The Pleasure Principle. Kimberly Raye
had it that she’d slept with the entire football team her sophomore year, and that she was presently sleeping with every elk over at the ledge, including Homer Jackson who, everyone in their right mind knew, preferred bulls to heifers any old day. As for the future? She would probably sleep her way through the city council, or maybe boff every police officer on the ten-man force.
Rumor. That’s all it was, with the exception of one really cute elk Eden had met last New Year’s Eve at the annual holiday party. They’d dated a few times and slept together once, and that had been the end of it. He’d been a horse trainer for one of the nearby ranches, and once breaking season had ended, he’d left for New Mexico and another ranch.
She’d moaned with him. Not so much because the sex had been great. Looking back, she could objectively qualify it as so-so. But she’d been coming off a long dry spell after her last fling nearly four years ago at a bartending convention in Austin, and even so-so had been an occasion for moaning.
But a bonafide scream? Not this girl. Not with any of the handful of men she’d actually slept with, much less the hundreds that filled her make-believe résumé since Jake Marlboro had lied about her and made her the scarlet woman of Cadillac, Texas.
“Eden?” Dottie waved her empty glass. “Are you still with me?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I guess I zoned out for a little while. It’s been so hot out.” She turned and twisted the air-conditioning knob a few notches cooler.
“You’re telling me. Hit me again.”
Eden had nothing against a woman quenching her thirst, but she wasn’t in the habit of contributing to the delinquency of friends. Particularly when she sensed an underlying motivation propelling Dottie toward a second drink.
“Haven’t you reached your one orgasm limit?”
Dottie Abernathy let out a pitiful sigh. “Usually, but I’m feeling very neglected today.” She stared down at her empty glass. “Not that I really need the calories. Jerry’s sure to run the other way if I pack on a beer belly.”
Eden winked. “That’s a screaming orgasm belly, and I can’t imagine Jerry doing such a thing. He loves you.”
“He loves me from February through July. It’s August.” At Eden’s blank look, she added, “Preseason. I’ve dropped to number two on his priority list.” She sighed. “At least it’s not number three. I don’t drop that far until October when deer season opens. Right now, I’m going head-to-head with the Dallas Cowboys.” She eyes the bowl of honey-roasted cashews sitting on the counter behind Eden. “What about those? Those are healthier than an orgasm, right?”
“Definitely the good kind of fat,” Eden told her as she grabbed the bowl and placed it in front of Dottie. “And I won’t have to drive you home.”
“Men,” Dottie said around a mouthful of nuts. “I’ll never understand them.”
“Amen.” Eden popped a cashew into her own mouth. She’d tried understanding them. When Jake Marlboro had taken the treasured gift of her virginity and turned it into a sleazy strip show, she’d tried to see the entire event through his eyes. Had she done something to make him think she was sleezy? Had she come on too strong? Too soon? Had she been deserving of his nasty rumors?
Hell, no. That’s what she’d finally decided, after a lot of soul searching and years of heartache. The fine, up-standing citizens of Cadillac could see what they wanted to see—namely that Jake was a wealthy, enterprising member of the community and she was little better than a cow pattie stuck to the bottom of his boot.
As if she cared.
She’d stopped caring a long time ago about other people’s perceptions—make that misperceptions—when she’d finally come to terms with the fact that her first true love was nothing more than a lying, conceited, egotistical jerk.
Then and now.
Her gaze swept the nearly empty bar. Empty when she’d always been packed at this time of afternoon. Even Mitchell Wineberg who gathered with his cronies for Saturday-afternoon dominoes wasn’t in his usual corner. He was over at the VFW, thanks to Jake who’d donated a twenty-seven-inch color TV to the rec room that put her small nineteen-inch black-and-white to shame. Who wanted to watch Pat Sajak and Vanna White in black and white when they could see that wheel spin in vivid technicolor? Not a one of them would give the Pink Cadillac a second glance thanks to Jake’s latest contribution. If Eden wouldn’t sell out, Jake would force her out by making the Pink Cadillac obsolete when it came to fun and entertainment.
Or so he thought.
She wasn’t going down without a fight. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but it would be something foolproof. She wasn’t selling the Pink Cadillac, no matter how much money he offered her.
Eden told herself that for the umpteenth time and turned her attention to Dottie and the bowl of cashews.
“…the Cowboys, of all teams,” the woman was saying. “I could understand if he had me going head-to-head with the Packers. Now there’s a decent football team. And cute. Why, they drafted a wide receiver with muscles out to here and a butt that begs to be pinched.”
Dottie’s comments stirred a vision of another very pinchable butt and Eden’s attention shifted back to Brady and the picture he’d made standing on the side of the road, looking so hot and sweaty and sexy and…hot.
A twinge of longing shot through Eden and she reached for a handful of cashews.
Wait a second. Longing?
No way. Not when it came to a man. If she’d learned anything in her lifetime it was that men were a dime a dozen. Sure, there were those few good ones. Her father and Reverend Talbot and old Mr. Murphy over at the grocery store who climbed his apple tree out back every afternoon so his ailing wife could have fresh fruit with her lunch. Eden wasn’t so jaded that she’d stopped believing in Mr. Right. He just wasn’t lurking anywhere in Cadillac or the surrounding six counties. But someday…
She dismissed the thought. Eden wasn’t the type to sit around dreaming about the future. She made the best of the present and the matter at hand—which, right now, was her business—and the only thing she longed for was a rush of customers. That would show Jake Marlboro that he couldn’t win at everything. While he’d certainly gotten the best of her once, it wasn’t going to happen again.
“These days, the Cowboys ain’t worth the price of a hot dog at Texas stadium. But way back when they could make me sit up and take notice. Why, I remember when Jimmy Johnson was running the team…” Dottie droned on about the good old days and the nostalgia of the past as Eden poured herself a soda.
Nostalgia. That explained her reaction to Brady Weston. It wasn’t so much that she was attracted to him now. No, she was remembering her attraction to him then.
The daydreams… All those times she’d sat in the bleachers and watched Brady throw a winning pass and fancied herself the head cheerleader and the object of his sexy all-star smile.
The fantasies… When she’d lounged on the bank of McKinney’s Lake and watched Brady swing out over the lake in his best Tarzan imitation with the rest of his buddies. The rich kids. The haves. While Eden had sat on the opposite side with the have-nots, and pretended she was his Jane.
The reality… That one hot summer day when he’d had a flat and she’d given him a lift. In the close confines of her dad’s beat-up pickup truck, with Brady so close and the heat so overwhelming, she’d come so close to living up to her reputation, sliding across the seat and kissing the devil out of Brady.
She’d wanted to, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. The feeling had been just as strong when they’d been on their “date.” Throughout the night, Eden had wished he would ask her out for real. And she’d also wished he wouldn’t be such a gentleman.
But that was in the past. Fond memories. A young girl’s crazy infatuation with the sexiest boy in