Crossroads

By Cali Moore

Wes always knew where he was going and had since he was a boy. Whether he was hauling a load or mapping his future, his focus was steady. Hauling was a lonely life, a young man's game, and his years were rolling by. He didn't think much about a wife. He had no intention of marrying while hauling and doubted his future held much appeal for most women. Still, he was content.

Becky knew this solo trip across the country was her last chance to do something crazy. The handsome trucker in the gorgeous rig was enough to make her take it. Ever the dutiful daughter, the end of this road meant marriage to a man she didn't love and just once she wanted to do something for herself.

Neither knew during that first encounter that fate had other plans. Their roads keep crossing, bringing them closer, but Wes won't accept that she'd ever be content with the life he can offer. He can't see past the young woman who wanted, just once, to walk on the wild side. But tragedies bring truths and when it strikes, it is Wes who realizes how wrong he is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali Moore
• Release date: May 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393078371

Book preview

Prologue

Wes turned off the CB and cranked up the radio to drown out his less than stellar voice. He always cranked up Radar Love , being one of his favorite driving songs. I-80 was pretty deserted along this stretch and his fingers kept the rhythm by tapping on the steering wheel.

Wes watched the red Corvette quickly gain on him in his rear view mirror. A classic ‘65 with a white convertible top folded back, it was a beaut. It was also on his ass now and he was tempted to slow up just to piss off the blonde driving it. She finally pulled out into the left lane and breezed by him doing something in the vicinity of 85 mph.

Spoiled little idiot, he thought wryly, returning the smile she gave him for the sole reason that she was young and cute.

She pulled back over in front of him and slowed down.

Maybe not so cute, he amended, pulling out to now pass her.

She waved.

He grunted.

No sooner had he pulled back over when she sped up again. A curse left his lips as he considered the fact that she planned to play games with him for the next two hours. It was murder on his gas mileage and as an independent he didn’t have a company charge card. His bills were paid directly out of his pocket. He was debating with himself whether he should slow down to 55 and wait for her to get fed up with the pace or pull off early and get some sleep.

It made no real difference to his schedule to pull off. He scheduled full, not ridiculous, and he could play the hours any way he wanted as long as the load got in on time. Some days he’d drive twelve or more hours, some only half of that. After seventeen years of hauling, Wes knew what he could manage safely and what he couldn’t. He’d been on the road for almost ten hours now and approaching illegal, though the chances of an independent’s log being audited were almost nil if your record was clean. His was so clean it squeaked and he rarely went past legal. Road daze was real and he was the first to admit it when it affected him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the length of female leg stretched out of the driver’s window as she zipped past him again.

Hell of a leg, he admitted grudgingly. The woman was coming on to him and he decided to find out just how serious she was in her flirtation. He passed her again and she waved her foot at him. He switched lanes and waited to see what she would do now.

It took a few minutes to find out, but it was worth the wait. She’d unbuttoned her blouse and the wind whipped it open, revealing very nice breasts covered minimally in red and black. His interest grew serious and his jeans tight.

He lit a cigarette and thought about getting laid.

The game was as old as trucking. There were lone woman everywhere and flirting took place at 70 mph and in truck stops. He’d seen it all in seventeen years and, being a single man, experienced a lot of it. Motorists had few secrets from those in the cabs.

He knew the road well, having traveled it more times than he wanted to count, and calculated about twenty miles to the next rest stop. It was still light out, which was inconvenient. The other truckers who weren’t lying down or sleeping would know what he was up to and she could be razzed. He assumed she knew that if she was willing to come to his rig. For many women, it was half the fun. Sass was part of casual sex with strangers, especially on the female end.

They traded places a couple of more times. He passed her just before the turn-off so she couldn’t mistake the invitation. Cutting in front of her, he took the exit and watched behind him with the help of his mirrors to see if she would follow.

She did. All the way to the fork where trucks were supposed to go right and cars to the left. He went right and she hesitated before going left. He wondered about that. The girls who played this game on a regular basis knew to park where they should and walk over.

