On the Rox Page 5

  I readied myself for my first date in years by doing what I did best—again cranking one out. If her gaze alone could make me come in my pants, I wasn’t risking if she accidentally brushed up against me. I could only imagine how her skin would feel, sliding against mine. I thought of her hovering above me, our faces framed with her dark locks. That mischievous grin of hers sent my cock into instant spasms.

  I heard the familiar slam of her car door as she pulled out of her driveway. I’d already become used to the way she shut her door, all loud and with no care at all. As if she wanted her neighbors to know that Rox was home and they’d better watch out. Over the past week, I’d come to learn her routines. She screeched out of her driveway a little after seven in the morning on workdays. Sometimes, she would circle back and run inside and grab something she’d forgotten, usually her coffee.

  I would sip my coffee in the morning, looking out over the kitchen window and watching her go. The way her hip bones peeked out from her low-slung jeans when she bent over was enough visual to help me start my morning off right. The slightest hint of a tattoo showed on her lower back, and I ached to discover just what it was one day. Sometimes, I would hear the loud rumble of The Pink Taco Truck idling in her drive, right before three quick and rude honks, which always jostled my nerves.

  The woman in the driver’s seat would stick her head out the window, calling to Rox, “Good morning, sunshine!”

  But my favorite part of hearing that car door slam was at nighttime. The sound it made was a much slower, exhausted slam than the frantic morning commotion. When I heard her slam that door, I knew she was home safe. I had only been at home to hear it twice last week, but when I did, I’d scurry up my stairs, hide in the shadows, and peer out my window. I’d mentally trace her steps throughout the house by each light that flickered on. What I imagined was her living room light would flip on first, followed by a kitchen light, and finally, the room upstairs.

  Sometimes, I would catch her glimpse out the window and into mine. Of course, this sent my body shamefully barreling backward every time. I didn’t want her to think I was a stalker because I wasn’t.

  Am I?

  There was something about Rox that drew me to her as I’d never been attracted to anyone before, and yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. She was just so … different than my norm.

  Every time the lights turned off in her room, I would lie down in my bed and imagine what it would be like to be lying beside her—and not just fucking either. I wanted to hear her breaths slow and soften as she drifted off into sleep. I wanted to wrap her up in blankets, putting my nose to the back of her neck to breathe her in.

  I wanted more than sex with her, but the hint of hesitation I’d heard in her voice when we last spoke let me know that she was, for some reason, cautious of me. I probably shouldn’t have watched her peep show that first night—or at least, I shouldn’t have let her know I was watching it … and enjoying it.

  I sighed, cleaned myself up, and ordered my Uber. If I planned on getting laid tonight, I would need a drink or three. I had been out of the game for far too long.

  I double-checked my reflection in the mirror and made sure that I wasn’t too overdressed for The Lounge. That first night I’d been there, I’d felt like a fish out of water in my tie and sports jacket. Aiden hadn’t bothered to tell me the bar had an atmosphere of dark, gloomy, and grunge.

  Figures.

  I straightened my shirt, tucking it in and out several times before finally settling on tucking it in for good. I wanted to be myself, but I didn’t want her to keep thinking I was a pretentious arsehat either. I ran my fingertips through my hair with a tiny dab of gel, spiking it messily on my head instead of my usual prim-and-proper look. I even became ballsy and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt.

  Satisfied, I winked at myself in the mirror and even blew my reflection a kiss. Again, the endorphins—and Rox—were making my brain fuzzy. My phone dinged in my pocket, alerting me that my ride would be here in a moment. I hurried out the door and braced myself for a date with the wild woman next door.

  I made my way to the same back corner table where her group of friends had sat at the last time I was here. I elbowed my way to her, the dark-headed goddess who had mysteriously cast me under her spell. Even here, in the dim light, she lit up that dark corner like a single golden ray of sunlight. Everyone else around her faded to black.

