Martinis & Moonlight (A Country Road Novel - Book 3) Read online

  The problem with rising each weekday morning with the sun is the fact that my body is automatically set to … you guessed it, rise with the sun. That’s how I find myself out for an early-morning run on a Saturday. It has absolutely nothing to do with the lack of sleep last night.

  After completing my seventh mile, I slow my pace down to a light jog. The exertion this early in the morning may have been a little overzealous on my part. My lungs are tight, a burning feeling ripping through them, causing me to throw my head back and take a few deep breaths, finally calming my beating heart. With each breath, flashes of yesterday’s run cross my mind like a movie. They’re the same visions that filled my head all night long—Minnie pressed between her door and car in the blazing sun, so responsive and ready.

  I know women well enough to know that if her moans were any indication, she was as turned on as I was. Part of me is grateful for those shithead kids and their interruption. Without it, where would we have ended up? How far would she have let me take it?

  I’m not a runner by choice, but when my head is full of chaos it is truly the only thing outside of sex that brings me back to normal. Of course, I’d prefer to be having sex this morning, but considering I’d be envisioning Minnie regardless of whomever was in my bed, I decided a run was a better option. I may be an ass, but even I know that’s not cool.

  An oncoming jogger passes by and I nod in greeting as I return to my thoughts and slow my pace to a brisk walk. Sometime around mile two I had removed my shirt and placed it in the waistband of my shorts. I pull the shirt from the waistband and use it to wipe the sweat from my brow. I have no idea why I can’t shake the visual of kissing Minnie. I’ve kissed plenty of women, beautiful women, smart women, sarcastic women, the entire gamut. But, none of them have ever left me with this … hangover. I have a Minnie hangover and I haven’t even had sex with her.

  Which is why I should cancel our date today. I mean, it’s not a date date but more like coworkers or even friends hanging out. I’m going to show her a little of my world, show her around the area, and then take her home. That’ll be it. Simple. Just a few hours and we’ll be done. My curiosity about her will be extinguished and I’ll move on. She’ll move on.

  I’m almost back to my Jeep when I notice a compact car parked nearby and a woman stretching in the empty space next to it. Allowing myself a few minutes to appreciate the way her body slowly bends forward, displaying some very nice cleavage my way, I realize Captain Dick in my pants isn’t budging. He’s broken. I’m up so early on a Saturday that my dick has actually stopped functioning. That’s the only excuse because this woman is a piece of work—literally, those tits are not real.

  I reach in the back of my Jeep and pull a water bottle from the backseat and take a large drink. As I’m screwing the lid back on, I smell a light hint of jasmine fill the air around me and glance to my right.

  “Hey there. Just finishing up your run?” Fake Tits asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Too bad, I’m not that familiar with this particular park and was hoping you could show me the best route.” I know everything she said is code for “want to bend me over the hood of my car and fuck my brains out?” Oddly enough, even that visual doesn’t get my dick stirring. Seriously? What the fuck is wrong?

  “Sorry, maybe another time. The trails are clearly marked and I saw plenty of other runners out there. You’ll be fine,” I say, grabbing a shirt from the passenger seat and pulling it over my head. I hear the woman sigh in appreciation and I roll my eyes in response.

  “How about I give you my number in case you ever want to run together, or anything else,” she purrs.

  “Uh, sure.” My response doesn’t indicate I’m interested whatsoever but that doesn’t seem to deter her. It also occurs to me that we haven’t even introduced ourselves. Just as I’m about to remind her of that, she runs over to her car and reaches in through the driver’s window before running back to me. Yep, fake.

  “Here’s my number, you should totally call me sometime.” Her words seem casual enough, but the predatory look in her eyes says something else. I watch as her little pink tongue slowly grazes her lips. I should be turned on. I should take her up on her offer. Just as I’m realizing this is supposed to be hot and a turn-on, she hands me a business card. I glance down at the front and scan for her name. Of course, Kelli—with an “i.”

  “Thanks, uh, Kelli. Well, I better get going.”

