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Baby, You’re Mine

By:Fiona Davenport

Chapter 1


I stepped inside the dark and smoky interior of Jumpin’ Jacks, the only bar in Red Springs, Nebraska. It wasn’t far out of North Platte, but it was the nearest place to hang out without going into the city. I squinted as my eyes adjusted and scanned the room, but didn’t see the friend I was supposed to meet. Winding my way through the tables, I approached the bar and caught the eye of Wendy, the bartender. I lifted my chin in greeting, and she smiled, winking one heavily kohl-lined eye before grabbing a beer, popping the top, and sliding it down to my waiting hand.

Wendy’s smile widened and she flipped her bleached blonde hair over one bony shoulder. She swept her eyes over my body before she turned to help the next customer. My best friend and I had been coming to this bar since we were of legal age. Wendy hadn’t stopped trying to get into my pants since she poured me my first drink. After years of ignoring the fake boobs in my face and other not-so-subtle hints, you’d think she would get a clue. And yet, there I was, practically being violated by her direct and clearly dirty stare. Not that I had a problem with any woman picturing me naked and dreaming of doing filthy things to me, but I did have some standards.

“Neat trick.”

I froze with my beer halfway to my mouth. The soft, sultry voice washed over me, leaving me with a tightening in my pants and a racing heart. Yes, from just a fucking voice. However, my cock came to full attention when I got a look at the owner of the sexy voice. Long, glossy red curls, large, round, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and the most kissable lips I had ever seen in my life. But, what had my mouth watering were her curves. She had an hourglass figure that would give Marilyn Monroe a run for her money. Her tits would spill out of my hands, her hips were perfect to hold while I pounded into her from behind, and she was tall—her legs a mile long and showing off a good amount of skin from her short skirt riding up as she sat on a stool. I had a sudden urge to either tug it down as far as it would go or throw a jacket over them. Nobody should see those creamy, white thighs, but me. I finally realized I was standing there gaping, ok leering, at her and pried my jaw up from the ground.

I put on my best panty-melting smile, making sure my dimples popped. “Trick?” I asked.

She smiled and gestured toward the bar. “The thing where you caught the bottle. If I tried the same thing, it would mostly likely end up in my lap, or crashing into the person behind me.” She laughed and holy fuck, the rich, genuine sound was the last straw, the one that tipped over the mountain of hay.

I fell.

“Wyatt Kincaid,” I informed her, holding out my hand. She took it and started to shake, but I brought it to my lips and brushed a kiss across the back. She blushed, and my heart started pounding, desire coursing through my veins.

“Bailey Cross.”

“Are you new in town?” I asked, taking a seat on the empty stool next to her.

She took a sip of her martini and her eyes darted away. “Sort of.” When her gaze returned to mine, a blush had stolen across her cheeks and she shifted in her chair, suddenly nervous. “I just finished my first year teaching and I’m out for the summer. So, I came here to...” she trailed off and swallowed.

“I’m spending time with family.” She gulped down the rest of her martini and pushed the glass away.

“Another?” I asked, and when she nodded, I signaled to the other bartender, Brad, grateful Wendy was busy. I excused myself for a minute to pull out my phone and send a text to my best friend.

Me: You’re late, asshole. Find yourself another wingman tonight.

Jack: Is that code for you found pussy to chase instead of my finely sculpted ass?

Me: Sure. If that makes you feel better.

Jack: Breaking bro code, dude.

Me: Bro code is null and void if there is a chance to get laid. And, when the fuck did we go back to being teenagers?

Jack: Fuck off

Me: No, that’s what YOU’LL be doing tonight.

Jack: Truth :(

I laughed and stuck my phone back in my pocket, turning back to Bailey and giving her my full attention. We sat at the bar chatting for over half an hour before I led her to a quiet booth in the back. For another two hours, we talked about our jobs, friends, childhood—pretty much anything. I learned she was a third-grade teacher, was still best friends with a girl she went to high school with, and had grown up with a single mom. I couldn’t hear enough, soaking up every little morsel she gave me.

After our third drinks, we both switched to water. There was something about this girl that had my mind wandering to sweaty, naked bodies wrapped up in sheets. I was going to do my best to make those vivid daydreams a reality, and I wanted her sober so she would remember every second.