Tapping the bar twice, he said, “This one’s on the house.”
I ducked my head in gratitude. “Thanks, Larry.”
He opened his mouth to say something back, but it was drowned out by too loud music, indicating someone was stepping onto the stage to sing. I didn’t pay much attention to it—that’s what this place was about; someone was always singing—sipping my beer until I heard the voice through the microphone.
Larry’s brows rose at the sharp off-key singing, and I winced before turning in my seat to discover which patron had accrued enough liquid courage to throw caution to the wind and offer themselves up for public scrutiny.
The sight before me stole the breath from my lungs.
A beautiful redhead was singing her heart out passionately on stage. The song was about bashing a dude’s car—keying his seats, smashing the headlights—because he had cheated on her. From the way she leaned into it, reciting the lyrics from memory without glancing at the prompter screen, I could tell she felt that pain deep in her bones.
What kind of a fucking loser would cheat on a girl like her?
Long, copper hair curled into loose waves moved freely as she turned her head, practically making love to the microphone. Clad in a black tank top and skintight jeans, her perfect curves were on full display. Those hips swaying in time with the music had me mesmerized. My fingers flexed, imagining what it would feel like to dig into that soft flesh, and my cock swelled to life behind my fly.
Okay, it’s definitely been too long since I’ve had my hands on a woman.
She was young, probably too young for a guy in his mid-thirties—but that didn’t stop me from wanting her. Larry was good about carding, so she had to be at least twenty-one.
Jesus. Twenty-one? I’m an old man compared to someone that age.
I was getting ahead of myself. Even if she wasn’t already taken—unlikely if she was drowning her sorrows publicly in a karaoke bar—and I worked up the courage to hit on her, there was no guarantee she would be interested.
But I wouldn’t be Maddox fucking Sterling if I didn’t shoot my shot, even when the odds of scoring were minimal.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there watching her sing. She was terrible, I mean truly awful, but she either didn’t know or didn’t care. Regardless, I found myself drawn to her.
At some point, she’d ordered a drink and had it delivered to the table set right before the stage. Occasionally, she would step down between songsand take a sip. Her words were still clear, not slurred, so I wasn’t worried about her being too intoxicated to give consent. I’d skipped past theifI was taking her home to thewhen.
Shoving off the barstool, I ventured closer, boldly dropping my large frame into a seat at the table where her drink sat. That’s when her baby blues honed in on me, and I knew I was a goner. She began singing directly to me instead of the rest of the stragglers as last call neared, her voice permeating to the furthest reaches of my soul.
If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn I was in the middle of one of Dakota’s books, falling for a girl I didn’t know.
Whatever it was, it felt like my entire world had shifted, and she became the center of it all.
Leaning my forearms on my thighs, I gave her my full attention, mouthing the words she sang, my lips barely moving. When her eyes tracked the movement and her hips gave an extra little shimmy, her voice becoming breathless, I knew I had her.
The song ended, and she returned the microphone to its appointed stand. Gingerly, she descended the few steps from the stage to the bar floor, boldly walking to where I sat. She placed one hand flat on the table and reached across my body with the other to grab her drink. The move put her breasts right in my face.
Yeah, she wanted this as much as I did.
The neckline of her tank top pulled away from her pale skin enough to give me a peek at the black lace hiding underneath. My cock throbbed painfully, desperate for relief after an involuntary bout of celibacy.
Repeat after me: I will not fuck this girl in the bathroom.
She’s not a bunny. She deserves better. Make this one count because you don’t know when your next chance will be.
Pulling her tits out of my face, she pushed off the table to stand before me. Smirking behind her lowball glass of amber liquid, she took a sip. “You’re sitting at my table.”
There was a teasing tone to her voice, so I leaned into it, happy to play the flirting game.
Spreading my legs, I reclined in my seat. I didn’t miss the way her eyes dipped to my crotch, eyeing the bulge I purposely put on display.
“My apologies. I was simply trying to enjoy the show.”
My mystery redhead let out an unladylike snort, her nose wrinkling adorably. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Seriously, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” I vowed. That was the truth, not a line, no matter what she believed.
