Otterly Irresistible
“You also can’t bring your friends with you when you’re stalking me,” the man said.

Charlie looked around. Had his stalker brought an entourage? Was it for a flash mob? Or for a kidnapping? Really, neither would’ve surprised her here in Autre. Which was one of the things she loved about this town. The definition of crazy was different here than anywhere else she’d ever been. And not exactly frowned upon.

She also wasn’t afraid to admit she was willing to stick around for a flash mob. Or a kidnapping. She would, of course, call for other people to come out if it turned out to be a kidnapping. Okay, or a flash mob. So it wasn’t as if the guy was actually going to end up stuffed in a trunk of a car. She was just waiting to see which of those scenarios she was dealing with.

“Don’t you think it’s time to go home?” the guy said to his stalker. “Come on. I’ll take you.”

Oh, good, he was a nice guy. Even if Sugar was harassing him, he was still willing to be sure she—or he—got home safely.

Dammit, did this mean Charlie needed to follow them? In case the kidnapping happened away from the bar? Or what if Sugar had a hatchet and duct tape waiting for the guy back at her place?

Or, maybe worse, what if Sugar waited to sing and dance for him in her living room? Charlie would miss the whole performance.

Now she was invested. She was going to have to follow them. Crap. She really wasn’t dressed for traipsing around in the dark. Or the light. Her Valentino Garavani Rockstud ankle-strap pumps were perfection. And not at all comfortable for any kind of distance walking.

But she really didn’t want to miss the flash mob.

Surely it was going to be a flash mob, right?

Or a striptease. At least.

Charlie decided if she were going to do a flash mob for a guy she stalked to a wedding, she’d choose Taylor Swift’s “Love Story”.
Obviously.

She was in town for her cousins’ weddings. Yes, plural. Three of her cousins had gotten married today, and she was now attending the reception held at her grandmother’s bar. Considering the guy was confronting Sugar just outside the back door of the bar, Charlie assumed he was a wedding guest as well.

The Landry family never did anything small, and that, apparently, included weddings. Of course, growing up in Shreveport, Charlie sometimes forgot the easy-going, laid-back ways of the bayou. Hence why she’d worn a pale pink strapless cocktail dress that hugged her breasts and waist and had an uneven hemline that nearly touched the ground in back to a wedding where the grooms wore blue jeans, and some of the guests were alligators. Literally.

She also had on Valentino heels, fake eyelashes, fake nails, and hair extensions.
Yeah, she might have overdone it.

And yes, some of her cousins had already given her shit about the fake fingernails.

Still, as much fun as the food, dancing, laughing, and one-upmanship was inside, she wasn’t above enjoying a little romantic drama outside on her way back from the bathroom.

“Come on, Sugar,” the man said. “Let’s get you home.”

Charlie literally had her fingers crossed for the first strains of Taylor Swift when she heard the stalker reply for the first time.

“Behhhh!”

Charlie jumped, then frowned. Okay, she hadn’t been expecting that.

She peered around the corner of the building.
There was a man sitting on the back step of her grandmother’s bar.

And he was surrounded by goats.

He was holding one goat’s face in his hands and was talking to it directly. The other goats seemed content to munch on the grass and weeds that grew along the edge of the gravel drive that led to the back of the bar. But this goat was, as far as Charlie could tell from six feet away in the dimming light of the evening, gazing at the man adoringly.

There were also two ducks and a potbellied pig. Most of them seemed unconcerned with what was going on, except for the one duck who was standing like a bodyguard next to the goat having the intense conversation with the man.

Surprisingly, none of that was the most startling thing about the scene in front of her.

No, that was the fact that the man on the step was the extremely good-looking man who Charlie had previously asked to dance at the wedding reception. And who had turned her down.

It wasn’t just that he’d turned her down, though without getting too full of herself, Charlie could admit she wasn’t all that used to men telling her no. It was also that she knew they had chemistry. She’d caught him watching her across the bar earlier in the evening, and when she had slid in next to him to order another drink, he hadn’t given her much space. Nor had he seemed annoyed with her taking up any of his space.

Still, he’d turned her down when she asked him to dance. Without an explanation. He hadn’t claimed a sprained ankle or being a terrible dancer or having a girlfriend. He didn’t have a ring on his left hand.

So yes, even before she saw him sitting on the back step with a goat—correction, nine goats, two ducks, and a potbellied pig—she had been wondering what the hell his deal was.

It was probably the not-being-used-to-being-told-no thing, but something made her walk around the corner of the building and say,
“So, does she think that’s a carrot in your pocket? Because it sounds like you’re not that happy to see her.”





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