Page 8 of The Fed Sex Man

Her cheeks flushed from pink to red. “Oh, I uhhm,” she stammered. “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

Her cowgirl counterpart stepped to her side. “She’d love to.”

“No,” Jo insisted. “It’s probably not a good idea. I’ve got to get—”

Her coworker led her away by the wrist. After a moment of inaudible whispering, the look on Jo’s face softened.

Cowgirl shifted her gaze to meet mine. “She’d love to.”

“Sooo.” I leaned to the side, looking beyond the cowgirl, who now stood between Jo and me. When Jo met my gaze, I raised my brows. “Which is it?”

Jo’s face remained ruby red. Nonetheless, standing before me in her sleeveless black dress with her hair pulled into a perfectly imperfect bun, she was strikingly beautiful.

“I uhhm…sure…” She adjusted her glasses. “We can get something to eat.”

Cowgirl struggled to keep her shallow grin from morphing into a toothy smile.

“I’ll see you at seven,” I said.

The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Okay.”

I offered a smile, nodded, and then turned away. Just before I reached the door, Cowgirl stepped in front of me and pulled it open.

“If you do anything to hurt her,” she said under her breath. “I’ll dig your eyes out with a fucking spoon.”

I stutter-stepped and grabbed the door’s frame to stabilize myself. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not joking,” she said dryly. “Not even a little bit. I’ll dig ‘em out and flush ‘em down the freaking toilet.”

I gave her a quick look-over, waiting for her to laugh. The laughter never came. Nervously, I broke her glare and turned toward my truck.

The last thing I needed in my life was vengeance-seeking spoon-wielding maniac.