CAN’T TEXT THIS by Teagan Hunter just went live!!
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“Hi Monty. Wanna see my python?”
That’s how I ended up in the bathroom of some dive bar with a stranger.
Me, Monty Andrews, the quintessential virgin girl next door.
I was so out of my element, but there was no denying our explosive attraction, even via text.
Commence Operation Bang Each Other Out of Our Systems, because that was all it was—unfinished business.
I had no intention of falling back into the sheets with the tattooed, muscly, dirty-in-the-best-kind-of-way single dad over and over again…but I did.
Everything was going great—until we discovered I was his son’s teacher.
“Shit. You okay?”
“I’m good, just hit my head on the soap dispenser. Don’t stop.”
The stranger chuckles. “Didn’t plan on it, Monty.”
I giggle when he says my name, partially because I’m a little tipsy, and partially because it reminds me of when he first said it.
“Hey, I’m Monty.”
“Hi Monty. Wanna see my python?”
He uttered the words with a cocky grin, and I was a goner.
In my defense, that was the best pickup line out of all the guys tonight, and since I’m determined to enjoy myself since starting fresh in a new town, here I am: perched on the bathroom counter at a dive bar named Lola’s with a guy I only just met.
He’s a new adventure, and I’m enjoying the exploration.
His touch is gentle, yet firm in the best of ways. Large hands grasp my waist, holding tight enough for him to leave red marks but not bruise. It’s sexy, makes me feel safe, warm, alive.
Or that could be his lips roaming over my jaw. His stubble rakes over my skin, and I live for this moment.
I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t me. I’m not this girl. I don’t make out with strangers. Heck, I don’t even pick up guys in bars. I’m your average Mary Jane, the girl next door.
I know it and I own it.
I don’t have a single come hither bone in my body, but there was something about the way this man’s eyes slid over me that made me feel worthy of his kisses.
Or it’s the booze talking.
Yeah, it could be the booze.
His lips travel down the side of my neck and I lean into him, enjoying the contact more than I probably should. The kisses are slow and wet and perfect. He runs a hand up my back and into my hair, wrapping it around his fingers and pulling lightly until my head is tilted just where he wants it.
He runs his nose along the column of my neck, and I’m so stupid over this, thinking it’s the hottest thing ever.
“You smell like beer and sweat and flowers.” A soft kiss. “Why flowers?” he mutters.
I don’t answer him.
He’s captured my mouth with his again.
He moves his lips slowly against mine, learning and teasing, seeing what he can get away with, seeing how we fit together.
The hand that was entwined in my hair is now cupping my face, and the pressure he’s putting on my jaw is…hot. It’s not too much, but it’s not enough either.
His tongue finds its way inside my mouth and I nearly come apart. Such finesse. Certainty.
This guy knows how to kiss.
TEAGAN HUNTER is a Missouri-raised gal, but currently lives in North Carolina with her US Marine husband, where she spends her days begging him for a cat. She survives off coffee, pizza, and sarcasm. When she’s not writing, you can find her binge-watching various TV shows, especially Supernatural and One Tree Hill. She enjoys cold weather, buys more paperbacks than she’ll ever read, and never says no to brownies. For more information, please visit www.teaganhunterwrites.com.
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