  “You made it.” She stood to greet me and smiled. “Jay, I want you to meet Betty, Nikki, Layla, and Earl. We’re all owners of The Pink Taco Truck.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” I gave a little wave at the curious eyes staring back at me.

  “The pleasure is mine!” Layla jumped up out of her seat and took my hand, shaking it. “That accent! Wow. Are you French?”

  “Calm down, sugar. Don’t you know a British accent when you hear one?” Earl groaned, rising to his feet to reach across the table and introduce himself properly.

  “Actually, I’m from Australia. But that’s all right. We are a bit like Texans with British accents. Close enough, I suppose.” I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Down Under, eh?” Nikki twirled her cocktail straw before pulling it out of her drink and sliding it sideways between her lips, wetting them. “Sounds … interesting. I heard men from over there are wild. Great outback and all. You guys like to do it all. Wrestle gators, trap bears with your hands, wring a snake’s neck.”

  Wring a snake’s neck? I wondered if Rox had told them about me jerking off.

  I looked around for a waitress. The time to start drinking had come.

  “We don’t have bears, but—” I started.

  “Nikki! Why are you stereotyping this poor man? Jeez Louise. Welcome to ’Murica, Jay man. Be prepared to be stereotyped.” Betty rolled her eyes.

  “I, uh … that’s okay. I don’t think Americans know a lot about Australia. Your school systems don’t—” I began before noticing each pair of eyes snap to me.

  The ladies’ postures prickled. Earl sat back, nodding.

  “Let’s go over here where we can discuss business, Jay.” Rox pulled me away to a tiny, empty table far enough not to hear the conversation coming from the taco truck gang but close enough so that I could still see them scoping me out.

  “Did I say something wrong?” I pulled her chair out for her.

  “What are you doing?” She stood, glancing at me and back down to the chair.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? Pulling your chair out? Am I doing something wrong again? Is there some cultural thing in America I don’t know about? Please tell me. I don’t want to offend anyone. It’s not my intent. No use in getting started on the wrong foot. Do I need to tuck it back in? I know you can do it yourself and all. I can’t help it. Comes naturally. Gentleman until the end.”

  I grabbed the back of the chair again, ready to push it forward before she put her hand on mine, stopping me. The warmth of her palm sent a spark up my arm and into my gut, punching it and knocking me out of breath.

  “No, no. You’re fine. It’s fine. I’m just not used to chivalry, is all.” She lowered herself into the chair and tapped the one next to her, beckoning me over. “Start talking Shizzle.” She smiled up at me.

  I slowly breathed again, realizing I had been holding my breath since she touched me.

  “Let’s get down to business, of course. We hope to open ourselves to more local markets—the smaller ones. We want to serve your products in our restaurant. We realize it is a big undertaking, given you work on a small scale and we are much larger, but we would like to offer you our kitchen for prep. Also, we would buy it outright from you, so we don’t have to worry about profit sharing.”

  “What would your steakhouse use Shizzle Sauce for? You guys don’t have tacos. I can’t imagine anything on your menu meshing with it. I’m just confused. It’s weird.”

  “Braised pork belly. We’re thinking about offering a few select entrées featuring some of the more popular local item
s. Your Shizzle Sauce is shouted out from every social media platform known. People love your style, your food, your menu, you. We don’t only want to be thought of as … what did you call us … pretentious arsehats?”

  “I see. You want more of the local scene. Something Outer Forks. What does an Aussie know about Outer Forks?” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. Her long, dark locks spilled over her shoulders, down to her elbows.

  “My mum was from here. We spent a lot of time back and forth, growing up. Dual citizenship. It’s just been a very long while since I’ve been here.” I cleared my throat, mentally thanking the waitress who interrupted us to take our drink order.

  “Beer. Anything on tap. Something local, please,” I chimed in, noticing the corners of Rox’s mouth turn up.

  “Local beer it is for me too, Sal.” She winked at the waitress. “Now, you were saying. Your mom lives here?”

  “Lived.” I rubbed my palms down the thighs of my jeans and turned my attention toward the stage. My knee bounced steadily under the table.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said, barely audible.

