Page 9 of Hotshot

I shook my head. “No. Wait, I mean, yes, I do like them. But from afar. I wouldn’t want to ride one.”

“Why not?” he asked, folding his arms over his substantial chest.

“I got thrown off a pony at the county fair when I was a kid and landed in turd. I think it was for a birthday party, and everyone thought it was hysterical. Which was fair. It’s less amusing if you’re the one with poop on your shirt.”

And now Hank was chuckling in earnest. I couldn’t blame him. I was a runaway train fueled by Patrón, passing every viable station at breakneck speed.

“You’re funny.”

“Said no one ever,” I quipped, raking my fingers through my messy dark hair. Time to get the fuck out of here. I waved and hiked a thumb behind me. “Well, nice to meet you. I—oh. Can I get a selfie?”

He furrowed his brow. “You want a selfie with me?”

“Yeah, I have to prove to Trinsky that I mesh you—I mean, met you.”

He stepped closer, thoroughly disarming me with his twinkling eyes and wicked good looks. “Sure.”

I fumbled with my phone and almost dropped it on the pavement. Hank swooped in to save the day, handing it over as he scooted into my space. My mouth went dry but I managed an awkward, cheesy smile, catching a whiff of his cologne as I clicked a photo.

It was probably blurry as fuck, and my eyes were probably crossed. But hey, I’d done it. I’d talked to a hot guy. On my own.

“Thanks. It was nice to meet you.” I slipped my cell into my pocket and stepped toward the door.

“Hang on. I was hoping to talk to you.”

More talking.Shit.

I froze. “Talk? To me?”

“Yeah, you. I should have introduced myself at the bar, but I didn’t want to disturb you while you were with your friends and your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”Wait. No one knows that.Damn it, tequila.

“Oh.”

I shook my head as if to clear the cobwebs, moving to the shadowy part of the eaves when the bar door opened and customers spilled into the parking lot. It wasn’t exactly private, but we were partially hidden from view.

“She’s…we’re—what did you want?”

Hank lifted a brow. “Well, this probably isn’t a great time, but?—”

“No, this is fine.” And curiosity was killing me already. “What is it?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

And there it was.

That enigmatic invitational phrase I associated with indecent proposals and morally problematic ideas. At least that was how it went down in the movies. “I’ll give you a million dollars to fuck a perfect stranger or your boss or your best friend or your best friend’s boss.”You get the picture.

I highly doubted this guy was in the market for a naked good time with yours truly, but in my tequila-addled brain, nothing made sense.

“A proposition?” I squeaked.

“More of a deal or…an arrangement.” Hank pulled a card from his shirt pocket.

I glanced from the business card to the stranger and back, sorting through the clues he’d given me and coming up blank.

“For sex?” tequila asked.