“Ames, we had fun—it was amazing, in fact. You’re an incredible person, beautiful inside and out. You’re special. I love you. But this can’t work. You can’t pine for me while I’m thousands of miles away. I might not come back. I can’t be thinking about you. I need to stop this before it’s too late and shit gets complicated. You’ll thank me later.”
I gripped the cocktail shaker in my hand tightly at that memory, anger a more comfortable companion than heartbreak. Pining. Me? That was exactly what I had been doing for a fucking year. There had been men. I hadn’t been a nun. I wasn’t one of those girls that said goodbye to orgasms because she was hoping her “true love” would get his shit together. I was, however, a hugely toned down version of my former sexual self. There had been men. But not many. And every time I took someone to bed I felt like crying. Heartbreak had turned me into a sniveling mess.
So I had decided as well as leaving New York I was leaving the sad and pathetic Amy Abrams behind. I wasn’t becoming a new person. I was going to be the old Amy. Pre Ian. That Amy knew what the deal was. Friends, high heels, designer threads, great cocktails and sex. Just sex. No messy strings, no emotional attachments.
I had originally thought this decision was ironic, considering I was moving to a tiny town where the fuckable men pool would be small. Miniscule.
But I had been pleasantly surprised after my first few days here. It was as if this town attracted beautiful men. If I was a conspiracy theorist I would have been suspicious at just how a town this small managed to get such a great selection of men. I was not. What I happened to be was horny. I didn’t care if they were a government experiment gone wrong (or incredibly right), or aliens from another planet. The last time I had sex was months ago. That had to change.
I doubted that I would be finding any eligible bed buddies at our store opening, but I was delightfully surprised. My eyes flickered to the sexy policemen that had waltzed through the door not ten minutes ago. They were hot. But they were clean cut, handsome, good guys. Well, I didn’t know if they were technically good guys but they represented them. They were a little too close to a certain soldier who I was trying to get over. No, I didn’t need a good guy. I didn’t need someone who would treat me right and tell me I was beautiful. I needed an asshole. Someone who would fuck me and then not call me until he wanted me in his bed again. Someone who I wouldn’t fall in love with.
I was passing a beer to one of the cops, fluttering my eyelids just a little (just because I wasn’t going to sleep with them didn’t mean I wasn’t going to flirt) when my eyes flickered to the door. Or more precisely the leather clad hunks who had just walked through it. I recognized Cade straight away and followed his murderous stare. It was aimed at Gwen, or more precisely Luke’s hand, which was at Gwen’s hip. In any other circumstances I would be tickled pink at Gwen flirting with a member of the opposite sex. But right now I was thinking it might be conclusive to a brawl erupting in our store. Not that I wouldn’t pay to see those two men wrestle; that shit would be awesome. I just didn’t want it happening so close to all of those innocent accessories.
I caught Gwen’s eye and tried to give her a look. We could usually communicate pretty well with a look; we had an uncanny connection. But unfortunately “the hot biker who seems a tiny bit obsessed with you is currently storming over to potentially smackdown with the local cop who also seems obsessed with you” was not something that could be communicated with a mere look. We had to work on some kind of sign language.
I shrugged my shoulders and settled in for the show. Unfortunately my front row seat was interrupted.
“Three beers. Thanks, sweetheart,” a rough voice requested.
I didn’t move my gaze from Gwen and Luke, who had just been joined by a furious looking Cade. Uh oh.
“I’ll be with you in a sec,” I told the voice, wishing I could read lips.
“You got something better to do than give out drinks? I’m thinking maybe you shouldn’t be standing behind a bar,” the voice replied dryly.
At this point Cade grabbed Gwen’s hand and pretty much dragged her out of the store. I grinned at her as she went past, amused at the turn of events.
My grin disappeared and irritation flared at the deep voice’s last statement. I reached into the fridge and grabbed three beers, turning to thrust them at my unhappy customer. They were free, for fuck’s sake, who was he to act all snippy?
“Here. I assume you haven’t died of thirst in the minute you’ve been waiting,” I started, turning to meet this guy’s eyes.
I stopped short. This guy was hot. Granted, there were a lot of hot men peppered around this room, but this guy was hot. He looked like a cross between a surfer and an outlaw. His sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun (holy crap what an awesome man bun it was). He had tanned skin, which was contrasted by some serious blue eyes. I felt them pierce my soul; okay, my ovaries. His nose was slightly crooked like it had been broken a couple of times too many. It seemed to make him hotter, to contrast the clean cut surfer look. Well, that and his tattoos. I could see one snaking up his neck and his hands had letters on his knuckles. Unfortunately I couldn’t get a good look. I did know his hands were big and you know what they say about big hands. I took a quick glance at his body which was hidden under a leather vest and shirt, but there was no hiding the bulk. I swallowed, feeling my mouth water.