Craig was not the typical guy a professional, classy woman wanted to introduce to her parents, or so he’d been told a few times by the women he’d dated. His most recent ex had told him he wasn’t permanence material as the reason for ending their eight-month-long relationship. He had hoped she would last longer, but not even her claims of enjoying his love-making convinced her to stay.

He wasn’t unattractive and noticed the hungry looks women sent his way. His face was angular, his mouth full and sensuous, and his eyes were deep set and green, fringed with tawny brown lashes. His hair hung past his shoulders in deep golden ripples when it wasn’t tied back. He trimmed his moustache into handlebars down to his jaw, and let the beard and chin grow in. He groomed the wiry goatee into a point, giving him a devilish air, and carefully shaped his sideburns to accentuate the angle of his jaw. He was a hairy beast, and so few women liked that. Did a woman whose eyebrows were threaded and her pussy and legs waxed not expect him to have his hair removed, too? Rejection pressed on his broad shoulders for an instant before he straightened his back and gave his neck a stretch.

He was six-foot-four, a former linebacker with a successful career managing construction sites. He had everything he wanted materially, but no woman to share it with or to spend it on. There had to be a woman with the fortitude to accept his size and not be intimidated by his outlaw biker look.

He sighed and took a long swig of beer. He gingerly placed the bottle on the bar. He had decided to watch the football game at his favorite sports bar. It was better than being home alone. Here, at least, there might be cute women to eye.

But the bartender was male, and none of the servers was worth a second look. The game wasn’t going well for the team he had picked to win, and he was still waiting for his food. The place was packed, no empty tables that he could see, and the volume of the din was an annoyance.

Not a very relaxing evening at the pub. He motioned to the bartender for another beer. The hostess—a young woman with shiny black hair—stepped up to his side. She was new at the bar, along with several other employees.

“Excuse me, sir, would you mind if this lady sat here?” She motioned to the vacant chair beside him. Behind her was the silver-white crown of the lady’s head.

Great. Now a granny to sit next to him. She’d probably say she didn’t want to sit beside him and would sooner go somewhere else to eat. Which was what he should have done.

He bristled. Why would the hostess think she had to ask him unless she also had that big bad biker impression of him? None of the regular staff would have bothered to ask, knowing he was a quiet guy who was polite, paid his bill and tipped well.

“Of course I don’t mind. No one is sitting there,” he grumbled.

The hostess sighed in relief. “Oh good. I didn’t think so, but I just wanted to make sure. It’s the last seat in the house right now,” she said quickly. She hurried away as the lady in question moved to the tall barstool next to him, and he turned back to the TV screen on the wall.

“The last and the best,” a silky, young female voice said brightly.

He was compelled to turn toward her. The woman before him was not as he had expected, despite the white and silver crown of hair.

She was somewhere in her thirties. Her long, golden hair was highlighted to soft, bleached white at the top and front, and hung past her shoulders. She pulled off a short, black leather jacket, and hooked it over the back of the chair. Craig was lost as he sized her up and quickly forgot about her comment. She was petite in height, barely reaching his shoulder.

Fuck, she was nice! Under the jacket she wore a low-cut black lace top, fitted to her slender arms. The blouse was transparent, and not the typical attire a woman wore to a sports bar; it seemed more fitting to an upscale restaurant. Underneath, she wore a gray camisole. She had a slim build, in low rider jeans the way they were meant to fit a svelte body. He deliberately looked down her legs; she had on shiny black cowboy boots that made his cock stiffen.

She lifted one boot onto the rung on the barstool, and for a couple of seconds she turned her back to him. His cock stiffened up more. Slim waist, flaring into a beautifully rounded ass—hardly the usual full-figured woman he normally went for, or who went for him. He had to turn away; he couldn’t let her see how she aroused him, and he needed to get control of the erection filling his jeans.

She hoisted herself onto the seat with a twist. The bit of momentum from her jump made the seat swivel, throwing her off balance. She put her hand on his forearm to steady the seat, her fingers pressing into his arm.

He didn’t immediately react, which took him completely by surprise. He didn’t react well to strangers touching him, and women usually approached him with a degree of caution, but she braced her fingers against him!

He gave her a puzzled look, and sniggered at the surprise on her face. Apparently she had startled herself by grabbing him.

She was actually very cute, now he saw her close up. Strong but fine features. Lips full and kissable. Deep brown eyes he could get drawn into in an instant, sparkling from behind black-framed glasses. A body he could hold against his. Cascading ribbons of white hair framed her face with the dark shadow of her mane contrasting in lazy waves around her shoulders. Her long, slender neck had fine lines he would gladly drag his tongue down.

“Do you know why it’s the best seat?” she asked, drawing his gaze from drifting further down the smooth plane of her chest. Her eyes were intensely dark, fathomless and twinkling innocently from behind her glasses.

“No.”

“Because it’s next to you.”