Deadwood Nights

“Later that night, I was sitting with my feet up on the coffee table, the fireplace burning, and a glass of red wine in my hand as I thought about Marco. The man did the bad-boy vibe perfectly. His beach-boy blond waves that touched his shoulders and those icy-blue eyes that took in everything around him. He did the day-old scruff thing, giving him that careless, rugged appeal. Obviously, the man worked out. He wasn’t big like a football player, but he was solid. The first time I saw him take his shirt off when we were playing volleyball at Billy’s place, I drooled down the front of my shirt. Delaney still teased me about it.
The guy was a mass of well-formed muscle, from his sculpted arms all the way down that perfect ass to his legs that filled his jeans to perfection. I hadn’t decided if summer Marco, shirtless and sporting board shorts, was my favorite, or Marco in worn-out jeans with his beat-up leather jacket on his Harley was my favorite. Either way, I wasn’t giving into anything yet. Until I knew where his head was, I would not allow mine to get messed up with an attraction that would end up going nowhere. I’d cried enough tears over a guy to last the rest of my life.”