Single in Sitka (An Odds-Are-Good Standalone Romance Book 1) Read online

  “Trying to get me drunk so I’ll spill the beans?” I tease.

  “Is that likely to happen?” she asks with a soft chuckle. “If so, drinks are on me.”

  “No, ma’am,” I say, “it’s not.”

  “Then drinks are on you, I guess.”

  She turns and heads to the bar.

  And me? I’m helpless to do anything else but follow her.

  Chapter 5

  Amanda

  If watching my sweet, handsome savior speed away yesterday had filled me with something akin to regret, meeting him again this evening feels like a lovely twist of fate.

  I didn’t get a chance to properly thank him for the ride, and it had gnawed it me last night to feel that I’d betrayed his trust, that I’d repaid his kindness with deceit. I’m grateful for a chance to meet him again and for us to get to know one another a little better this time around.

  Oh. And another thing…

  Without the beard? With those dimples on full display? Oh, my ovaries, he is smoking hot, and I’m suddenly imagining wicked scenarios, most of which involve him and me, no clothes, and hours of time alone.

  Damn, but it’s been months since I had sex, and I want some. With him. The sooner, the better.

  We sit down at a quiet table in the bar area, and I consider what to order. When he asks for a scotch on the rocks, I say I’d like the same.

  “Scotch, huh?”

  “Not always.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “Why not?”

  He leans forward a little, folding his hands on the table between us. “You sure like answering questions with questions, huh?”

  I’m about to say, Don’t you? when I realize that would be answering another question with a question.

  “Hazard of the trade,” I say with a shrug.

  “So you’re a reporter for the Seattle Sentinel.”

  “Can’t wear the title of Ms. Seattle Sentinel otherwise.”

  He grins and—fuck me!—those dimples. And also…fuck me. I mean it. Please.

  “Are you from Seattle?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Delaware.”

  “Roots there?”

  “My parents. My sister.”

  “Get back much?”

  “Once or twice a year. I love them, and I love visiting, but Seattle’s my home.”

  He nods like he gets it. “Came west for a job?”

  “No. For college,” I say. “I went to Evergreen State.”

  “No kidding!”

  “No kidding,” I say. “Communications major.”

  “Right. Journalism.” His eyes narrow. “Hm. So what’s your interest in the bears?”

  Dare I tell him that my original interest in Sitka had nothing to do with bears? That it was a last-minute story idea I’d pitched after ogling his personal ad? That my true interest in Sitka was actually…him? Now get in my bed, spread your legs, and prepare to take my load. My cheeks flush as I recall my initial thoughts after reading his ad.

  I’m saved from looking him in the eyes or responding to his question by the waitress, who reappears with our drinks.

  “Here ya go, Luke. And here ya go…” She squints at me. “We haven’t met yet.” She shifts the tray to her side and offers me her hand. “I’m Francine. You’re…?”

  Now, I know Sitka is small, but this is unreal. Does everyone know everyone? Is that even possible?

  “Amanda McKendrick.”

  “Well, hi there, Amanda McKendrick! A friend of Luke’s is a friend of mine. You visiting?”

  I nod. “Uh-huh. From Seattle.”

  “And how do y’all know each other, now?”

  “We met through—”

  Luke cuts me off. “We went to Evergreen together.”

  I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash when I jerk my neck from Francine to face him.

  “Is that right?” she says. “So we got a little college reunion going on here, huh? Well, I’ll be…”

  “Hey, Fran, you got any of those pretzels?” asks Luke.

  “For you and your school friend? Of course. No charge! I’ll go grab you a bowl.”

  I’m still staring at Luke as she heads back to the bar. “Did you actually go to Evergreen?”

  He nods. “Yep. Class of 2002.”

  I laugh, shaking my head at the coincidence. “Class of 2006.”

  “So you’re…thirty-two?”

  “Exactly.”

  He grins at me, lifting his glass. “Omnia Extares.”

  I smile back at him, translating our school motto from Latin to English as I clink my glass against his. “Let it all hang out.”

  We sip our scotch, our eyes locked together over the rim of our glasses in a look so intense, neither of us notices Francine is back until a bowl of pretzels appears between us. Thankfully, she hurries away to another table, giving us some privacy.

  As Luke pulls his glass from his lips, he sucks his lower lip between his teeth for a second, still staring at me, and I swear to God, that’s all it takes to start getting me wet. I cross my legs, lowering my own glass and taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

  “So,” I say, placing my glass on the cocktail napkin and taking a handful of pretzels, “did I detect a slight note of panic in your voice when Francine asked how we met?”

  He sits back in his chair. “I didn’t place that ad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My sister, Bonnie, placed it. Didn’t ask for my permission. For the record, I wouldn’t have said yes.”

  “Huh. So how’d this”—I waggle my index finger between us—“happen?”

  He shifts in his seat, thinking over his answer. “I didn’t think I was ready yet. Turns out, I am.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To meet someone.”

  I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I’m the sort of girl who prefers to lay her cards on the table, and I’m definitely not looking for anything serious.

  “I’m only up here for two weeks. Not long.”

  “You being a journalist, I figured,” he says, holding my eyes as he takes another sip of scotch.

