Page 1 of Decked in Red & Greene
PROLOGUE
PHOENIX
10 MONTHS AGO
Mug Life Coffee is busier than I expected for a Thursday night, but that’s my fault for not checking. If I had, I would have seen it was karaoke night instead of just live music. I can deal with locals and tourists if the band is decent, but listening to everyone butchering popular songs due to a little liquid courage isn’t high on my list of things to do tonight.
I’m just about to leave, my glass raised so I can down the rest and make my escape, when long legs and a set of cowboy boots catch my attention. My reaction is immediate.
Regret and desire course through me in equal measure.
Because I know those boots.
And I know the denim shorts-clad legs they belong to.
Hell.
I’m thankful for the shadow cast over me in this corner because even though I should down my beer and go, I can’t seem to move. With rapt attention, I watch as Aspen Greene takes thestage, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders in perfect waves. It’s the kind of style I’ve seen my sister do a thousand times.
She smiles brightly as she takes the mic, nodding and laughing as she talks to the DJ. Jealousy simmers low in my gut, the feeling never quite going away where Aspen is concerned. But she’s off-limits, and for my own sanity, I need to remember that.
Because I hate karaoke and would rather get a root canal than sit through drunk people butchering song after song. But Aspen justdoessomething to me. She’s mesmerizing, holding me captive on this stool.
My heart races faster because there was only one other woman who ever made me feel like she was the air I needed to breathe, and the scars she left on my heart still haven’t healed.
But I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The opening bars of “Little Red Wagon” by Miranda Lambert play, and my heart starts beating a little faster as Aspen’s hips begin to sway. I know the song—it’s sexy and fun and fuck me when Aspen starts working the crowd. Her voice is incredible, and it’s impossible not to watch the way she moves across the makeshift stage.
My dick punches at the zipper of my jeans when she sings the chorus, the breathy intonation of her words making me think of how she’d sound in bed with me deep inside her.
Fuck.
I gotta get out of here.
Finishing my beer, I dig some cash out of my pocket and throw it on the bar as the song ends. Turning to leave, I almost run straight into a group of people that I swear hadn’t been there a minute before.
I apologize as I try to move around them when slender fingers wrap around my forearm, the heat of her touch sending awareness through me at an alarming pace.
“Phoenix!” Aspen says my name over the start of a cringy rendition of “Sweet Caroline” that still has the entire place joining in with stomping and fist pumps. “Hey! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I let her pull me off to the side and immediately regret looking at her head-on. Aspen Greene is stunning, her jade-colored eyes blinking up at me, the flecks of gold making them almost shimmer in the low light.
“I just wanted to grab a beer,” I say lamely, shoving my hands in my pockets to prevent me from reaching out and pulling her against me. Her cropped shirt and cutoff shorts have my mouth watering. I want to drag my tongue over every inch of her skin and see how wild I can make her.
Because girls like Aspen are always wild in bed.
Unapologetic about the pleasure they crave.
But that’s the problem.
No matter how much I want it—wanther—it’s a mistake I’ll never recover from a second time. I learned my lesson.
Or I thought I had.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks, her fingertips trailing lightly over my forearm.
“I should go.”
