Free Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) by Lauren Gilley Page B

judgement.
                  “Hi,” he greeted. A nice voice; one made for telephone conversations and radio stations.
                  “Hello.”
                  His grin widened. “Do you remember my name?”
                  She speared a hunk of potato with her fork. “Will you be flattered if I do?”
                  He laughed. “Maybe.”
                  “Sorry, I don’t.” Which was the truth, but she softened it with a grin.
                  He laughed again. “Fox wasn’t right about you, was he?”
                  “What did he say?” she asked, just as the uncle in question joined them.
                  “Oh, nothing.” Fox shrugged. “The usual – ‘she’s a bit of a shrew, she doesn’t like the lads.’ That sort of thing.”
                  She had to laugh, disbelieving. “Are you serious?”
                  “Only looking out for your reputation, love.” He snagged the hunk of buttered bread off her plate and devoured it in three too-big bites. “Wouldn’t want the likes of this one sniffing after you.”
                  “How sweet.”
                  “It’s Gringo, by the way,” the stranger said, grinning and glancing between them.
                  “That sounds like a story,” Michelle said.
                  “I can tell you over dinner,” he suggested.
                  Fox snorted rudely.
                  Michelle gestured to her plate with her fork.
                  “A drink, then,” he amended. “Some of us are heading over to the Armadillo.”
                  A mental image of an armadillo popped into her head: the armored, snuffling, aardvark-looking creatures she’d only ever seen online and in animal books as a child. No place named after one of those could possibly be dignified or pretentious.
                  “A drink,” she said, and wanted to salivate at the idea of one. In the whole mad rush to get to Tennessee and then Texas, she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. A craving kicked hard in her stomach. “We’re sitting at a bar now, though.”
                  “Yeah.” He gave her another lethal grin. “But the scenery’s better there.”
                  She couldn’t remember the last time someone had flirted with her. It just didn’t happen at home, where everyone lived in fear of her father or was related to her. When had it been? Maybe Paul, his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh beneath one of the pub tables, whiskey breath against her neck, when no one was looking.
                  She missed it terribly, suddenly, feeling female. That romantic human connection; being touched, kissed, wanted. With Paul, she’d realized that she craved the physical side of their relationship. She could be worn out and sated, and all he had to do was pass a fingertip up her back and she was rolling toward him in the dark, inviting his mouth down to hers. Something had been missing with the two of them. Oh how she’d cried when he ended things, but while they were together, she’d had the sense of reaching, trying to grab hold of something that wasn’t there.
                  She didn’t for a second think Gringo had what she was after. But he was good-looking, and cheeky, and maybe most of all, he was interested.
                  A little ashamed of herself, she said, “What’s the scenery like?”
                  His grin widened, and she saw a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll love it.”
                  Fox’s elbow dug into her back. “You can tell him to fuck off, pet. Everyone does.”
                  She ignored her uncle. “Who’s going?”
                  “Me, and Cowboy, and maybe Pup.