  Okay. Phew. So we’re on the same page, right? We’re both looking for a fling. For some hopefully awesome, meaningless sex. I relax a little in my seat.

  “Your sister’s—” I’m about to say got some balls, but he finishes the sentence for me.

  “The best,” he says firmly, laying his forearms on the table and clasping his fingers together. “I mean, I don’t always agree with her methods, but I know she has my best interests at heart. Wendy—my, um, my wife—she died a couple of years ago, and it’s been hard getting back out there, you know?”

  “I don’t. Not really. I’ve never been married. I’ve never lost someone so close to me.” I lean forward a little, playing with the straw in my drink. “But I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. How did she—I don’t mean to pry, but—”

  “She was in a car accident. Snowy night. Oil tanker coming from the other direction in the dark. Neither driver was really at fault. Both lost their lives.”

  It’s not that I mean to touch him, but I feel so sad for him, suddenly my hands are over his, covering his, without permission. His eyes flick down, then quickly up.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, pulling my hands away and lifting my glass to take a sip. When I do, I look up to find him staring at me.

  “I don’t mind.”

  Invisible filaments of electricity snap and crackle between us, and even though I can’t see them, I feel them. The air is wired, like the atmosphere before a lightning storm. And I don’t need to wonder if he feels it too. I can see it on his face—in the darkening of his eyes, in the tightening of his jaw, in the almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils.

  Want.

  Desire.

  Attraction.

  I feel it too. Every tremor. Every vibration. Every tiny quake of energy between us.

  It makes my inmost muscles c
oil, longing for something thick and hard to squeeze onto.

  “Just to be clear: I’m not looking for anything serious,” I blurt out. “Just—just someone to hang out with while I’m up here doing the story.”

  “I get it.” He nods once. “I’m game.”

  We haven’t talked about his kids, but for whatever reason, I feel like they should be mentioned. “You’re a father.”

  “I’m a man.”

  Fuck yes, you are.

  “Are you getting over someone?” he asks me.

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “Sensed it.” He shrugs. “I wonder if we both came here tonight hoping to find a rebound.”

  I know I did.

  There’s something reassuring to know that we have this in common. Our motive for meeting is the same, which means there shouldn’t be any confusion or hurt feelings. It’s comforting. It’s exciting. I’m in unchartered territory with a complete stranger, and it’s completely exhilarating.

  “We can,” I say, feeling my heart speed up and my breath draw shallow, “use each other. Put some distance between the last person and the next person.”

  “The next person?” he asks, rubbing his bottom lip with his index finger.

  “The next person. The real person. The person you find after me and I find after you. The person we each end up with.” My breasts tingle a little as my nipples harden and I arch my back. It’s instinctual, I think, to show him what I’m offering. Like a male animal smelling a female’s ass before he mounts her. “Like you said, we’re both looking for a rebound. I’ll be that for you, if you’ll be that for me.”

  “No strings attached?”

  “None.”

  “Just…sex?” he asks, the word heavy on his tongue. And fuck, but I want that tongue in my mouth, on my skin, swirling around my now-throbbing clit.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, then laugh softly. “And maybe a little witty banter.”

  That makes him smile, but only for a second.

  He picks up his glass, finishes the remaining scotch in one gulp, then places it back down on the table. Leaning forward in his seat, he pulls out his wallet, grabs a twenty-dollar bill, and slides it under the empty glass.

  “Are you staying here?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get us a room.”

  My breath catches because that is the sexiest motherfucking thing I’ve ever heard. It makes me feel far naughtier and bolder than I’ve ever felt before.

  “I’ll meet you at the elevator,” I say.

  When he stands up, I can see the bulge of his cock straining against the crotch of his jeans. He could pull the tails of his flannel over it, to hide it, but he doesn’t. He lets me look. He wants me to look.

  My mouth fucking waters.

  “See you in a minute,” he says.

  I lift my drink to my lips and watch him go, my body just about on fire to follow him. Instead, I down the rest of my drink like he did and take out my phone, opening up a text chat to Leigh.

  Manda: Met the single dad tonight. Super hot. Meeting him in a hotel room in five minutes. Fuck, Leigh! I’ve never done anything like this!!

  Three dots appear instantly, and I can almost hear Leigh’s squeal all the way from Seattle.

  Leigh: You slut! ?? Ha ha! You need this, baby! This is what I’m talking about. Use protection and have the best time!

  Manda: Done and done. Call me in the AM?

  Leigh: You got it!

  I drop the phone into my purse, stand up from the table, and try to look like I’m taking my time as I beeline to the elevators.

  ***

  Luke

  I’ve never done anything remotely like this.

  My hands sweat as I give the hotel clerk my credit card and watch as he charges me $204 for a last-minute queen room.

  When he slides the receipt to me for my signature, I pause with the pen hovering over the dotted line. Is this a mistake? What the hell am I doing?

  Then I think about Amanda’s breasts in the rain yesterday and again tonight at the table, when she arched her back and thrust them forward. My God. My dick hardened as though she’d commanded it. I sign the receipt quickly, avoiding eye contact with the clerk. He gives me a small envelope with a keycard and tells me to take the elevator to the second floor. I scrape it off the counter, glancing at the room number before shoving it in my back pocket.