He parked away from the other trucks, the lot only about a quarter full at this time of day, and jumped down from the cab. Wes leaned against the front of his rig and lit another cigarette as he scanned the row of cars across the grass for hers. It wasn’t hard to spot and she was just stepping out of it. She headed toward the bathroom. To freshen up? Or to pee and leave him with a hard-on?

He dragged deeply and waited to see which way it would go.

Becky looked at her reflection and wondered if she really had the nerve to do this. She was a good girl, raised in a strict house, and fully believing a woman should wait for marriage. She hadn’t. She’d given up her virginity a year ago to her fiancé. In a week she would be a married woman and such an encounter would be the unthinkable sin of adultery. She wasn’t exactly dreading her upcoming marriage, but as the miles fell behind her, she was lamenting the loss of freedom it represented. Not that she’d ever had much to begin with.

Sex was not the wonderful thing she had anticipated. At least not with Gary. She wanted to know if he was the problem or if it was her. She didn’t think it was her. She enjoyed steamy novels and movies. She fantasized creatively. She hoped the rite of marriage would make a difference, lifting the aura of sin that she thought hung over the act now. That should make even considering sex with a stranger impossible for her, but oddly didn’t.

The trucker was cute. She’d smiled at him because he’d obviously been singing along with the radio at full volume. His truck was spotless and shiny, indicating success in his chosen field. He’d smiled back, unembarrassed, and she thought him adorable. He looked easy and laid back. Gary was like her father, an obsessed businessman for whom work came first. They were both rigid and lacking in humor. Already a millionaire at thirty, Gary’s goal was to become a billionaire by fifty. Her father was convinced he’d do it and had encouraged his courtship of his young daughter. When Gary had proposed, Joseph’s obvious satisfaction had made it seem inconceivable for her to refuse.

This hard-won trip was her last shot at independence and she knew it.

It was the trucker’s smile, she supposed. Sexy, confident, and comfortable. Gary never smiled. The trucker’s smile had warmed her, even aroused her. She’d only felt slightly foolish with her antics. Slightly foolish and brazenly empowered.

Maybe Gary was boring in bed because she was.

Becky used the facilities and stared at the machine on the wall as she dried her hands. Condoms at rest stops, she thought wryly. Sex was everywhere and everyone was enjoying it but her. She was on the pill, Gary had insisted since he was in no hurry to procreate, but pregnancy wasn’t the only concern these days.

The slot on the right advertised an extra-slim brand to increase sensation. The one on the left proclaimed itself to be the animal’s choice and showed pictures of tigers, leopards and such. Presumably because they were decorated likewise. Extra-slim sounded risky and the other absurd. She glanced around and chose absurd, quickly slipping her purchase into her purse.

Decision made, she left the safety of the restroom and searched the line of trucks. There was quite a bit of space between his and the closest. It was easy to spot with its bold green and blue coloring. She already knew his name. The side of the rig had been painted in elaborate red script and identified the driver as Wes Landis, Independent Trucker, Lynchburg, Virginia.

Not only was he cute, but he had taste in color, a nice name, and presumably, a southern accent. She liked southern accents. Her mind told her feet to move, but they took some convincing. The butterflies in her stomach needed none. They were alive and soaring.

God in heaven, what am I doing?

Wes studied her as she approached. She looked about twenty, which was too young for him, but what the hell, he wasn’t going to marry the woman. Her curly blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, the escapees a riot of windblown tresses. The sleeveless denim shirt was now buttoned and tucked into shorts that revealed most of very nice thighs. Her waist was slim, her sandaled feet small. She probably drove barefoot, which was illegal in most states. He thought it a silly law. Barefoot was safer than a lot of summer footwear, including her Birkenstocks. 

He took a last drag on his cigarette, dropped it on the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. Are you teasing or are you serious? He asked practically.

Becky paused at the bold question. If I’m teasing?

