Page 98 of Once Upon a Lie

“Mr. Miller?” he asks.

“Your tourist alter ego, of course. You’re on a bachelor trip with the boys—the only single one left in the group, looking to get frisky with a cute little thing in Nashville. You teach at a high school in Ohio. Gym class and American history, and you’re looking to expand your worldview. You’re really confident in your ability to pick someone up—probably because you fill out your pants.”

Shane guffaws at my extensive description. “So, Mr. Miller, a monster from Ohio. Got it. And what’s yours?”

“I don’t know. Who do I look like I should be?” I ask, stepping back enough to let him take in my frilly blue dress and thigh-high boots. It’s just wild enough that no one will question why I’m not in costume and, hopefully, just sexy enough to make Shane drop his pants and put his cock inside me again.

I went whole hog tonight, determined to break our dry spell of sex. And if I have to drag him into the bathroom of a dive bar, I’ll do it.

Because I want sex again, dammit. And I want it now.

“I don’t know who you look like from fucking Ohio, but I know you look fucking deadly.”

I laugh. “Good. Let’s just call me Eve, then.”

“Eve?”

“Like a poison apple?”

He shakes his head. “Eve didn’t eat a poison apple, just a regular one.” I snort as I realize he’s right, but he waves away the faux pas with ease, babbling to make me feel better. “You can be Eve, but not because of an apple. Because you’re the purest, most genuine woman I’ve ever met, and being in your presence, I swear, doesn’t even feel real.”

“That’s some really corny shit, New Guy.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

I stop him right there on the street and get up on my toes to kiss him. He answers in kind, tangling his hands in the long fall of my hair behind me and coming up for air only when someone in a ghost mask whistles at us.

“Okay.” Shane smiles down at me. “I guess Broadway isn’t so bad.”

“You a fan of ghosts?”

He shakes his head. “I’m a fan of you.”

“Ditto, baby.” I smile, press another quick kiss to his lips, and grab his hand. “Come on. Let’s just find one bar to go into, and then we can call it an early night. We’ll go home and get comfortable.”

“All right. A bar or two or three. Whatever you want,” he says, changing his tune. “Whatever you want.”

“One bar,” I correct, holding up a finger to emphasize the point. And then we’re going home and having sex in a bed again so I can see what Shane Maddox is fully capable of.

“Whatever you say. But picking a bar is going to be the hard part. There are only one million of them between here and the next block.”

I laugh, considering the string of neon lights ahead of us and picking out all the signs I can to try and read them. They all sound fine, but it isn’t until I see one that stands out that I actually get excited.

“Wait! That one. Honky Tonk Parade! I’ve heard of it before. Supposedly, there’s some guy that gets onstage with the band every time he comes and basically takes over. He wears a hat and crowd-surfs and, evidently, doesn’t have too bad of a voice. I wonder if he’s there tonight!”

He shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so negative! I bet he is there.” I grab his hand and take off toward the neon light out front, searching for the name of the stupid legend guy in my mind. I know I saw it on a Nashville blog when I was fresh out of college, looking for things to do . . .

“Oh!” I yell as it hits me. “The Karaoke Cowboy! That’s what they call him!”

The sidewalk is a parade of bad decisions—sexy nurses, cowboys with fangs, a guy in a banana suit arguing with a pirate—and I bounce up and down in front of Shane as we get in the line waiting to get in, and his eyes drift to the bounce of my breasts beautifully, convincing me I can get Shane to make a bad decision of his own.

I smile. Oh yeah, I’m getting laid tonight.

35

Shane