  I walk a little faster than normal around to the driver’s side and hop in my seat, quickly turning on the ignition. I’m pulling away from Kelli, her fake tits, and big toothy grin when I realize I never told her my name. I’m not even worried about it either. I reach over to open the glove compartment, tossing her card in with the other random shit I have in there. The abyss of unwanted and unnecessary pieces of my life.

  After I finished my run, I stopped by Rosa’s and picked up a breakfast burrito. Rosa’s has been a staple in this town most of my life and there is no better breakfast than one of her burritos. Well, and her tacos, and her tortas, oh and the asada fries … okay, so Rosa’s is basically the best food in town. When I was a kid, my mom would make a big production of going out to dinner and Rosa’s was always my choice. Sometimes living in the town I grew up in and facing memories of the good times of my childhood cause my mood to dip into the less-than-positive zone. I get that I’m not necessarily Perry Positive in general, but I’ve been thinking of my childhood lately and all that brings is negative thinking.

  Thanks, Mom.

  After devouring my breakfast, I hopped in the shower—a cold shower—before getting dressed for my day with Minnie. The short movie-like visions of our kiss filled my head, and as much as I tried to will away my ever-increasingly hard dick, I was forced to crank the water to cold and shiver my way through the rest of my shower. I refuse to jerk off to a memory of a fucking kiss. A kiss.

  Coming out of my room dressed and ready for the day, I spot Landon in the kitchen making something to eat. I walk in and take a bottle of water from the package on top of the refrigerator, twisting the cap and finishing half the bottle in one drink.

  “What’s up?” Landon asks without turning toward me.

  I peer around his side to see him building quite possibly the largest breakfast sandwich I’ve ever seen.

  “Nothing much, just gonna play a little Call of Duty before I head out. You up for a game?”

  “Sure. Where you headed today? You,” he pauses sniffing, “smell pretty.”

  “Fuck off.” I down the rest of my water before tossing my bottle in the recycling and flipping him off as I leave the kitchen.

  “Dude, I’m teasing. What’s your deal?”

  “Nothing. Finish that so we can play.”

  I manage to get the system up and a new mission started while Landon manages to finish his sandwich in only a few bites. It’s rather disgusting to listen to; I don’t dare watch. Once he’s finished his last bite, he wipes his face and grabs his controller.

  “Ready to get your ass whooped, pretty boy?”

  “When did you start referring to yourself as ‘pretty boy,’ Lan? I mean, you’re not looking all that pretty with the scruff you got going on, but whatever.”

  “Shut up and play. Shall we wager? Loser cleans the toilets for a month?”

  “Sounds good. Hope you’re ready for some manual labor around here.” My focus is evident as I start the game. If there’s one household chore I could do without for the rest of my life, it’s cleaning the fucking toilet.

  Two hours later, after one match turned into more than I could keep track of, Landon is pouting and bitching about toilet brushes and I’m enjoying his defeat immensely. I laugh to myself as I grab my keys and check my phone for messages. I don’t have any from Minnie and wonder if I should have confirmed our date—hanging out day—sooner. To play it safe, I pull up my text messages and tap one out to her.

  Me: Hey, just making sure we’re still on for today?

  Minn
ie: I’m running a little late. I understand if you’d rather make other plans.

  Me: Why would I do that? How long?

  Minnie: Actually, I just walked in the door. I still have to shower and stuff. Raincheck?

  Me: Is it going to take you 14 hours to get ready?

  Minnie: What? NO! I’m not high maintenance.

  Minnie: Ok. *Maybe* a little. But, I do need at least like an hour and a half.

  Me: Two hours. I’ll give you the extra 30 in case you ARE high maintenance.

  Minnie: Whatever.

  Me: See you in a few hours, Minnesota.

  Minnie: Ok.

  With a few hours to burn, I pick the remote back up and log into the lobby for a worthy opponent. As I’m about to enter a game I hear Landon fire off a few rapid cuss words from the bathroom and I smile in victory. Sucker.