Then I’m out of here. I’d like to put in a couple of more hours before I sleep.

She nodded slowly, praying her nerves didn’t show. Serious. Her voice sounded odd to her own ears, but he wouldn’t know if it was odd or not.

Wes grinned and moved to the door, reaching up to open it. Then let’s get out of the open.

Becky accepted his help up. She needed it as high as the step was. His hand was warm and rougher than she would expect for a trucker. Not that she knew what to expect of a trucker. She’d never met one before. She took in her surroundings as he climbed up behind her.

The cab was filled with things familiar and not. And big, but she’d expected that. His truck was one of the nicest she’d seen since leaving New York. There were lots of gages and controls. It was roomy and seemed even farther off the ground from within than without. Behind the seats was mostly bed. He had a TV, a small refrigerator, lights, even some cabinets, which she assumed held clothes and grooming supplies. Maybe some food.

Home away from home, she mused.

Home period, he corrected. Come on, climb on back so we can get comfy. You want to talk first, fine, we’ll talk.

Becky climbed to the foot of the bed and sat down, her back to the wall. Wes came through and sat opposite her, reaching for the refrigerator. I have Coke, 7-Up, and one more root beer. Oh, and water.

Water, she decided, wishing wine was among the choices, even though the thought of a trucker carrying wine in his cab was rattling. But she wanted it for herself, not for him.

He handed it to her and took a Coke out for himself. After opening it, he raised up on his knees to reach in front and pick out a CD, sliding it into his stereo. The music of the Eagles filled the small cocoon and he settled back down across from her. You giving your name?

Becky.

I’m Wes.

I figured that by the truck. Not wanting to appear as out of her league as she felt, she asked, You’re from Lynchburg?

My Dad lives there. I was raised there. I haven’t really lived there since I lit out at eighteen.

Where is home now?

You’re in it. For five more years anyway. I’m an independent, which means I only get paid when I roll. It’s a young man’s game and I mean to quit at forty. My only expenses involve the operation of this truck. No rent, no car payment. A small property tax on the land I bought to retire to is it. There’s money to be made in trucking and I make it. By forty I should have enough to live out a modest life with a little supplementation.

He sounded smarter than she thought a trucker would. No wife, no kids?

None of the above.

She smiled nervously. No woman in every port?

Wes laughed. Nope. Not me. Footloose and fancy free is my motto. He sipped his Coke. You never know what opportunity may present itself on the road and a wise man keeps his options open.

She shook her head. She liked him. Intelligence aside, he was exactly what she’d expected him to be. His hair was feathered and fell naturally away from his face. It was short enough in front the wind wouldn’t blow it in his eyes and long enough in the back to just cover his collar. A medium brown, it was healthy and thick. His skin tone was good too. A few wrinkles around the eyes, but no signs of obvious vices. I take it then you’re thirty-five?

Right. I would guess about twenty for you.

You would be right, she admitted.

Aren’t I too old for you? He asked curiously.

What? No, of course not. Am I too young for you?

Not for sex.

A warning, she mused, her lips twitching slightly.

Not really. Women who seduce truckers are generally more interested in a little excitement than settling down. What’s your game?

Does it matter? She hoped to hell she sounded bolder than she felt.

Wes studied her young face. It was perfect. Nicely shaped, centered by a pert nose and semi-full lips. Above those were pretty blue eyes accented by long lashes. She wore make-up, but not a lot. She didn’t need a lot. Just curious. You don’t look typical.

Becky smiled. My moves weren’t right?

Your moves were fine. Your looks are wrong. You’re a little too classy, I think. It’s made me curious.

Class does not come onto a stranger at seventy miles an hour.

You were doing more like 85 the first time you passed me. You shouldn’t get so close to the back of a trailer, you know. Besides the obvious dangers of a tire blowing, a flap coming off, or our hitting something on the road and kicking it up, we flat out can’t see you when you’re that close. You’re in our blind spot.

Your mirrors are huge.

And the trailers long. Keep your distance. Your game?

