Savannah Past Midnight Read Online Free Page A

and bruised ribs, cowboy.”
    “Gotta give ’em their money’s worth, sweetheart.
Everybody wants a show.”
    “A show. Fighting for entertainment … how
amusing.”
    “Ain’t nothin’ amusing about fightin’. Let me take
you out for a drink, wildcat.”
    “Wildcat?”
    “Hell yeah. Wildcat. Wild. Beautiful. Mysterious.
Feisty as all get out … wildcat. Fuckin’ perfect choice.”
    I flash him a rare smile and say, “You’re a peculiar
one.”
    “Peculiar enough to capture your attention.
That’s all that matters to me.”
    I drink in his impressive chest and full sleeve
tattoos. The edgy work had to have been done by the same artist
because it is all consistent in style, precisely laid out over
gorgeous, lick-worthy biceps.
    He glances down at himself. “I know I’m a filthy
mess, but give me twenty minutes. I promise you that I clean up
well. I’ll take you out anywhere you like. Even put on a shirt with
a collar for ya, darlin’.” He gives me a sly wink.
    Tilting my head to the right, I consider his offer.
“Tempting, cowboy, but I have some business to attend to.”
    I catch the flash of disappointment before he quickly
covers it, though his jaw line tenses up.
    “Business at nearly one thirty in the morning. You a
dealer or somethin’, baby?”
    “If I was, do you think I would share that
information with a virtual stranger? You, cowboy, could be an
undercover cop. Maybe your job is to bust illegal gambling
rings and the nefarious business that it inevitably attracts.
Hmm?”
    He runs his filthy hand across and back over his
medium brown, close-cropped hair, “Nah, I’m sure as hell not a cop,
baby. By the way, why do you keep calling me ‘cowboy’?”
    “Let’s just say that I’ve been around awhile and I
call it like I see it. You are one, aren’t you? Because I’ve
never met a man who wears a battered Carhartt jacket better. Then
there are those fine tattoos, not to mention your scarred-up hands.
You speak like you’ve been living on a ranch most of your life. All
that’s missing is the horse and a dusty Resistol hat.”
    His eyes rapidly drop down to his battered hands
before latching back onto mine as I continue, “ Those are the
reasons I call you ‘cowboy.’ ”
    “Name’s Colton.”
    “So I’ve heard.”
    His chin lifts. “You got one, wildcat?”
    “I do.”
    He shakes his head slowly back and forth and grins,
revealing the miniscule gap between his otherwise flawless front
teeth. “I like a fire in my woman.”
    “Well then, good luck finding that woman.”
    “Just did. Where we off to tonight, sweetheart?”
    Mr. Hoodie jogs over, shouting, “Brennan! Got your
cut from tonight. I’m taking off in a minute. Let’s settle up, man.
You know the cops are always fuckin’ lurkin’ around.” His beady
eyes narrow as he nervously checks over each shoulder.
    I get on my ride as he answers Mr. Twitchy Hoodie,
“Be over in a sec. Meet you at your car.”
    My engine roars to life and he surprises me,
straddling my front wheel. His tan, blood spattered Cat work boots
pin my tire neatly as his huge, bloodied hands plant down on the
handles directly inside of mine. He leans in to whisper
flirtatiously, “C’mon, gimme a chance. Promise you won’t be
disappointed.”
    “No, I can’t. And for the record, I can assure you
that you definitely would be.”
    “What?”
    “Step away, cowboy. I’d hate to add to those
injuries.”
    His eyes narrow as if he’s deep in thought. This
is clearly a man who isn’t accustomed to hearing no … not from
a woman, anyway.
    “Fine, you need your space. I’m on board with that.
But I want one-on-one time with you and I will find a way to
get it. At least tell me your name before you go. Don’t you think
you owe me that after all we’ve been through?”
    “You’re a funny guy. Step back and I’ll consider
it.”
    With a beaming smile he releases the front wheel of
my bike and steps aside. “I like you, wildcat.