The Hot New Bartender in Town (Welcome to Kiss County #3)

Chapter 3

3

TISH

N oting the lack of railing, I take each step carefully on the way down.

I expect... exactly what a girl expects when entering a room nestled beneath a bar, but as I poke my head into the open doorway, I find myself pleasantly surprised.

It’s an apartment. Not too big, but large enough to fit a full-sized mattress and a dresser with three drawers along the far right wall. There’s a kitchenette along the left side; recently renovated by my guess with brand new appliances and a small table big enough for two to eat comfortably. In the opposite corner sits an L-shaped brown couch and a coffee table.

Very cozy.

And sitting upon the table is an acoustic guitar.

I smile instantly. “Do you play?”

“I play,” Riley answers. “Do you want something to drink?”

I give him my best flirty eyes. “If you need some liquid courage first, don’t let me stop you,” I tease as I approach the guitar. “May I?”

“Sure.”

I sit down on the couch. Setting my handbag on the floor by my feet, I take the moment to look over my new surroundings as he fetches two beers from the refrigerator. “I didn’t even know this place existed down here,” I say as I pick up the guitar and balance it on my knee.

“It didn’t,” Riley answers. “This was all storage space until Jake had it renovated. He meant to live here himself, but decided to rent it out instead. Or, that’s what he told me, anyway.”

Riley approaches the couch and offers me a beer. I take it with a nod, sipping once before setting it down and giving the guitar strings a brief strum.

“It’s nice,” I say, glancing around. “Really nice, actually.”

“I thought so. Cheap, too.”

“Noisy, though?”

“Eh...” He shrugs. “Not too bad.”

I strum the guitar again. “Awesome.”

Riley sips his beer, then nods at the guitar. “Do you play?”

“Oh, no,” I answer, happy to hand it over. “I just sing.”

He takes the instrument from me, magically producing a pick from his pocket as he rests the guitar over his knee. He strums it twice, the sound far more pleasing to the ear than when I did it, and begins plucking the strings.

“Can you sing this song?” he asks.

I nod, instantly recognizing the notes. “Not my favorite track by him, but I can sing it.”

Riley furrows a brow, his sharp eyes studying me for a brief second before his hand shifts position along the fret, abruptly ending the song. He begins a different song by the same artist.

“Ah,” I say, grinning. “That’s more like it.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, playing the intro.

“You’re supposed to be singing me a song,” I point out.

“And I will,” he says. “Humor me for a moment while my liquid courage sinks in.”

I smile. So does he, as I sit up tall and clear my throat. Together, we enter the first verse. I sing softly and he plays even softer, matching my intensity as the chorus approaches.

As we reach it, Riley parts his lips and I nearly gasp when his voice rises to meet mine. We sing together, our lyrics syncing as he strums, our voices blending in the most perfect way. His, a low and sexy baritone. Mine, a more mezzo-soprano sound. Together, in perfect, breathtaking harmony.

We play out the rest of the song, Riley ending it with a soft strum that echoes into the silence.

“Wow,” I say, swallowing hard. “You sing beautifully, Riley.”

“Not as well as you do,” he says.

“No, that was... fuck!”

He chuckles, looking down. “It was all right.”

“And you play...” I shake my head. “That was incredible. You’re really talented.”

“Eh, anyone can cover a song.” He glances at me and smiles. “We sound good together, though.”

I nod, barely breathing. “Yeah. We do.”

We lock eyes, softly staring at each other, the space between us riddled with silent, electric tension. It crackles within me, too; a throbbing ache taking hold between my crossed thighs.

He looks me over, the intent in his gaze more than obvious. “Do you want to play another song?” he asks.

“Kinda want to make out, actually.”

“Thank fuck.”

Riley drops the guitar on the coffee table as I launch toward him on the couch. The instant our mouths touch, a surge of heat curls throughout my core. I straddle him, my knees sinking into the couch as his hands come to rest on my upper thighs.

Our kiss deepens with touching tongues and tender moans. I run my fingers through his clean, thick hair. He dares to slide his hands beneath my skirt, his warm palms finding their way to my ass.

“Meow.”

I startle at the sudden third presence in the room. Perched on the edge of the coffee table next to Riley’s guitar sits a black cat with a bright red collar wrapped around its neck.

“You have a cat?” I ask.

“What?” Riley asks, prying his lips from my neck to look. “Oh, yeah. Well, no.”

“No?”

“He was here when I moved in,” he says, clearly more interested in squeezing my ass than answering the question. “He kinda just comes and goes. Jake said he keeps the mice away.”

“Aw,” I say, smiling as the cat simply stares at us. “What a fierce little guard cat. What’s his name?”

“Jake.”

“I meant the cat.”

“Yeah.”

I screw up my nose. “You named him Jake?”

“No, Jake did.”

“Jake named a stray cat after himself?”

Riley nods. “Yep.”

I shake my head. “Actually, yeah. That sounds like something he’d do.”

We chuckle before diving right back into each other. With a curl of his arm, Riley spins us around, planting me softly on my back on the couch and positioning himself between my open thighs. We kiss and touch, becoming less and less the strangers we were just an hour ago. Unable to shake the feeling of being watched, I peek at the black cat out of the corner of my eye.

He’s still there.

Still... staring.

“Can you...” I place a hand on Riley’s chest to stop him. “Make him stop staring at us like that? I feel so judged.”

Riley glances at him and chuckles. “Jake,” he says, his voice firm. “Get down.”

The cat does nothing.

“Go away,” Riley says. “Go hunt. Go play.”

Still, nothing.

“Jake,” I say sweetly. “Please go away.”

The cat hops down off the table and disappears into a shadowed corner.

“Damn,” Riley says. “That word really is magic.”

“You work in customer service,” I tease. “You should know that.”

“I’ll make a note,” he says, eager to steal another kiss.

I let him have one, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer. With our lower bodies flush together, I roll my hips in a slow grind that sends bolts of heat through my core. I gasp softly; the pleasing kisses made better by the teasing rub between my thighs.

Riley hums against my lips. “Oh, do that again,” he whispers.

I grind us together, and he groans.

“Fuck.” He kisses me harder, deeper. “You feel so good.”

I drag my fingers down his back, sliding my hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “So do you.”

He moves with me, pushing his groin against mine as I roll, and we tremble. I ache to feel him already, to feel skin against skin. As I move my hands, slipping my fingers beneath his white T-shirt, he does the same, pushing his hand up my shirt to cup my breast over the bra. My nipples harden from the attention, sending another aching wave of pleasure down my spine.

We kiss and tease, our bodies tingling, our nerves ignited. When I roll my hips again, I feel the length of his erection pushing hard against his zipper. Riley releases an aching groan, his tongue curled around mine.

“Riley,” I whisper, my body on fire.

“Tish,” he replies, the name sounding so very good.

“How far are we going here?”

His lips curl against mine. “How far do you want to go?”

“How far do you want to go?”

A deep kiss, full of thought. “We both say it on three.”

“Okay,” I say in agreement. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Silence.

We crack up, our fully clothed bodies entwined on the couch. “Riley,” I whine.

“Hey, you didn’t answer, either.”

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” I say, catching my breath as the words spill out of me. Feeling bold beneath him, I nod at my handbag by the table. “I have a condom. In my bag.”

“I have some, too,” he says.

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Then...” I swallow hard. “We should use one.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, also swallowing. “Let’s.”

“Let’s.”

He pauses. “Now?”

I nod. “Oh, yeah.”