Panty Dropper Page 7
“It’s Kevin Bacon!” Cheyenne exclaimed.
Kevin Bacon was somewhat of an Instagram celebrity. He belonged to Ray, who lived upstairs and had been the handyman/jack of all trades for this place for long before I’d started managing it. When my dad had bought Southern Comfort, Ray came with it. And with Ray came a plethora of rescue animals that he referred to as, “bar mascots.” Over the years, there’d been Axl Rose the goat, Minnie Mouse the bearded dragon, and Cleopatra the python, to name a few.
Right now the only two mascots were Kevin Bacon the pig and Skittles the parrot. Skittles hung out in the back where the pool tables were and talked shit to the people playing. Kevin liked to hang out on the back patio, which was just outside the indoor bar. We had a rolling glass garage door that separated the space, but on nights like these, when the weather was nice, we left it open, letting the outdoors and indoors flow together seamlessly.
“I follow him on Instagram.” Cheyenne looked even more excited to see Kevin than she’d been to see Cash, and that was saying something. “Can I take a picture with him?”
There were thousands of pictures of Kevin with locals and vacationers on his page. Some people came here just to meet him and get a selfie. “Of course! Go ahead, I’ll be out in a minute.”
Cheyenne headed out and Reagan was right behind her. I knew as I watched the duo go that it wasn’t just a feeling I’d been having. My life was different now. In their own unique ways, both of those women had put cracks in my hardened heart.
And I had a feeling the effect they’d had just by showing up was nothing compared to what was to come.
CHAPTER 12
Reagan
I was feeling a pretty decent buzz as I walked back from the bathroom to the farm table out on the patio where Cheyenne and I had been posted all night. I knew that in the morning I was going to regret drinking that last Jack and Coke, but right now I was feeling good. Two was usually my limit, but I’d gone for a third.
The night had not gone at all as I’d planned—starting with Kevin giving me a sloppy wet kiss during the picture that Cheyenne had insisted I take with him. I was told the kiss was an honor, since apparently Mr. Bacon didn’t lay one on just anybody that took a selfie with him, but in my estimation, it was just very wet.
Both Hank and Jimmy had made appearances, each staying for about an hour. They’d come and gone in well-choreographed shifts. I wasn’t sure if they’d planned it so that they could each get time to spend with their long lost sister or if it had been a coincidence, but I’d done my best to make myself scarce while they were visiting. I also made sure to be back at the table when she was left on her own. There’d been a steady stream of people welcoming Cheyenne back to town and she’d seemed a tad overwhelmed.
While Jimmy and Hank had been there, I’d played a game of pool in the back and Skittles the parrot had squawked, “You suck!” every time I missed a shot. I’d danced with several gentleman, and my favorite partner had been Ray. He had to be pushing eighty, was barely an inch taller than my five foot two, and was a hundred pounds soaking wet. But he had moves like Fred Astaire and more stories to tell than LeVar Burton from Reading Rainbow. He’d been born and raised in Firefly and had resided above the bar for over fifty years. He filled me in on some of the juicier town history that Stew hadn’t covered during the trolley ride.
My biggest takeaway of the night, though, had to be that the spell I’d fallen under had amplified a million times over. Billy and I hadn’t had much in the way of interaction. He’d kept an eye on his sister and stopped by to check on her all night. It was sweet to see how protective he was over her. But no sooner would he appear than he’d be called away.
All night he’d kept an eye on Cheyenne, and I’d kept both of mine on him. I’d been trying to work out what it was about him that had me acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. It had taken me a few hours and the third Jack and Coke had helped. The answer was: it was physiological. I was drawn to him on a cellular level. It was an animal, primal attraction that I really wanted to act on.
Witnessing Billy Comfort in his element had been its own, more potent, form of intoxication. And it had also confirmed that my initial diagnosis this morning, that there was something more to him than just his drop dead gorgeous good looks.
My hypothesis that his sex appeal ran much deeper than that had been right on the money. Call it mojo, essence, charm, or charisma; whatever you labeled it, he had it, and I was responding to it.
It was in the effortless way he moved when he made up to five drinks at a time while never letting his smile or the conversation drop. It was in the way he spoke to each person as if there was no one else in the bar, making every person he interacted with feel how firmly he was in total control of a room filled with inebriated idiots. He oozed authority and confidence in the most seductive and arousing way.
And it was something I feared my current tipsy self was not going to be able to resist. Sober Reagan had a difficult time controlling her impulses around Billy Comfort, three-Jack-and-Coke Reagan didn’t have a freaking prayer. I needed to go home before I embarrassed myself. That was the responsible and professional thing to do.
But if I were being honest, I knew that if I’d really wanted to be responsible and not let the line between Billy and me blur—if I truly wanted things to stay strictly professional—then I wouldn’t have put on my best pair of “holy shit” jeans before heading out the door (so called because they tended to make guys say “holy shit” when they saw my ass).
And I wouldn’t have taken the extra step of letting my hair down and giving myself a smoky eye. And I wouldn’t have kept looking at him after the first few times he’d caught me staring at him over the course of the night.
