ll go with “dancer” for now.
“Cause I know her? I think they said Karma or something, but I doubt you’d find her in the phone book under that. Why?”
Look at him, trying to be all smartass… Well, he fucked it up, who the hell uses a phone book?
“No reason.” I bounce my shoulders in what I hope looks like casual nonchalance, never taking my eyes off her. That may blow my cover, but damn if I could look away even if I tried.
I’m thinking it’s the beer, strike that, tequila goggles; has to be. I was just dogging every chick who came near me, ready to pay for a meaningless quickie, a scratch to an itch, and sheer perfection happens to strut in to my favorite song?
Yeah, and when I’m done here, I’m gonna ride home to the Playboy mansion on the flying fucking dragon that I bought with my lottery winnings.
This isn’t real; up close she’s probably a big mess with bad breath and a whiny voice…and herpes. Gotta be.
But here’s what I do know, no guessing, no wishful thinking, no maybe to it—take it to the bank: her hair is so dark and shiny that you can damn near see reflections in it and it has purple streaks in it—hot as hell. AND, wait for it… IT. IS. IN. BRAIDS.
Usually two braids or ponytails are known as “handlebars” in my language, but on this girl, they’re cute; cute, wet dream-inducing braids.
Her eyes are as dark as her hair, and hold the fear and anxiety of a kitten stuck in a drainpipe when it’s raining. I may never know where it came from, this instinct that up until this point I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles I didn’t possess, but I swear I hear her mind screaming to mine, “You’re big and strong, protect me, Sawyer, take care of me, hold me and make me unafraid!”
That body of hers is tiny. Not frail, just petite, and tan and muscular…and her own. She turns it to the side and away from the onlookers and keeps her hands over her barely-covered breasts like the tease is part of the dance, but it’s not. I’d bet you a nut this girl has never danced or stripped before in her life. And if she has, she should stop immediately, because she absolutely sucks at it.
Those come fuck me heels she’s wearing? They’re two sizes too big and she’s never walked in them before. Also something she should stop doing immediately. If the teetering and wobbling didn’t draw attention to her shapely legs, it’d just be sad, but the legs are worth the painful show. Oh and fuck me, she’s skipping around in a circle. I hope she doesn’t think that’s a good cover for her lack of dance skills…skipping, for crying out loud.
And lastly, she loves this song. She’s mouthing the words, keeping her eyes unfocused and on the back wall, dying for everything but the song itself to be over. And when it is, she runs like she’s on fire for cover behind the curtain.
“Who was that?” I ask Dracula Nails, still standing beside me.
“New girl,” she answers snidely. “First night, can’t you tell?” she laughs.
“Yeah, I can.”
“So, I’ll see you later?” she curls those inflated lips at me.
“Maybe. If I see ya I see ya.” I get up, walking over to Dane. “Where’d you get these girls?”
“Hell if I know; Brock hooked it up.”
“So the company, it’s local to us, like in Statesboro?”
“I think so, why?”
“Find out for sure. I’m gonna hit the can. Be right back.”
I really do need to take a leak, but somehow I veer off course, peering behind the curtain like the Great and Powerful Oz will be waiting to hand me the 411 on this girl. I don’t see him, or her, only several other scantily clad women who only remind me how different she was. I want to bust in a demand they tell me her name and where she is, but I’m forced to duck out and shove the curtain back when their escort/bodyguard/whatever guy spots me.
No worries, Dane can find out for me, that man has scary ways of digging up the buried. I hurry back from the bathroom and catch him just as he’s hanging up his phone. “Well?”
“Local company, kinda off the radar, Brock isn’t sure they’re on the Better Business Bureau, if you catch my drift.”
He leans into me, talking low and discreetly. “I know nothing, and I’m going to say this, walk out of here and never speak of it again. I may also fire Brock for being a dumbass. It’s some on the side thing for one guy, mostly underage college girls needing money.”