  I don’t even know her. I mean, barely.

  But when I get to the elevator bank and see her standing there against the wall in her snow-white sweater, my body takes over and my mind shuts up. We lock eyes as I push the up arrow.

  I want her. Damn it, I want her all night long.

  I can’t ever remember wanting someone as badly as I want this woman.

  I’ve never experienced lust like this before, and the way she wants a short-term and purely sexual relationship? It’s so hot, I can barely breathe through my hunger. It needs to be fed. Now.

  When the elevator dings, she moves away from the wall, standing beside me without a word. The door opens, and she steps inside first, leaning against the back wall in the small booth. I press the second-floor button, then stand beside her. Our hips touch, and it makes my balls tighten.

  “We’re in, uh, two-oh-six.”

  “I didn’t know if they’d have a room.”

  Her voice seems lower somehow. Softer. Is she scared? Is she having second thoughts?

  “You should know—I mean, I’m not some pervert. I don’t do this—I’ve never—”

  “Me neither,” she says. “I’ve never done this. I haven’t been with anyone since Bryce.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “We broke up in March.” She looks up at me. “You?”

  I shake my head. “No one since Wendy. Over two years now.”

  She breathes out, and it’s audible. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You need this.”

  “I want this,” I say, looking down at her.

  Our heads inch closer together until I can smell the scotch on her lips. I’m breathing so fast, I’m sure she can feel the heat of my quick pants. I’m about to kiss her—to devour her—when the elevator doors suddenly open. She jumps back from me, chuckling softly, her cheeks pink from arousal, or surprise, or both.

  “We’re here.”

  She steps into the carpeted hallway and quickly consults the sign, which directs us to the left. As she walks down the hall without looking at me, I’m treated to a fine view—curvy hips, small waist, and a perfect ass in tight jeans. I’m still staring at her assets when she stops in front of our room.

  I grab the envelope from my back pocket, take out the keycard, and shove it in the slot, watching as the light flickers from red to green. Go, go, go!

  She pushes down on the lever and steps into the room, making her way down a short, dark hallway, past the bathroom and bed, and stopping at the windows. She throws open the curtains, which brightens the room. It is Alaska, after all. It won’t be dark until almost eleven.

  I give her some space, standing by the bathroom door on the other side of the bed.

  My hunger for her, for what we’re about to do, hasn’t diminished in the last five minutes, but she’s not a whore, and I’m not calling the shots. I don’t know how many other men she’s been with, but she just made it clear that this—having sex with random men—isn’t a regular occurrence for her. Until we’re both naked and she’s asking me to fuck her, this is her show. She decides how far this will go. If she chooses for it to go all the way, I’ll do everything I can to make it good for both of us.

  After checking out the view, she turns around and looks at me.

  “What now?”

  “Whatever you want,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.

  “It’s all up to me? That’s a lot of pressure.” She cocks her head to the side. “What turns you on?”

  “Consent.”

  Her face, which was tense, relax
es instantly, and she grins at me. “Oh. You’re just making sure…”

  “That you’re comfortable.”

  “I am,” she says softly. “I want this.”

  I take a step forward and sit down on the edge of the bed. She’s such a little thing, and if I’m this aware of her body, she’s got to be just as aware of mine. I don’t need to tower over her.

  “What do you want? Exactly?”

  “Um.” She licks her lips, then tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. Even from here, about ten feet away from her, I can tell how heavily she’s breathing. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly, and in the dim light, I can see her cheeks are still pink. Not surprise. Arousal. She takes a deep breath, then blurts out, “Take your clothes off.”

  “Okay. You too?” I ask.

  “Mm-hm.” She nods, toeing off her sandals before her fingers land on her zipper.

  I shrug out of my flannel shirt, then reach behind my neck and pull my T-shirt over my head so that my chest is bare. Her eyes are wide and locked on mine as her jeans slide down her legs.

  I stand up and unbuckle my belt, trying to ignore the trembling of my fingers as I unbutton, then unzip my jeans. I look up in time to see her pull her sweater over her head and let it drop to the floor on top of her jeans.

  I’m in boxer briefs now, and she’s in a white bra and matching panties. She’s backlit by the sunshine outside, but here, in this room, the light is spare and shadowy. It silhouettes her form, which is the female equivalent of my own. Neither of us are nubile teens anymore, but we’re both in good shape. She has curves, like a woman should, but she’s taken care of herself the same way I have. I like that about her. I like it that she cares about herself.

  “Count to three?” she asks, her voice breathy.

  “Okay.”

  “One…two…”

  I hook my fingers into the waistband of my underwear, jerking them down, over my now-massive erection. They pool on the floor, and I take a step away from them, utterly and completely naked.

  When I look up, she’s still got her bra and underwear on.

  “Hey,” I say, putting my hands on my hips and feeling a touch disappointed. “What happened?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to say three!” she says, laughing softly. Her eyes skim down my chest, landing on my hard, upstanding cock. She rests her gaze on it for a second, her smile fading. “You’re…big.”