But I did, and I did, and I did. So, even before I downed that first Jack and Coke, and especially after, I’d known exactly what I wanted. And it was Billy. I was tipsy but not drunk, so I couldn’t use that as an excuse for wanting to take him back to my room, throw him on the bed, and have my way with him.
As for Cheyenne, though, I’d say that it was safe to say she was firmly in drunk territory. She must’ve needed the liquid courage to make it through the night. Either that, or her tolerance was crazy low, because as I walked up to the table, I found her head resting on her arms, and she was snoring softly.
Billy materialized beside me. “She’s out like a light.”
I nodded. “Big day.”
Our bodies weren’t touching at all, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t feel him. Heat radiated off of him and electricity zapped between us.
What the hell kind of spell did this half-grinning charmer cast on me?
And, more to the point, how could I break it so that I didn’t freeze around him? Because all night, I’d not said more than a few words to him. As of right this minute, he must’ve thought I was totally socially inept. Or an ice queen. I couldn’t decide which would be worse.
Whichever, though, one thing was for sure: I could barely form words around him.
I tried again. “She probably just needs to sleep it off.”
Okay. Not the greatest banter, but more than two words. Baby steps, Reagan. Baby steps.
Billy’s face lit up with the flirtiest, sexiest smile I’d ever seen, and my lady parts responded with a wave of heat and tingles that made me squirm.
“You know, lady lawyer, I think you’re right. Do you know where she’s staying?”
“Nope. I met her here.”
He glanced around the bar and then sighed. “I’m going to tell Cash he’s on his own to close up. I think I’ll take her back to my place and let her crash out there.”
“I’ll come with you.” The unsolicited suggestion came out without the involvement of my mental filter, which normally employed a much stricter vetting process. As soon as the words flew from my mouth, my eyes went wide and my face lost color. Thinking fast, I grabbed her purse. “To help.”
I waited, wondering if he was going to call me
out on the unprovoked self-invite. My heart was beating so hard and fast I would’ve sworn there were wild horses running through my chest. I’d never done anything like that before.
I’d never even had a one-night stand. I’d always played by the rules. Whose rules, I had no idea. But I’d played by them. I waited to sleep with Blaine until we’d been dating for three months. And in all our years together I’d never cheated on him, no matter how dissatisfied I’d been.
A shiver ran through me as I stared into the chocolate pools of Billy Comfort’s eyes. I had a very good feeling that sex with him would not be of the vanilla variety. I instinctually knew that he wouldn’t blink an eye at taking me from behind. He might even pull my hair as he did.
My cheeks flushed as he stared at me. I knew it was impossible, but I feared that he could read my mind, and the images flashing through it at the moment could’ve made a porn star blush.
Part of me was hoping that he would give me an out by saying he could handle it. Then I could go back to my room alone, no harm no foul. Well, other than a small chink in my self-esteem armor. But other parts of me—basically every part below my neck, but specifically my heart and vagina—were really hoping that he’d go along with my thinly-veiled ploy at including myself so that I could go back to his house.
The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity until he winked and said, “You got yourself a deal, darlin’. Give me ten minutes.”
Damn. If only the parties to the contracts I negotiated at work could come to terms that easily.
Billy moved away and I picked up my third and final drink of the night and downed the small amount of light caramel liquid that had pooled at the bottom from the ice melting. I was shocked to find that my hand trembled as I lowered the tumbler back down to the table.
Was it arousal or fear that had me shaking? Maybe a little bit of both.
I felt something brush against my leg and looked down to see Kevin staring up at me with brown eyes as he snorted. Squatting down, I took the opportunity to wrap my mind around the recent events, and the ones that were still unfolding. Kevin snorted again as I rubbed the soft skin behind his ears. He nuzzled against my hand as my mind swam with questions.
“What do you think, Kev?” I whisper aloud, to the pig, but mostly to myself.
Was I really going to do this?
Was I going to go back to the house of a man I’d just met?
If I did, would I actually be able to let nature take its course?
It was so out of character; let me count the ways.
Sleep with a man who was related to one of my cases? Yes. Way out of character.
Sleep with a man I had no emotional attachments to? Oh, holy mama, yeah. In fact, this was the first time.
Sleep with a man I had no intention of ever seeing again—socially at any rate, this was a small town—true one-night-stand style? Yep. Another first.
But I was tired of doing the right things. Being the “good girl.” Look where that had gotten me—single, homeless, and unemployed.
I was putting the pieces back together, and this time I didn’t want to build my life on playing it safe. But was this too much? So much of my usual pattern was being thrown aside for this possible tryst; I wondered if it would be worth it.
My eyes darted over to Billy where he stood with his back to me washing out some glasses, and they immediately locked onto his ass. Drool pooled in my mouth and my nipples got hard just looking at that fine backside.
Yep. It’s gonna be worth it.
CHAPTER 13
Billy
Holy shit!
Had the lady lawyer really just invited herself to my house?
I hadn’t seen that one comin’.