She shrugged, her hope that he’d distracted himself gone. I’m on my way to my wedding. He’s the only lover I’ve ever had and I thought maybe I should take a walk on the wild side first.

Wes chuckled and grabbed her ankle, pulling her down onto her back. He shifted his own body to stretch out beside her and place a hand on her belly. How wild do you want it?

He was smiling and his teeth were even and quite white against his tanned skin. His almost colorless eyes sparkled with...something. He really was a very attractive man. Big without being huge, she sensed an innate kindness in him that touched her deeply. I don’t know. Either Gary is pretty unimaginative or the books I read are way off base.

Unimaginative Gary is obviously the fiancé. What sort of books do you read?

Romance. Not the quickie stuff, the full length novels. They’re pretty hot these days.

And have made you curious?

She blushed. Is that silly?

You tell me, Wes said roughly and lowered his head. He had no idea what sort of sex was related in romance novels, but he knew how to read a woman. His eyes got so strained on the road the last thing they needed was to read off of it. It was one of things he looked forward to doing when he gave up hauling. Though he was thinking in terms of mysteries and suspense, not romance.

He eased into the kiss slowly, testing her, waiting for her signals. Her response wasn’t slow, nor was it immediate. But when it came, it came fully.

Becky slipped into the world of sensual pleasure with a sigh. The man knew how to kiss, she thought thankfully. He also knew how to proceed and when. She wasn’t as aware of time as she was timing. She was ready for each of his next moves when they came, eagerly shifting to assist him as he undressed her slowly, exploring everything he uncovered with hands and mouth.

She began to burn below as he feasted on her breasts and licked her navel, her nervousness and lack of confidence gone. The stubble on his face was a ticklish delight and caused goose bumps to rise on her heating flesh. Her hips rocked instinctively against his arousal and he groaned. Your fiancé is a complete clod if he can’t tap into you, he murmured against her mouth. Honey, you are hot.

Think so? She might have felt insulted is she wasn’t feeling so delicious. She almost purred, marveling at the sculpted chest he bared by shrugging out of his shirt.

Yeah. He grinned at her rapt attention. I take it his physique is also lacking?

Hm? Her eyes met his slowly.

You’re staring at my chest like you’ve never seen one.

It’s a nice chest, she murmured, reaching up to touch it. It was hard, hot and moist with perspiration. Gary is skinny.

A wimp, he guessed. Does he have anything going for him?

Money. My father insists that’s enough.

Wes stared down at her for a few moments. He had nothing against women out for money. What was that old saying? It was as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it was a poor man. He didn’t argue with that one, he knew good men in both classes, but generally speaking, he thought the less well off more likeable. She didn’t strike him as a gold digger and he was pretty good at spotting them. Chances are her father had picked out the fiancé. Money, even more than poverty, craved money, and judging from her car that was no object where she came from. Nobody wants to be poor, he finally muttered.

I suppose not, she agreed, her hands shifting now to really explore the hard planes of his hairless chest. How do you get like this sitting in a truck?

I often exercise when I break. If I get hung up somewhere I find a gym and go sweat away a couple of hours. Not only is poverty unappealing, but so is fat and lazy.

She smiled. Am I appealing?

Honey, he said seriously, his hand molding a breast fit for a Goddess. You could make a fine living as a stripper.

She smiled at the pseudo-compliment. Not exactly an aspiration.

I don’t suppose so, but they all have one thing in common with you and that is a body to turn a man into a simpleton. His hand splayed over her belly. And before that happens to me, I’d better get a condom.

Becky reached for her purse. I bought one. Inside.

He took the wrapper and stared at it in mock horror. Tiger stripes? I don’t think so.

She smiled at his appalled tone. The others were advertised as extra-slim and I didn’t think that sounded safe.

It’s probably not. We’ll use one of mine. He held the packet in front of her face and grinned. Want me to pitch this or do you want it as a souvenir?

She snatched it back. Souvenir.

