an excerpt from the (7,500 word) article:
“Do you have many stalkers?” I asked it lightly, half chuckling, but the answer he [JJP] gave sitting back down was quiet and serious.
“A few. That one I do not count. She’s harmless.”
“How can you tell?”
“That woman doesn’t seriously want anything from me, bringing her family in here. Psht. It’s the quiet little freaks sitting in the shadows, they’re the ones that you wake up to, standing over you holding a giant Maglite, wearing only a smile.”
“It doesn’t get much more personal than that.” He laughed and lit another prohibited cigarette. The place was emptying out slowly and a lady in one of the nearby groups coughed and waved a hand in front of her nose. She homed in on his cigarette smoke and gave him her look of death. He flipped her off. She huffed up and practically ran out the front door ahead of most of her people. “No, that little honey isn’t stalker material. I bet she just wants her man jealous. Maybe that gets stuff going for them. Who knows?”
“She clearly wants to fuck you.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Cue his canned sexy face, bedroom eyes and a mischievous grin.
“I wouldn’t count on those guys.” The three old guys were at the bar sipping liquor and none of them looked very happy that JJP was still sitting with me and blowing off whatever discussion they had been having when I first appeared onto their scene.
“Oh no. They definitely want to fuck me. And ten ways on Sunday.” He had held his rocks glass in front of his mouth while talking about the men and now he downed the rest of the liquor and waggled his eyebrows at me. “But not tonight, I’m playing hard to get with them. Can’t give it up too quick or they lose interest, right?”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve never played hard to get in my life.”
He stared at me hard, head tipped slightly, brain and dick obviously warring for control of his mouth.
My mouth, on the other hand, was on and running. My mind and libido gleefully pursuing the same, within-arms-reach goal. I said the next in a terrible Scarlett O’Hara impression because I have the unfortunate tendency to pick up southern accents when I’m around them. “Why don’t you use my fate provided assistance to help you get away from your unwanted suitors?” I did my own eyebrow raising and his small smile seemed hopeful.
“You think you can get me away from them real easy, huh?”
“I think they’d get the picture if we left together. Yep.”
“So if I told you I was sleeping on the bus tonight, that it’s out back and I’d just love to give you a tour, you’d say?”
“I’d say,” I raised my voice to carry over to our interested observers, “Gee, a real live tour bus!” I did my best groupie squeal (which is amazing, btw) and sat back, quivering and shaking in my seat, colt-like with feigned excitement. “How was that?” I murmured for his ears alone, smiling huge.
“Well, let’s get to it, sugar.” He stood and held his hand out to pull me back up onto my heels. “Did I mention that you look good enough to eat?”
keep reading for the entire (M rated ~ 7,500 word) article as it appeared on TFP