Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(57)

Would Ava see that? Understand it? Find it quaint? Or rural?
Ava slid next to him with a husky, “Hi.”

“Hey. What would you like to drink?”

“I don’t know. I’ll wander up to the bar and see what they’ve got.”

He lifted a brow. “You sure you’re goin’ to the bar to look for a…drink?”

“Yes. But it wouldn’t hurt to check out my other options.”

“Ain’t a lot of options. It’s a slow night.”

“So you’ve been screening me for me?” she asked doubtfully.
“A guy checking out other guys in a joint like this will get your ass thrown outta here faster than you can say ‘Brokeback’, trust me.”

Ava laughed.
He loved to hear her laugh. So sweetly melodic and yet completely unaffected.
The cocktail waitress stopped and Ava conferred with her in low tones before she ordered.
“What’d you decide on?”

A secretive smile bloomed and then she focused her attention elsewhere. “See that guy in the red plaid shirt? To your left? What do you think of him?”

“Him? Seriously? He’s too old for you.” Chase let his gaze wander, acting like he was playing along with the find-Ava-a-f*ck-buddy game, when in all likelihood, he’d f*ck up any man who laid a hand on her. “What about the dude in the bright blue shirt?”

“Eww. He’s got a ZZ Top beard. And I think there’s food in it.”

“You don’t like beards?”

“Only on Abraham Lincoln, Van Gogh and the aforementioned little ’ol band from Texas.”

“You coulda told me you hate the goatee I’m growin’,” he said a little shortly.
She reached over and tenderly stroked the bristly hair. “I didn’t say that. I like it. Your lips are perfectly framed and look so kissable. I wondered if it’d be soft or scratchy.”

Chase didn’t move. Hell, he didn’t breathe as her fingers repeatedly smoothed over his face, his whole face, not just the part with excess hair.
“I can’t believe how much it’s filled in. God. How many times a day do you have to shave?”

“When I’m on tour? Usually twice. Can’t stand how razor stubble feels on my face.”

“I’d like to feel your razor stubble on my face,” she murmured.
Maybe she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Or maybe she had.
The cocktail waitress floated a napkin on the table and placed a lowball glass in the center. “Took the bartender a minute to figure out how to make this.” She grinned. “Don’t get a lot of requests for that drink in here.”

When Ava opened her purse to pay, Chase put his hand over hers. He pulled money from his front shirt pocket and dropped it on the tray.
Ava didn’t speak until the waitress left. “I can buy my own drinks, Chase.”

“I know you can. You can also open your own door and pay for your supper, but that ain’t happening tonight, so deal with it.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. She took a healthy sip of her drink and said, “Wow. That’s good.”

“What is it?”

“Tie me to the bed and f*ck me.”

Chase choked on his beer. Choked hard enough Ava had to pat him on the back. “What the hell did you just ask me to do to you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything to me, because I knew you’d say no. The name of my drink is called Tie me to the bed and f*ck me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”