No Good Mitchell - Riley Hart Page 0,3

over to see…well, to be honest, one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. He was probably in his late twenties, and he was tall, with brown hair, with strands of a dark red mixed in. His eyes reminded me of milk chocolate. Sparse freckles danced across his nose and cheekbones—oh, and nice broad shoulders and a small dimple beneath the right side of his mouth. It was clear he’d run into me by mistake. I took a second to appreciate the view, and if I was reading it right, he was doing the same. Maybe Buckridge wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Who are you meeting, Brody?” a woman said to Mr. Sex On Legs.

He pointed at me. “Him. He’s my date.” He gave me wide, pleading eyes. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he told me, pulling me toward him and covering my lips with his. I was still for a second, and then all my nerve endings started firing off, telling me it didn’t matter if I knew who in the hell this was—a gorgeous man was kissing me.

I grabbed his waist and pulled him closer, slipping my tongue into his mouth and tasting beer. We both seemed to freeze for a moment, and then we were at it again. It wasn’t the first time I’d kissed a stranger in a bar, but it was the first time that happened in Georgia. And he was…fuck, he was good. I nibbled his lip, and he gave me a hungry little moan, his hands tightening on my waist. I threaded my fingers through his hair because if he was going to kiss me like he wanted to fuck me, I sure as shit planned to do the same. My dick perked up. I was suddenly really liking Buckridge, but before I knew it, he—Brody, she’d called him—was pulling away.

We both gasped a little and stared at each other, the air snapping and popping between us.

“But he’s a… You’re not… He’s a guy?” She frowned, shook her head, and left.

Brody seemed to snap out of it first, winked, eyed me up and down, and said in this husky, rugged voice, “Thanks, man. I owe you one,” before walking away.

Lauren’s eyes were wide and on us. Her mouth had dropped open.

“What?” I asked, and she shook her head. Oh, now she didn’t want to gossip?

I’d had about enough of this place for one night. I pulled my wallet out and handed her my card to pay. She still refused the payment, so I took it back. “Can we get directions to the Mitchell Creek Distillery?”

She nodded, then laughed.

I had a feeling she was laughing at me.

CHAPTER TWO

Brody

I groaned, steadily returning to consciousness. My eyelids felt so heavy, I could barely lift them. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was that fucking headache. “Ah,” I moaned as I opened my eyes and—

Shit.

Everything was black as night.

“Holy fuck! Holy Jesus!”

“Brodes, my hat’s on your face!” I heard from nearby.

Thank fuck, I thought, unconvinced I was in the clear until I managed to remember where my limbs were and got the hat off.

Light streamed in through the window at the back of the horse stable.

Yup. There I was, stark-ass-nekkid…and a little damp, it seemed.

Walker lay a few yards away, by the stalls, near my mare, Elliecomb.

“Jesus Christ, Walker. Why the hell did you take off my clothes?”

“Take off your clothes? You were the one ripping them off, saying it was too damn hot outside. I had to pull you out of the pond and carry you here.” He glanced around uneasily, as though deeply troubled by something. “Can you hear me breathing, Brody? My breathing…and my heart. They’re so loud.”

As I sat up, I could feel the hay sticking to my back and pricking my ass cheeks. I did my best to remember what I could of last night’s outing.

“Okay, there was drinking at the barn…and then Karissa…and then more drinking…and Karissa…”

“Don’t forget Karissa’s prick new boyfriend she cheated on you with.”

As if I needed the reminder.

“Then I vaguely recall Brett Parker handing us a brownie,” I added.

“Okay, you got almost everything, minus the part where you made out with a guy.”

I certainly hadn’t forgotten that bit. That kiss shocked the hell out of me, as much as it must’ve that guy.

“Fuck.” I thought about all the feelings that returned when Karissa wanted to “talk”—and about fucking what? The summer she spent telling me she was taking extra shifts teaching horseback-riding while apparently