And the last time she’d heard it, he’d been calling her a cow.
Okay, not exactly the last time, but taking a little creative license now and then was kind of her thing.
Garret mirrored her position, leaning against the bar as his eyes trailed down and back up. “You look incredible,” he said, lifting a bottle of beer to his lips.
Kay sucked in a breath and nearly choked on her drink. But, hot damn, there was something about a man who drank straight out of a bottle. No fancy glass or prissy cocktail, but a man’s man who drank and fucked and—
Apparently, she’d gone too long without writing a true alpha.
Because Garret screamed alpha, especially in that form-fitting suit that showed off his broad shoulders and lean hips and, fuck, but his thighs. There weren’t any chicken legs in sight because Garret had great thighs.
Kay’s mind drifted for a minute, imagined those thighs shoving hers apart as he thrust home. Or maybe her straddling him, riding them both to completion. Or maybe—
She coughed again and then almost choked for a second time when hot, calloused fingers brushed the bare skin of her back.
Had she mentioned that her dress was backless?
A fact that Kay was simultaneously thrilled and dismayed about in that moment.
“Are you okay?” Garret asked, the brush turning into a gentle pat as she coughed. He snagged her glass from her hand, set it on top of the bar.
She nodded, slowing her breathing as she attempted to not cough up a lung.
“Fine,” she eventually managed to rasp. “Thank you.”
“Sorry if I startled you.” Chocolate eyes met hers. “And I’m sorry for the other night. I was an asshole.”
Her lips parted as a surprised breath slipped out.
An apology? No qualifications, no excuses? Just sorry?
Fingertips brushed her spine again. “I didn’t want to be there, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Further that, what I said was—”
Except, Kay had stopped listening after I didn’t want to be there.
She’d waited an hour for the man, missed out on her beet salad and chocolate soufflé for a jerk who hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place.
She’d gotten out of her daytime pajamas for the man.
What. The. Fuck?
The callous fingers on her bare skin lost their appeal, the intimate fantasies speeding through her brain faded away.
“—completely inappropriate and wrong and—”
“I’ll have you know—” she started to say before stopping and shaking her head. This man would never get it. “You know what? Never mind. Thanks for the apology. Have a nice life.”
She grabbed her glass, started to turn away.
“Wait.” He snagged her wrist, causing her cocktail to slosh over the rim of the cup, splashing all along her arm. “Shit.” Still holding on to her, he turned for the bar, snagged some napkins from the pile and held them out to her. “Sorry.”
“Lot of that going around,” she muttered, slipping free of his grip and wiping her arm. She’d need to go to the bathroom to wash it, otherwise she’d be walking around with a sticky hand all night.
Snorting inwardly at that thought—sticky hand, te-he-he—Kay dropped the wad of napkins back onto the bar and lifted her chin. “Goodbye, Garret.”
“Wait,” he said again, though this time he didn’t grab her.
“No, I don’t think I will.” She whipped around.