Tex (Hell's Ankhor #5) - Aiden Bates Page 0,54

the bed and then nearly fallen off himself in his hurry to get away from me. Then he’d rubbed at his face like he was disgusted—like he’d wanted to remove every trace of the kiss from his skin.

I drained the whiskey and motioned for another. I chewed on my lower lip as I waited. If it was still tingling, it was from the booze, not the kiss. I had to let it go. I had to move on.

But in that frozen moment, I’d briefly had everything I ever wanted. And I guessed the memory would have to sustain me, because it seemed like I’d as good as thrown away my friendship with Tex to get it. But I hadn’t been thinking when I’d done it. I’d just woken up, and I’d been dreaming of him, like I sometimes did. And part of me must’ve thought I was still in the dream, because I thought I saw desire on his face.

Or more than desire.

But I was wrong, and Tex hadn’t hesitated to let me know it. So, fuck it.

“Can I buy you another round?” a pretty, unfamiliar voice purred in my ear. The speaker was young, dark-haired, with dramatic makeup and a shameless, hot gaze that dragged over my body with open desire.

It’d be so easy to drag this guy into the bathroom and just—lose myself in the sensation of sex for a while. It’d been over three years since I’d properly gotten laid. Maybe I’d be able to focus on just the physical feeling of it. Wet, hot, slick, tight—that sounded good. Right?

The guy drew his plump lower lip in between his teeth.

Fuck. I didn’t want to kiss him at all.

“Not tonight. Thanks, though,” I said, and winked at the guy, though there wasn’t any feeling behind it. He shrugged and melted back into the crowd, and I knew he’d find a guy to oblige him in minutes.

I still wasn’t sure that I didn’t need a quick, rough fuck, but first I needed to get hammered.

Time melted away as I threw back shots and beers and let the steady thrumming of the bass drill into my head and push away all other thoughts. Eventually I made my way to the dance floor, into the hot press of sweaty bodies—muscled, trim, fat, short, tall, young, old, all looking for the same thing. It wasn’t long until I was pressed against a stranger’s body. He was tall, broad-shouldered, in a skintight tank top and a gold necklace, and I couldn’t really make out his face. I didn’t care about his face, though, not tonight.

His large hands found my hips. He pulled me close and shoved his thigh hard in between my legs, grinding slow to the beat of the music. I gripped his shoulder, his bicep, barely dancing to the beat. More like synchronized swaying.

In my back pocket, my phone was buzzing incessantly.

Fuck it. I was off duty.

I ignored my phone and ran my hands down the guy’s chest, over his big pecs and his washboard abs, clearly honed to perfection in the gym. His cock bulged against his tight jeans.

And my cock wasn’t fucking interested at all.

This guy was objectively hot. But he didn’t have that tapered waist, those long legs, the red beard, those green eyes glinting from beneath the brim of a black Stetson.

My phone buzzed again.

Fucking hell.

Frustration burned through my veins, making me feel suddenly clear-headed despite the booze in my blood and the brain-numbing club atmosphere. I disentangled myself from my dance partner—he wasn’t too concerned, as those big hands quickly found someone else—and pushed my way out of the crowd and to the front door.

I just needed some fresh air.

Outside, the narrow streets of Monterey were bustling despite the late hour—people stumbled in and out of bars, laughing and knocking into each other. The night air was crisp now, and my sweat raised goosebumps on my skin. I leaned back against the brick exterior of Stallions, in the narrow alley around the corner from the front door.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed again. I muttered a curse to myself—who the fuck needed me so badly that they were still calling in the middle of the night?

I fished the phone out of my pocket. It was Tex’s name on the caller ID.

Why the fuck was he calling me? What else was there to say? He knew how I felt about him now, and he didn’t reciprocate—was disgusted by it. What else was there to say? Why couldn’t