He chuckled, got one of his nice, basic, reliable Trojans and set about reawakening the mood for both of them.

It didn’t take long.

Becky shifted to aid him in the removal of her pants. She wondered where her reticence and discomfort had gone and decided she didn’t care when his mouth did what she’d only read about. As her mind had opened to the possibilities when she saw him, her body opened to the reality. She wasn’t all that made up Becky Farley now. She was just a woman who was enjoying the gift of her sexuality with a partner who knew how to bring it out in her.

Her first orgasm brought out a gasp of surprise. Wes watched her through it and when she began to come down, murmured, You might want to reconsider marrying a man who can’t give you an orgasm.

Who said he can’t?

Your face. Just now.

She colored. And here I thought I was being sophisticated.

Not yet, but give it another shot. He rolled onto his back and helped her receive him. She was hotter than he imagined Hades to be and as tight as a virgin. You haven’t done this often, have you?

I’ve never ridden, she said, using vernacular from her books. Am I being a clod now?

I was talking sex in general, he corrected.

Oh. No, not a whole lot. Gary lives in San Francisco and I in New York. We haven’t seen each other a lot.

Some romance.

There’s nothing romantic about it.

He grunted. Let’s finish this discussion in a bit, shall we? She giggled and he growled, Don’t do that!

What should I do?

You’re going to have to work that out with Gary. I’m dying here. He rolled them back over and took the control onto himself. He stroked her deeply, then barely. His thrusts alternated between rapid and slow. He teased and tormented until they were both slick with sweat. She was writhing and moaning shamelessly, so close, yet not hitting the peak he’d already shown her.

Then his hand found her and in two thrusts she skyrocketed. Wes gratefully ended his own torment and collapsed to her side, breathing heavily into her hair.

God, that was glorious, she whispered raggedly.

Glad I could oblige, he muttered. Her fiancé was worse than a clod. She was capable of reaching vaginal orgasm, but she needed to learn that and he doubted the clod could teach her. She was facing a sexually frustrating marriage. Why are you marrying Gary? He asked. The money?

It seems the thing to do, she said slowly. I’ve known him for years. We started dating three years ago and now we’re getting married. Everyone thinks we’re perfect for each other.

If you believed that you wouldn’t be here. Why are you driving across country if he’s rich? Why not fly?

I wanted to do this, she told him. It took an unholy argument with him and my father to get them to agree. I have to call both of them every day and let them know where I am. I guess I viewed it as my final moment of freedom.

If you feel that way you shouldn’t marry this guy, he said seriously. It’s a mistake, Becky.

I’m being over-dramatic, she said lightly, even as her stomach clenched. Gary and I get along very well for the most part. He’s older, not as old as you, but thirty. A computer geek who made it big on the Internet. He’s a little boring and not the best lover, but I don’t think he’s all that experienced either. We’ll get better.

For your sake, I hope so, because you like sex. I think you’d like it all.

Maybe he will too, she said, not really believing that. She wasn’t sure why she was marrying Gary. Probably because her father thought it was a good idea. She had spent most of her life trying to please him. Make him proud.

Wes sighed. It’s your life.

Yeah, she said, smiling at him. And through it all I will remember you. She kissed him. Are you as nice as I think you are?

Most seem to think so, he said uncomfortably. I’m not real driven or ambitious, which makes me easy-going.

What will you do when you quit driving?

What I really love. Build furniture.

She nodded and caressed a thick bicep. You’ll be good at it.

One hopes, he said wryly. Since I’ve stopped I’m going to catch a few winks if you want to stay and nap.

Becky looked at the clock on the dash and sighed. If I don’t find a motel and call home, they’ll probably call out the police in three states. Do you like motels?

Not in the least. Take a black light in one some day.

What does that mean?

You’ll see all sorts of spots. Some of it’s urine, some semen. They’re not real clean no matter how good the staff is.

Her cute little nose wrinkled up. I didn’t need to hear that.

