One Night at Finn's (Finn's Pub Romance 1) - Page 3

“She wouldn’t,” he snorts. “But you’ll find out all you need to know as soon as we get somewhere I can unzip in private. You ready?”

And I’ve officially had enough. I would dump my drink in his overheated lap and say something clever, but I’m not big on scenes, he’s not worth the wit and my beer is gone. I opt for walking away instead.

I stand, keeping a tight grip on my empty mug so I don’t “accidently” fling it in his direction. “I’m staying. I’ve got friends at the bar I need to say hello to. But I get it if you’d rather call it a night.”

He studies my glowering face for a full thirty seconds, then sighs and goes back to playing on his phone. “No, that’s fine. We have time for one more drink.”

We have time? I’m not sure how long it’ll take him to figure out his time is up, but I have no fucks left to give. This date is over.

I’m still muttering to myself about dense pricks with bad haircuts when the crowd parts and I see what might be a mirage. The kind that makes me instantly forget about the Billy Rays of the world, and has my mental iPod rocking a medley of songs about hot, sweaty sex.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the three men I’m hallucinating were waiting to receive individual keys to the city for improving the view and increasing tourism. I subtly glance around for a cameraman. Maybe this is a new marketing campaign for the pub?

Unable to resist lingering for a moment of silent appreciation, I swiftly take in the redheaded giant and the lean, longhaired temptation at his side. But my attention stutters and stalls when I get to the older man in the trio.

Did I say man? My mistake. I’ll be damned if that’s not Big Daddy Zeus himself.

I think I found my type.

I volunteer as tribute. Or born again virgin sacrifice. Does Zeus like virgins? What about younger men who are ready, willing and able to worship at his shrine?

Or bend over and call him daddy. Whatever he’s into. I’m easy.

What you are is a sick little freak, Green.

If having to subtly adjust myself in public as my inner voice slut shames me doesn’t make me turn away, I’m not sure anything could. Something about him demands my attention. A pull I can feel from across the room, a hard tug from the pit of my stomach.

Lower.

Lust at first sight is a new experience for me, and I’m not sure I like the sensation. I definitely don’t understand it. Why him? The bar has been full of eye candy for hours and I’ve reacted the way I always do. Observe, appreciate and move on. But I can’t move on this time. I’m stuck and every molecule in my body is pointing at this one specific man like a dog catching a scent.

It doesn’t make sense.

He “smells” unattainable. Unattainable is your jam. Remember Chad? Remember Roddy?

Those are unfair comparisons. My reaction to Zeus leaves my high school crush and my last rodeo clown in the dust. My first blowjob, the one that blew the lid off my head and confirmed my sexuality, comes closer to what I’m experiencing now. But I have a feeling it’s only the tip of this potentially filthy iceberg.

Filthy is the right word for all the things I’d like Zeus to do to me.

There’s a distinct possibility that he’s out of my league and I’m not tall enough to ride his rollercoaster. But just because I’ve never experienced anything like it doesn’t mean I don’t want it as badly as Jack secretly wanted Rose to scoot over and share her flotation device at the end of Titanic. Because of course he did, and I can’t believe people are still arguing about that twenty years later.

On any other day I’d be making a list of all the reasons I’m right about that, but Zeus is attempting a casual lean I don’t want to miss. It’s not very successful, since even in faded jeans and a clinging, navy blue t-shirt, there’s nothing casual about him. His posture is too good, for one thing. There’s steel in his spine. Unbending. Resilient.

This is crazy. The way he stands is turning me on. Maybe it’s the out-of-place awkwardness of it. It makes him seem less like a figment. It also tells me he doesn’t seek out bars like this very often. The weekend crush is too rowdy and crowded for a guy like him.

He’s used to being in control. I’m only guessing, but it must be true since I have the strangest urge to salute him…then take off all my clothes for a thorough inspection.

Military? Cop? BDSM Dom? I’d bet money this man is in charge of something involving orders and uniforms. Maybe handcuffs, but that’s not a given and I’m not that lucky.

Tags: R.G. Alexander Finn's Pub Romance Romance
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