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Her First Choice

By´╝ÜLynda Chance

Her First Choice
Author: Lynda Chance





Her First Choice

Tyler Copeland was bored as fuck. It was possible he didn't appear bored for the simple reason that he sat in a secluded booth between two women who were both vying for his attention-and there was no question, both of them were young and extremely beautiful. Unfortunately, their beauty couldn't make up for the lack of an attribute that was essential to maintaining his attention. And to put it bluntly, the attribute they lacked was intelligence.

When had he become so damn picky about a simple fuck? Truthfully, he should just stand up and leave. The club usually held more appeal than it did on this night-right now getting on his bike and feeling it vibrate between his thighs was way more tempting than screwing either of the chicks who were practically begging him for it.

Neither of the women had grated on his nerves in the past. In fact, he'd fucked each of them more than once. Granted, no more than the two times he allowed himself with any one individual woman-and there was a reason for his unwavering rule. Shit became too tricky after more than a two-fuck fling. In his experience, if you screwed a woman more than twice, her personality immediately shifted. Seriously, you could make bank on that fact. After the third fuck, every woman wanted to sink her claws into you. Permanently.

And that wasn't going to happen to him. No fucking way. At twenty-six, marriage wasn't something that was even remotely on his itinerary, not now and not in the future. He needed a good fuck as much as the next guy, in fact, his libido demanded his attention too much of the damn time-which was the reason he was trolling for pussy right now.

But neither of the women trying to nail him down for the night was going to cut it for him-he knew that definitively. He not only didn't feel any chemistry for either of them, but frankly, their lack of intelligence bored him to tears. He needed to extricate himself from the position he was in, but so far, he'd seen no one walk through the double doors of the nightclub who held even the smallest possibility of relieving the ache in his groin, so what was the point of standing and walking away?

He continued to mostly ignore the women beside him as he slowly consumed his second beer of the evening. He looked around, easily recognizing most of the women who were in the bar tonight. He was an analytical guy, and he knew without a doubt that he could slot each of the women into one of three categories as he watched them sitting at tables, dancing, or moving around the room with a speculative gleam in their eyes.

The first category was a small set of women who were there on a date, it was easy to see they were taken and not interested in anyone else. They'd already been with a man when they arrived, and it was more than obvious they intended the situation to stay on an even keel. Probably, these women were finally getting to have a night out with their pussy-whipped husbands after finally finding a babysitter they could trust. Jesus, when had he become so cynical?

The second category he pegged as the proverbial girlfriend. They were with the women who were looking for a man, but weren't looking for one themselves for whatever reason. They were the support system, the female equivalent of a wingman, but more often than not, he'd found them to be nothing but a bona fide, you-aren't-fucking-my-girl, cock-blocker. He'd learned the hard way to stay away from them and their girlfriends.

The third category of women was what he was interested in. They were looking for a man, but there were so many different levels of looking that he'd developed a kind of subset to this particular category. Some of them would let you fuck them in the parking lot. That could work for him in a bind, but for the most part, he'd given up that particularly tasteless form of relief years ago.

His gaze continued to glance across the room as he catalogued the women who were present tonight. There was the newly divorced woman who wasn't going to waste another second of her life without finding the right one. She was the type who wanted a new marriage and she wanted it pronto.

It was the same for the single women approaching thirty. It was time-they were ready-and they were getting so desperate they thought they might find the perfect man in a scene like this. If you weren't careful, these women tried to tie you down within forty-eight hours-not in his plans at all.

He continued to examine the room as his gaze leisurely came back to the entrance. Abruptly, he felt as if a fist had lodged itself in his solar plexus-he noticed the girl right off the bat. She stood just inside the doorway with a touch of petulance on her expression that intrigued him. She seemed both pissed and determined, so he quickly added a new subset to this category of women and fitted her into it immediately. Here was the woman who'd been cheated on-this girl was the epitome of the woman who'd been fucked over-he could tell that entirely just by the way she held herself.

What the hell kind of idiot would fuck her over?

As he attempted to control the heat coursing through his veins just from the delicate line of her profile, he realized that he knew her. He didn't 'know her', know her, but he'd seen her around off and on during the years-and he'd been more than interested. They hadn't gone to the same high school and he'd been a few years older than she was, so their encounters had been few and far between. A vague memory hit him and made him grimace as a hot lick of guilt settled in his gut.

He'd been eighteen or nineteen the first time he'd come across her, although he couldn't remember where, but he damn sure remembered being mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she'd walked down the sidewalk. That had been the first time he remembered seeing her, and he'd known he was going to make a mov

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