Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(74)

He had a single beer with Taz and lumbered across the grounds and highway to his motel room. He hadn’t taken off his chaps, vest or even his spurs. Pausing in front of the room, he dug his keycard from his duffel bag and opened the door. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ava might have made plans—nekkid plans—until he saw her stretched out on the bed in her birthday suit.
“Chase?” Her feet kept slipping on the cheap nylon comforter as she scrambled up the bed. “What are you doing here?”

He dropped his bag to the carpet absentmindedly. Holy hell, did she have a rockin’ body. Golden skin that boasted curves, curves and more curves. As he took a step toward her, he noticed panic in her eyes—not heat or even that tempting sexual challenge he’d never be immune to. His gaze tracked her mesmerizing body, from the flare of her hip, to the contour of her belly, across those glorious tits and the graceful line of her neck.
Seconds after Chase noticed a full box of condoms, bottle of lube and two bandanas on the nightstand, a dude wearing chaps and a cowboy hat sauntered out of the bathroom with a hearty, “You ready for the ride of your life, toots?”

What the f*ck?
After his shock wore off, Chase snarled, “Jesus, Ava, this is the type of douchebag you came up with? A wannabe cowboy with a fake drawl who calls you toots?”

“Who are you?” Douchebag demanded.
“The guy tellin’ you to get the hell outta my room.”

The douchebag looked at Ava. “I thought you said this was your room.”

“Hey, f*ckface, eyes on me, not her.” When douchebag turned, Chase stabbed his finger at the clothes by the bed. “You’re done. Grab your shit and get gone.”

“Nuh-uh.” Douchebag gestured to Ava. “I get gone when she tells me to, not you, little man.”

Ava said not one word.
Chase’s anger hit the boiling point. Instead of yelling, his voice dropped lethally low. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Or what? You gonna throw me out?” Douchebag sneered. “You’ll have to eat your spinach and grow some first.”

Faking calmness he didn’t feel, Chase scooped up the man’s belongings, opened the door and dumped the pile onto the walkway.
“What is wrong with you?” Douchebag loomed over Chase.
“You have fifteen seconds to get out of my room and out of my face or I will beat you bloody. You’re not the first * who’s tried to take me on, believing a short man is a weak man. But by all means, I’m more than willing to offer you proof that’s a mistake.” Chase locked his cold gaze to the man who had six inches and a good fifty pounds on him. “Get out. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Douchebag glared, but ultimately retreated. He sent Ava a dark look before he muttered, “No piece of ass is worth this bullshit,” and stormed out.
Chase slammed the door, locked it and engaged the safety chain before he faced Ava.
Immediately she started babbling. “Chase. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Oh, I know what you were thinking, sugar tits.” He shucked off his vest as he ambled toward the bed. “You don’t mind if I call you sugar tits, do you? Because, I gotta say, it’s a whole lot better than toots.”

“Very funny.”

“You were thinking you wanted to get laid.” Chase popped the buttons on his shirt. “But that douchebag was the best you could do? In an arena filled with real cowboys, you picked…him?”

“He wore a hat. And boots. And chaps.”

Chase laughed. “He wore a Toby Keith party hat. His boots were brand spankin’ new. And the chaps? Hell. Them I can’t even explain.” He toed off his boots. Unhooked his chaps and let them fall to the floor in a dusty whoosh. The fact Ava’s eyes never wavered from watching him strip prompted him to bare it all. He unbuckled his belt. Once the zipper loosened his jeans, he slipped them off along with his briefs. He grabbed the back strap of his chaps. Felt goddamn stupid putting them back on nekkid, but he did it anyway.