  “Why did you lie to him?”

  “I don’t know! I’m sitting here ready and now I have to wait for two hours, Dakota! I freaked out! I mean, is it a date? Is he just being nice?”

  “Considering you let him give you a strep test with his tongue, I’d say it’s a date. Or, he’s just being nice. Does it really matter?”

  She has a point. I mean, does it really matter? Nothing more is going to happen between us. I need to stop this fluttery feeling I get when I think of Owen. And his kisses. Damn those kisses. The first one was impulsive on my part. I wanted to sweep it under the rug and blame it on hormones, the heat, and his … him. Just him.

  Then, the second kiss was … well, unexpected. When I was pinned between Owen and the car, his arms on my waist, and his lips on mine, I thought for sure I’d pass out. The heat of the kiss seared my skin, and perhaps for the first time in a long time, left me yearning for more. So, when he told me to go out with him today I didn’t process what was happening. My instinct was to banter a little like we do and accept.

  When Dakota called last night and talked to my parents and the girls, I asked my mom to tell her I had to talk to her about some very important things that had come up. Of course, everyone assumed those “important things” were related to the kids or finances. Yeah, no. They were concerning the party happening in my pants at the thought of Owen Butler kissing me in the blazing sun on a job site for the entire town to see.

  “You’re doing it again, Min.” Dakota raises a brow at me and a smile graces her lips. I shrug in response. I can’t even argue with her. She said the same thing last night when we talked.

  “I’m just … what is happening to me, Dakota? I don’t have time for this. Owen isn’t the kind of guy that is interested in a girl like me.”

  “First, shut up. Second, you’re a woman, not a girl, and it’s about time you remember that. God, I could kill fucking Kent. He’s really did a number on you. Jerkoff. Third,” she says, holding up three fingers with far too much emphasis, to which I respond with my own raised brow. “Third, why does it have to be anything. Can’t you make friends? Can’t you let this guy, however hot he is, just take you out for lunch and show you around? You don’t have to sleep with him.”

  “You’re right. Yes, smile all you want, big sister, you’re right. I know I’m making more of this than necessary but I haven’t made friends, dated, or anything of the sort in over three years. I feel out of sorts. I wish you were here.”

  “I do too, Min. And, I will be home in a few weeks. Until then, I want you to try new things. Do things outside of your comfort zone, and for all that is holy, have fun!”

  Before I’m able to argue the fact that I do have fun, the doorbell rings. I glance at the time on my phone. “Shit! Dakota, he’s here. And impatient.”

  “Do me a favor, Min?”

  “Of course. Jesus, what is it with this guy and the doorbell. How many times does he have to ring it?” The incessant door bell ringing wouldn’t be so bad if the damn thing didn’t play an actual song. Specifically, The Yellow Rose of Texas. I stand abruptly from where I’m sitting on the couch just as Dakota shouts for me to take her with me. And by her, she means my iPad.

  I pad over to the front door, yanking it open with a scowl on my face, and before I can say anything, I take a fraction of a second to enjoy the vision in front of me. Owen is standing with his back to me, a pair of dark-gray shorts perfectly hugging his backside and a white T-shirt with a large fish on the back stretching across his shoulders. His very broad shoulders. Thankfully, my perusal of him is cut short when my sister, in the iPad no less, lets out a whistle and Owen turns his head over his shoulder, smiling.

  “Why, Minnesota, I didn’t know you whistled.”

  “That wasn’t me.” My voice quivers and there is no way for me to hide or pretend his presence doesn’t affect me.

  “That was me.” Owen looks around, trying to find the source of the voice, when I pick up the iPad and hold it up in front of my face.

  “Dakota, this is Owen. Owen, my sister.”

  “Ah, the squirt’s mom! Nice to meet you, Dakota.”

  “Squirt? Oh, the girls. Yep, that’s me. I should let you go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Min! Bye!”

  Before I’m able to chastise her for embarrassing me, Dakota has signed off and left me standing on the porch holding an iPad, staring at Owen. I really need to get a handle on these lady hormones.