I’d counted this night as a wash since I’d been too busy to chat her up. Sure, I’d caught her lookin’ my way more than once, but every time I did she looked more like a scientist studying a subject than a starved woman looking at a juicy steak.
The latter of the two was easy to read. Over the years I’d participated in the mating ritual and seen it play out in real time at the bar, I’d come to a conclusion that the reason people engaged in one-night stands, the reason they craved them, was because they were starving.
Starving for attention.
Starving for validation.
Starving for love.
Starving for human contact.
Starving for excitement.
Starving for danger.
It didn’t matter what the itch was that they were trying to scratch, there was desperation in the act. That was why there was so much passion behind the encounters. It wasn’t about the other person, it was about filling a void, a deficiency in one’s self.
I could spot that look a mile away. That’s not the way Reagan had looked at me. Her eyes were guarded but curious, it was like she was trying to figure me out. I’d never had a woman—or a man, come to think of it—look at me that way. Most people ’round here, and not from ’round here, for that matter, took me at face value. I was decent-looking with a boatload of charm, nothin’ deeper than that. It was oddly refreshing to have someone really look at me.
Still, I’d figured the attention was more about tryin’ to come to a conclusion about me than it was about attraction.
That was until she offered to go home with me. Sure, it was to “help,” with Cheyenne, but I knew better. Just because I talked slow didn’t mean I was. I’d seen the look in her eyes. Her “helping” me with Cheyenne was about me, not about my sister.
I had no idea what the lady lawyer was thinking was gonna happen tonight, but I sure as hell couldn’t wait to find out.
“Hey, man I’m taking off early.” If I was leaving the reins to anyone other than Cash, I’d be worried. But he’d been working here damn near as long as I’d been managing and could handle a busy night with one hand tied behind his back.
“Let me guess.” Cash tilted his chin up in a brief nod. “Your early departure have anything to do with needin’ to go tuck a lady into bed?”
I knew what he was implying, and I couldn’t blame him. But that didn’t stop my chest from constricting with defensiveness. My after-dark, and hell, even daylight activities had given me a reputation that I’d had no problem living up to, even though it was at damn near mythical levels. I accepted that my track record caused folks to talk, and assume things, even my best friend. I’d never paid much, or any, attention to people making assumptions and wagging their tongues. But things were different with Reagan. She was different.
“Yeah, it does.” My throat was tight with unjustified indignation. “Cheyenne. She’s passed out and I’m taking her home to sleep it off.”
I’d known Cash since we both were still riding on training wheels. And the concerned look that crossed his face now was reserved for people that he was close to, people that he loved. I wanted to believe that his reaction was about me and he was transferring his worry onto Cheyenne, but I didn’t think that was the case.
“Is she okay?” I saw his eyes shoot to the outdoor patio, zeroing in on the table that Cheyenne was using as her napping surface.
“She’ll be fine.” My response came out a lot more tense than I’d meant it to. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“What?” Cash’s eyes cut to mine.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think there’s something going on between you two.” That was impossible, considering Cheyenne had only come home that day, but from the moment I’d mentioned her name this afternoon, Cash had been acting suspicious.
My friend’s face scrunched up the way it had when his mom caught us smoking behind her barn, and when Coach Nelson found the itching powder we’d sprinkled in his shoes, and when his girlfriend-at-the-time Madeline Spencer accused him of making out with her stepsister at Prom. It was the face he made when he was caught red-handed and was trying to hide something. It was his guilty face.
“Is there something going on between you two?” I asked more directly.
Stuttering was his other tell. My bullshit meter was spiking in the red. Unfortunately, before I had a chance to call him out, Archie Bell slammed his glass down on the mahogany bar top, indicating he wanted another. We both knew if we ignored him, he’d just slam it down harder. Cash took the opportunity to exit the conversation and turned to pour him another pint.
“Saved by the bell,” I said under my breath. “Literally.”
My friend had sidestepped this conversation but I was definitely going to be revisiting it real soon.
“That Cheyenne sure did turn out to be one fine lady,” Ray observed as he set a bucket of dirty glasses he’d collected next to the sink behind the bar. On busy nights, Ray rolled up his sleeves and pitched in. He wasn’t technically a bus boy, but in his words, “I do whatever needs doin’.”
“Yes, she did,” I agreed. And one that Cash needed to stay the hell away from.
“She looks just like her mama.”
All night people had been saying the same thing, that Cheyenne was the spitting image of our mom. Once they said it, I saw the resemblance but I hadn’t noticed it at first. Then again, I hadn’t looked at pictures of my mama in years. Pop had put all the pictures we had around the house and all of her clothes and belongings up in the attic right after the funeral. He broke down every time he saw anything of hers.
I’d had one picture of the two of us sharing an ice cream cone on the pier that Hank had taken a few weeks before she died. When I first lost her, I looked at it all the time. Every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed. But after a while it just hurt too much, so I stopped. I put the picture in a box and stuffed it in my closet.
“And that friend of hers,” Ray spoke, snapping me back to the present, “that Reagan isn’t too shabby herself.”
Just hearing Reagan’s name centered me. It was like I was on a boat in choppy waters and her name was the lighthouse.