  “For?” I looked back at her.

  Her long eyelashes fluttered down as she reached across the table and squeezed my arm. Electricity. The sparks from her fingertips sent the hairs on my arms standing at attention.

  “Your loss.”

  “How—”

  “Because I’m me. And I’ve been through a lot. And I can recognize pain when I see it.” Her eyes were no longer focused on me but in the distance toward the stage. “These women you’re about to see, they all have that talent too. Watch.” She nodded at the lady who stood at the microphone onstage, clutching her paper in a death grip and looking out over the crowd.

  I listened to over an hour’s worth of poems as I sipped my beer and became uncomfortable as fuck. Every few minutes, a new woman would step up onto the stage and pour out her life for all of us to see, but to my surprise, the room wasn’t full of sniffles and tears. Some of the poetry was a riot, but most of the poems ripped my soul to shreds. Still, despite the sadness, the atmosphere in the room was positive, uplifting, and female—almost all females. My balls shriveled in my pants.

  “What do you think?” Rox nudged me with her elbow.

  “I think there isn’t enough beer in the world to make me feel better about my species.” I shook my head.

  “I think we’ve found something in common then. Bottoms up!” She clinked her bottle to mine.

  “Cheers, mate! Do you really do this every month?” I tipped my beer back, turning my body to face her during an intermission.

  “Every. Single. One. The Pink Taco Truck sponsors it, and we donate ten percent of our proceeds.”

  “You cook here?”

  “No. Our truck is parked outside. Didn’t you see it? I don’t know how you missed it! We have a subteam that works sometimes, and they take over on nights like this. DTF likes to be inside, supporting the women.”

  “DTF? Did I hear that right? Down to fuck?” I shook my head. The alcohol had clearly hit me. I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping I had heard her right.

  “Dirty. Tough. Female. Not down to fuck, but …” She scooted her chair closer to mine. “Repeat it in that accent of yours, and we will see.”

  “Oh.” I fumbled my bottle down to the table, nearly spilling the few drops that were left. I needed those drops and preferably something even stronger.

  I’d never had a woman come on to me so brazenly before. I would have to tell Aiden. He was right—both about the accent and about these women.

  I discreetly leaned into the table, fanning out my elbows and mentally urging my pits to stop sweating before she noticed my wet pit stains growing. If my armpits could cry, this was what it would be like.

  “I can tell you anything you’d like with my accent. Ever learned how to bathe a monkey?” I whispered into her ear.

  “So, we selling the sauce to Crocodile Dundee over here or what?” Betty plopped herself down on a chair in front of us, interrupting the most play I’d had in years.

  “What do you think? He said they’d buy it outright, and ten percent of proceeds from sales will have to go to the women’s shelter. Isn’t that right, Jay?” Rox ran her heel up the back of my calf under the table.

  “Whatever you say. I mean … aye. Of course, we would do that! Scarlett Herb is all about giving back to the community.” I jerked my head up and down, nodding at the both of them while shifting in my seat. My cock had thickened as soon as Rox scooted in closer to me.

  “Moving on up, Rox. Don’t put our Shizzle on some shit, Jay.” Betty stood to go, narrowing her eyes down at me.

  “Never.” I pulled at my collar.

  These Outer Forks women were going to be the death of me.

  “About that monkey. I don’t know how to bathe a monkey, but I’ve learned how you like to spank your monkey.” She played with her empty beer bottle she’d nursed all night and inched even closer to me. Her thighs brushed against mine, making my cock leap up and my pants pitch a tent.

  “I thought we weren’t mentioning that ever again!”

  “I liked it. I want to watch it again. You know, a walk of shame between our two houses isn’t so bad, if you want a proper welcome to America. Southern hospitality and all.” She shrugged her tiny bird-like shoulders. Her lips parted in a grin, begging for me to stick my dick between them.

  “Let me get an Uber.” I huffed, fumbling with my phone. I was out of breath like I’d jogged here from back home—Australia. I clutched my chest, not even sure I could breathe.