  “Minnesota, are you going to invite me in?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. By the way, you could give a girl a chance to answer the door before you start ringing the bell obsessively.” I guess I’m choosing to chastise Owen instead of Dakota.

  “I think I need to work on your bell.”

  “Excuse me?” Is that some sort of come-on?

  “Your bell? The doorbell? I think it’s broken, I only pushed it once. I’ll just disconnect it for now and then I’ll fix it another day. Are you about ready? It’ll just take me a minute to do this.” Owen begins walking toward the hallway with me following him. I watch as he reaches up and takes the cover off a box on the wall. Huh, that must be the doorbell. I was wondering what that thing was.

  Owen finishes disconnecting the doorbell and turns toward me, smiling. I return the smile like some sort of horny teenager standing before her crush. I really am pathetic.

  “You about ready?”

  Instead of answering, I blink rapidly, turn on my heel, and walk out of the hallway and into my bedroom. I’m in my closet pulling out a pair of shoes and grabbing a cardigan when I hear something fall. I turn to find Owen looking at a framed photo on the dresser with one hand while righting a bottle of perfume that must have fallen.

  “That’s my family,” I state, walking up behind him.

  “You all look so happy.”

  “I guess we are. That was before … before things changed. Anyway, I’m ready if you are.”

  “Sure.”

  Once I make sure the house is locked up, Owen walks ahead of me to his Jeep and opens the door for me. I smile at him in appreciation and hop in the passenger seat. After closing the door, Owen walks around the front to the driver’s side and takes his seat. Before starting the car, he turns to me and smiles.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep, let’s go.” My smile is genuine and hopefully portrays a level of coolness because I’m a little nervous as I settle into my seat.

  “Do you want me to put the top on? The wind will do a number on your hair.”

  Shaking my head, I pull my hair into a messy bun and secure it with the hair tie on my wrist. “There better be alcohol wherever you’re taking me.”

  Laughing, Owen pulls away from the curb. I notice soon enough we’re headed out of town. I settle back in my seat, let the sun warm my skin, enjoy the beats of Foo Fighters as they fill the Jeep, and for the first time since I graduated college feel a little like myself.

  When Owen pulled up to this unassuming building I wasn’t quite sure what I had gotten myself into. The area is more industrial than I would expect for a date. I look up at the side of the building and see a sign that reads “Ranks Brewery.”
/>   This explains his question about my thoughts on whether beer counted toward my liquor/booze requirement for today. I still think the building looks more like a place I’d take my car for service, but if he says this is the place, then this is the place. I open my door and hop out before grabbing my sweater and purse. Today, I pulled from the back of my closet and am wearing cuffed jeans, a flowy tank that dips a little low in the front, and a pair of wedges. With my wedges on, I’m not quite as short and that helps me feel less awkward. Strange, I know.

  Still a little wary of the chosen location for this brewery, I immediately change my mind the moment I walk through the door. This establishment isn’t modeled after a traditional restaurant. Instead of a hostess stand or waiting area greeting us as we walk through the front doors, we are standing in a long hallway. The wall of the hallway is lined with glass display cases each housing memorabilia paying tribute a branch of the United States Military. I slow my pace, stopping at each display to read the information plaques. After I finish reading about a diving suit the Navy used long before even my parents were born, I look up to see Owen has stopped and is watching me.

  I shrug my shoulders to indicate it’s no big deal and Owen simply smiles in return. I pick up my pace and catch up to Owen as he turns toward the main part of the bar. Bustling with activity, the room is a little more on the industrial side than I would have expected for a brewery. I always thought “brew” meant dark and rustic. I have no idea why but I did. Don’t judge my random assumptions.

  While industrial is the word I’d use to describe the room, it isn’t cold or uninviting. The ceilings are tall with exposed pipes, multiple tables fill the room. Some tables have large groups standing around them while others have couples or just a few guys. The ages of the patrons vary from young to old. But, everyone here seems to know one another. The place has a hometown feel to it.