Samantha Hunter - Pick Me Up

“I picked him up on the side of the road, and that’s not exactly a safe way to meet someone.”

“Is there a safe way to meet anyone? Nothing’s ever that cut and dried, I’m afraid. I met one of the creepiest men I’ve ever known in church.”

“You go to church?” Lauren teased.

“It was for my niece’s baptism, and don’t deflect. Your cowboy doesn’t sound like a drifter or a bum, from what you said.”

“No,” Lauren said, out of excuses. “I didn’t get that impression either.”

“So what happened to no wimps allowed?”

“There’s a difference between wimpy and stupid.”

“They sound like the same thing in this case.”

“Hey!”

“Hey back. People hook up like this all the time, Lauren. Airplanes, parties, bars. The one-night stand is an American classic, and if done right, with the right guy, it can be something that will make you smile at the memory when you’re eighty.”

Becky was right. Lauren knew she was right.

That’s why she’d called her, to get some much needed courage. Somewhere in this motel, her supersexy cowboy was sitting alone in his room. She wanted to be daring, sexy and spontaneous, but she was wimping out; she’d known Becky wouldn’t let her get away with it.

“Lauren, it’s one night. An adventure, remember? Go take your cowboy for a ride.”

Taking a deep breath, Lauren dug through her large suitcase and pried back the layers of her jeans and T-shirts to retrieve what she was looking for. Finding the package she slowly drew away the tissue, and took in the layers of luxurious black satin.

“I guess this could be as good a time as any to try out the dress,” she said with a sigh, holding the shiny fabric in her fingers. The cut of the strapless dress was deceptively simple. She’d bought it on a no-holds-barred shopping trip with Becky the day her divorce had been finalized; it had cost a fortune. She’d never worn it except in the dressing room.

She knew the silky material clung to every curve, not to mention showing off a few she hadn’t been aware of. Reaching inside her case, she found a thong, sheer strapless bra and garters with hose. She’d thought it was a waste of space in her sparse luggage, but she couldn’t bear to leave them behind.

“That dress was made just for a situation like this. He won’t stand a chance.”

“I guess I’m afraid of what might happen—what if he thinks I’m a tease, or a downright slut? What if I go down there dressed like this and can’t go through with it? What if—”

“Stop what-iffing. Breathe.”

“Becky, I was married for so long, I just don’t know.” Her doubts rang in her mind like a five-alarm fire, and she dropped the dress, watching it collapse into an onyx pool on the bed.

“Lauren, honey, Wes took seven years of your life—don’t let him keep getting in your way. You thought you were playing it safe with him, and look what you ended up with. Believe me, you need to do this. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—it’s dinner, right? Go to a public place and make sure you have an easy exit route, but do it. And if the best happens, enjoy it. Young Clint Eastwoods aren’t easily come by these days. Enjoy yours.”

Lauren was so tempted, but was she brave enough?

“Listen, hon, gotta client calling in on the other line, gotta go. Have fun. Don’t forget the condoms…”

Condoms? “Becky, I don’t have…”

She stopped, pushing the tissue the dress had been wrapped in aside, and discovered a blue rectangular box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. Spiral specialties that studies confirmed intensified sexual pleasure for men and women, so the box claimed.

“Becky, you are a friend among friends,” she said to the empty room.

Her decision was made. She started peeling off her jeans, walking to the shower, excitement buzzing every nerve ending. Brett was hot, and she could barely remember what sex was like, it had been so long. That part of her marriage had died a quiet death long before her divorce. And Wes, well, he was handsome, in his stockbroker-like way, but he wasn’t a cowboy with dusty, sun-streaked hair and strong, calloused hands.

Stepping out of the shower refreshed a few minutes later, she slipped into the clothes on the bed—the underwear alone made her feel like the sexist woman on earth. The touch of the dress was better than any sex she’d ever had, though maybe it was time to remedy that.

Brett was a question mark, no doubt. It could be the best choice she ever made, or among the worst, but that was what risk was all about, right? She had to do this. Slipping on her low black heels, she took a look in the mirror, applying a scant bit of lipstick, her only makeup.

“You clean up okay, girl.” Pushing up her bust and reorganizing a little, she rebelliously made the most of what nature had given her. Grabbing her purse, she made a line for the door.

She’d find Brett’s room, and see what happened. Maybe he’d changed his mind, or maybe he’d decided to go back to his ranch. If that was the case, so be it. She’d chalk it up and take herself out for a nice dinner. There, she had a Plan B. No need for nerves. There was nothing to lose.

Opening the door, she paused. Running back to her bed, she ripped open the condom box and grabbed a strip of four or five, shoving them deep in her bag like a guilty secret.

“Never can tell,” she whispered before she practically skipped back out the door.

“SO WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?”

Brett laid back on the bed, contemplating Pete’s question and giving his little brother points for not rubbing it in that things with Marsha hadn’t worked out.

“For the moment, stay here. I can meet you up there tomorrow, we can trailer the bike back, and see what the heck blew on it.”

“I mean about Marsha. She took off you know—Howie, too. She put on a huge act, the bride left at the altar. Made me sick. She took your honeymoon tickets and left. I don’t think anyone knows Howie went with her.”

“How discreet of them,” Brett muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I hope they have a great time.” On his dime, he thought bitterly.

“You’re better off without her, though maybe if you’d listened to me you could have sidestepped some of this trouble. I may be younger, but I know a thing or two.”

“Okay, I knew that was coming sooner or later,” Brett groaned. “You never took to her.”

“She’s a bitch, Brett, and she’s always been one. How you never saw it was beyond me. Howie probably wasn’t the first guy she was screwing. Hell, she even came on to me, once.”

Brett tensed. “You never mentioned that.”

“Why would I? She would have denied it, and you would have believed her. You had your head so deep in the ranch you never looked up to see what else was going on.”

Brett shook his head, angry at Pete, but thinking it was probably undeserved, especially since his brother was right. However, Pete also had the luxury of all the things Brett had sacrificed for—Pete had finished his four years at college, and Brett had held down the fort. Pete did his fair share, but Brett held the reins. He took the larger part of managing their legacy.

Pete still held poetic notions of the perfect woman, the perfect relationship. Perfect love. An oxymoron. Brett didn’t want to sound cynical or dismissive of his brother’s values, but the kid spent way too much time reading poetry by Whitman and Neruda, ignoring the harsh realities of life.

“Anyway, can you meet me out there about noon tomorrow?” Guests at the ranch would be out and about, and the staff would be working, which would give him enough time to come home without drawing undue attention. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was sneaking around, and it pissed him off. He had no reason to be ashamed, but he was anyway, and it irked him.