  “Ride with me. Come to my place,” she purred.

  I could only blink and nod as she stood up and tugged my arm for me to follow her out.

  We quickly made our exit, waving good-bye to the DTF group. They watched us like hawks as we left. I heard the ding from Rox’s phone as soon as we settled into her car.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yep. Let’s go.” She slammed her car door and sped off in the direction of our neighborhood.

  Four

  Rox

  Betty: Are you sure?

  Me: Yes.

  Betty: You know the red flags.

  Me: I know. He hasn’t had any yet.

  Betty: Yet.

  I slid my phone back into my purse. Of course I wasn’t going to pass up on a chance to bang this hot piece of wonder from Down Under. He had said all the right things to me and in that panty-melting accent. I couldn’t resist. I glanced over at him as he buckled his seat belt and leaned back into the seat, fidgeting with his hands.

  “Jay?” I asked.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re okay with going back to my place, right? I can drop you off at yours, no problem, if you don’t want to hang out. You look nervous.”

  “I am nervous. It’s been a very long time for me. But I wouldn’t turn down a chance with you for anything. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night I saw you in the window. I’m drawn to you.”

  Draaawn. I bit my lip, and in my head, I tried to produce the sound he’d made.

  “I’m drawn to you too. Not sure why. I’m used to the more rugged type, not pretentious—”

  “Arsehats?” he asked.

  Arse …

  “Right. You’re not my type. No offense. I still find you hot as fuck and want to see your rocket blast off again. I’m just not used to the stuffy, straitlaced type with the button-down, sports jacket, styled hair, and clever tongue.” I emphasized clever tongue in my best Aussie accent, failing miserably. It came out as a lisp—a bubbled, butchered lisp.

  “So, you think just because I own a white-tableclothed restaurant, my attire is business casual, I’m well-groomed, and I speak the truth in my native tongue, that makes me not your type? Stuffy? Does that mean you think I can’t get dirty?”

  “Not as dirty as me. But let’s get back to your native tongue. I like this tongue. I’d like to hear the way your Rs
sound muffled between my thighs.” I reached over and grabbed his cock as he let out a yelp. “See? I might be too wild for you. Maybe you can’t handle me.”

  Without missing a beat, he cocked his head to the side and grinned, unzipping his pants and pulling himself out. I had seen it from a distance before and known already that it was almost so long that it could tickle the ceiling, but up close, it never ended.

  Yes, please.

  My tires squealed as I swerved my car to the left, narrowly missing the ditch.

  “What are you doing? You can’t whip your dick out and distract me when I’m driving! You’re going to get us killed!”

  I quickly glanced at him and put my eyes back on the road. His face was white with horror as he clutched his dick in his hand like it was the stick shift and he was trying to save us.

  “Fuck! I was trying to be wild.” He flinched, rubbing his strangled peter before gently tucking it back inside his pants.

  I reached out, stopping his hand. “No. Keep it out. Keep playing. We’re almost home,” I said, turning into our neighborhood.

  “All right,” he growled. His hand went back to his cock, stroking it while he situated himself back into the seat. His other hand reached across for my thigh, pulling it toward him as he spread my legs.

  I pulled into my driveway and slammed on the brakes, throwing my seat belt off in a ravenous fit.

  It had been far too long for me also. The last few men I’d played with were months ago. They were friends with benefits, except their benefits expired the second they began falling for me. I’d felt nothing for them despite their efforts to win me over. Dead inside. That was me. After my ex-asshole-boyfriend, Tommy, I hadn’t thought I could ever feel passion again.

  But what I’d thought was a lost cause suddenly seemed to ignite in my loins again. Passionate, raw, hot, sweaty, dirty, animalistic desire flickered throughout my veins when Jay was around—and it wasn’t just the sight of his explosive cock on steroids either that made me feel that way. Or his come fuck me accent. Or his rugged jawline. Or his piercing brown eyes. Or …