Page 18 of Pretty Little Scars
“We’ll get you back on her tomorrow.”
I blink up at him. Does that mean he’ll touch me again? “Tomorrow?”
“Yep. And every day until you’re a natural. Now, let’s go find that other herd so we can make sure everyone’s healthy.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
I need to get laid.That’s my whole issue. It’s been a long time, and I have an itch to scratch, and that’s why I can’t be within twenty yards of Tucker Hendrix without wanting to climb him like a damn tree.
The vibrating, silicone kind of partner isn’t helping. Trust me. I tried.
I’m not a relationship person, never have been. I prefer to meet someone the old-fashioned way—a.k.a. in a bar—and enjoy one night with them, then go about my life until it’s time to scratch the itch again. This means less drama, fewer complications, and everyone is happy in the end. No, I don’t love to be touched, and strangers aren’t my vibe, but a girl still has needs. I can suck it up and grit my teeth to fulfill those needs. I’m just picky in who I choose, and I want someone who wants to get off pretty fast, no snuggling—yikes—and then go our own way.
So, after taking a shower, blowing my hair dry, and putting on a little makeup, I dress in clean jeans with a simple black sweater and head into town. I’ve heard Ava talk about Lucky’s Bar in downtown Silver Springs, and since it’s a Friday night, I’ll give it a shot.
The bar is exactly what I expected. Dim lighting inside, with pool tables in the back, a long bar, and several tables. There’s a stage with a dance floor on one side, where I assume a live band must play once in a while, but it’s empty now. Instead, music spills out through invisible speakers, and I recognize this song as a classic country hit from the ’90s.
You can’t go wrong with Shania.
I glance around as I walk through to the bar, and several heads turn to see who walked in, but no one catches my eye asI boost up onto a stool at the bar and come face-to-face with maybe one of the most visually stunning people I’ve ever seen.
“Hey there,” she says with a friendly smile. She’s a petite little thing with long red hair that falls in curls almost to her ass. She’s in a tight-fitting black tank top that’s tucked into white jeans that show every curve. “What can I getcha?”
“Just a Corona in a bottle, no lime,” I reply, and she nods, then quickly gets my drink for me and passes it over, and I give her my card.
“Shall I open you a tab?” she asks.
“Nah, I’m driving, so just one for me.”I need the liquid courage if I’m going to let a strange man touch me tonight.
She nods again, runs my card, and then returns it to me with the receipt.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” she says. “I’m Ivy.”
“Darby,” I reply, and take a sip of my beer. “I’m new to town.”
“Well, that’s exciting. I was born here, in this very building.”
I lift an eyebrow, and Ivy shrugs.
“My parents own this bar. I’m just filling in for the night, since they’re down a bartender. I’m actually a physical therapist.”
“That’s cool. I’m finishing up my veterinarian degree.”
“That’s cool too.” Ivy gives me a smile. “Welcome to town, new friend. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She hurries off to fill drink orders, and I turn on my stool to take in the place. The walls are covered with old business signs. I wonder if they’re businesses that closed down over the years and gave their signs to Ivy’s parents. I like it. It’s ... whimsical.
Four guys are shooting pool in the back, but they all have wedding bands on their fingers.
I’m not a home-wrecker.
There’s a guy sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a beer and tapping away on his computer. Is this his version of working at a coffee shop?
I can respect that.
I’m going to be honest. I’m not interested, not evenvaguely, in any of the men in this bar. No one makes me want to dismiss my no-touching rule long enough to do the deed, hopefully score an orgasm, and get gone. There has to be a hell of a lot of attraction on my part, and none of these guys does it for me. I’d have to drink a lot more than one beer.
I’m so fucking romantic.