Sorry. He sat up and began to gather up his clothes. Besides, I’m probably only going to sleep for a few hours. We’ll be driving into unsettled weather tomorrow and I may lose a lot of miles. If you’ve got the time and money to sleep the night away, I’d only end up waking you.

I sleep like the dead.

Not with my hands on you, you wouldn’t. He grinned.

She reached for one of his hands. They’re working hands. The furniture?

Not yet. The rig. I do all the work I can on her and often help with the loading and unloading if time is an issue. I’ll drop this load in Monterey and there should be one waiting for me in San Jose. That’s going to Washington, where I’ll pick up a shipment for Florida.

How can you schedule all that while you’re driving? Do you have an office somewhere?

Right here. Cell phone, though I do not do business on it while driving. I’ve been in the game a long time and have steady clients. I haven’t anything to pick up in Florida yet, but I will before I get there.

What are you hauling now?

A hotel full of ugly vanities, dressers, and headboards. A hotel’s remodeling and a cabinet shop in Chicago won the bid for the work. I have no association with the hotel, but I’ve been hauling for the cabinet shop for years. They specialize in hotel work and do it all from the rooms to the bar to the dining room. Most of it’s laminated crap. Cheap stuff an idiot can make if he has the tools. I have to work my schedule to be back in six weeks for the bar and dining room stuff. With luck when I drop that off I’ll pick up some more wine. A lot of the boutique wineries coordinate their shipping to share costs. Little guys like me because I’m a little guy.

Becky finished buttoning her shirt and scrambled into her undies and shorts. You must know people everywhere.

Pretty much, but few well. I like it like that. Trucking suits me because I’m a loner, but as I said, it’s a young man’s game. The long hauling anyway and that’s where the money is.

Are you a loner for a reason?

He shrugged. Nature determined that, I guess. Fully dressed, he crawled into the front of the cab and opened the door, alighting with unexpected grace. He held up his hand and she took it. The next thing she knew his hands were on her waist, pulling her against him as he lowered her to the ground. No more tailgating, he scolded.

Becky hugged him hard. Promise.

He rested his chin on her head. Good luck with the clod.

She laughed. Good luck with the furniture.

Wes kissed her a final time and watched her walk away. He waited until she disappeared into the women’s rest room before making his way to the men’s. He lingered in there purposely and by the time he stepped back outside, the red Vette was gone. He sighed and shook his head. If Gary was as boring as he suspected there were only two possible outcomes to her future. There was a spark in Becky and it would either grow to the point that her restlessness would end the marriage or Gary would snuff it out by crushing her spirit. Either way she was making a big mistake. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but Wes trusted his gut. It hadn’t let him down in thirty-five years.

Chapter One

Five years later

Wes cruised into Atlanta to Commander Cody. He didn’t sing along, though he knew the words. His mind was on the twists and turns life took. He was forty this day and should be retiring. Instead, he was dropping off a load of raw tobacco to a mail order company that had tapped into the newly thriving roll-your-own market. With cigarettes up to forty dollars or more a carton in many places a lot of people were opting for the cheaper solution.

He’d even tried it and rather liked it. He was his client’s client when he wasn’t on the road and would pick up some ready-to-roll for his own use while he was here. He had one more run to make and then would go home for a few months before heading out again. While on the road, he stuck with his Marlboros. You couldn’t roll while you were driving and when he wasn’t driving he was eating or sleeping.

He dropped off the load quickly since it was a trailer used only for tobacco and all he needed to do was unhook it. Someone else would hook it up and drive it back for another load. He had some hardwood waiting to go to an RV manufacturer outside Indianapolis. He planned to spend a day there in the hopes of picking up a load for Virginia to finish out the swing. It was always harder to find loads when he wasn’t pulling his own trailer.

He called the hardwood mill and was told that they wouldn’t be ready for him until eight or nine that night. He considered a hotel, but that was money he didn’t need to spend for a few hours of sleep and drove back out of the city to the first rest stop for his nap.

He was there for the load at nine sharp and they had barely started it. I’m sorry, Wes, the foreman said. It’s been a day from hell around here. We had two injuries and a forklift jock called in sick. It’ll be a couple of more hours.

Wes had already slept most of the day and had had dinner and a shower. I’ll give you til eleven, he said. I’ll go check out In Your Dreams. It’s been a few years.

You do know how to hurt a man when he’s down, the foreman grumbled.

Wes chuckled. I’ll make it better. I’ll give you til you get off shift at midnight if you’ll let me take your pick-up. Last time I took the semi there they got a little pissed about the number of parking spaces I took up.

My truck’s gonna have a better time than I am, he complained, even as he dug into his pockets for the keys. Don’t get so distracted you’re not back. And no lap dances. You make my truck reek of perfume and my wife will think I’ve been up to no good.

I’ll pick one without perfume, he promised and walked away whistling Pretty Woman.

In Your Dreams was a respectable gentlemen’s club. Wes knew that was an oxymoron. What was high class about women getting naked for ogling men? Not a damn thing, but he figured he could ogle with the best of them and the women needed to make a living. It wasn’t a pastime he often indulged in. Supply and demand, my boy, supply and demand, he told himself as he climbed into the new pick up.

The place, as always, was packed. Topless women circulated the room waiting tables. Dancers performed both on stage and around the room. There were a few rules about the better strip clubs and Wes knew them. You did not watch another man get a lap dance. The circulating dancers were the best of the lot. The ones on stage there to entertain the lechers who couldn’t afford the more intimate encounters.

Groping was also not permitted. The huge bouncers wandering around insured that. If a girl wanted to make a private date for after hours that was fine, but men did not touch, even when they were being touched. Unless the woman directed his hands.

Wes found a seat at the bar and ordered a mineral water from the bartender whose chest was too unimpressive to ever be a dancer. She sported a black bra, thong, and bow tie. He watched the surgically enhanced woman on the stage. She was performing a pole dance and her breasts were so large and tight they barely moved. He never did get the appeal of fake breasts for some men and he knew men who loved them. He supposed it was the notion of why a girl would do such a thing that turned him off. To entice men, ergo they were loose and attainable. In the world where sex was bought that was likely true, but he doubted it applied to the average housewife who grew tired of being flat.

He still preferred natural, flat or not. He thought the bartender’s pert A cups sexier than the waxy looking DDs on the stage. Actually, they were probably better identified by a letter further along the alphabet. Like G or maybe even H. He liked breasts as much as the next man, but he had the fatal flaw of viewing the whole woman. Inside and out. He was no saint and made no claims to be. His sex life was a long stream of one-night stands, but that was largely because of his livelihood. He wasn’t a nomad by nature and the sort of woman he might love wouldn’t be either.

His well-organized mind had simply decided to wait to look for a partner until he settled down. He felt no driving need for children and the older he got the less likely they seemed. His needs were simple though and if he ever really got to just stay home he imagined he would want a woman to share that life and that would probably mean a kid or two.

A pair of large natural breasts caught his eye and he followed them to the face attached to it. The drink in his hand froze halfway to his mouth.

It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

She was looking at him with an identical expression, minus the doubt. That was enough to dissipate his. He lowered his untasted drink, crooked a finger and watched the perfect female form unstraddle a male lap slowly enough for him to stick a bill in her thong.

Becky moved forward, her mind racing at a speed far beyond her feet. It was a struggle to move sensually, as she had learned to do and usually came naturally now. It didn’t tonight and she forced herself to pay attention to her body even as she studied the man she was approaching. Others watched her, others called out to her. She ignored them, focused solely on Wes Landis.

He was the last man she ever thought to see again. He looked even better than she remembered. The room was full of men, some dressed in clothes denoting wealth, the rest in casual, but nice attire. Wes was the only man in the room dressed in faded jeans and a work shirt. Still, he seemed to stand out favorably. There was no lecherous look on his face and hadn’t been even before