Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(6)
"Why don't you come with me?" Her back straightens as she turns to me with wide eyes. I gulp. "Please?"
"I'm not third-wheeling for you at Sinners. Plus, I'll be way too tired after work." I shake my head furiously, grabbing my bowl before practically running away into the kitchen. I curse under my breath when she chases after me, a long blonde ponytail slapping against her back.
"Please do this for me. I’ll literally get down on my knees if I have to."
I drop my bowl in the sink and let out a sharp exhale. She won't stop until I agree. I know that for a fact. "You owe me for this. I'm serious.” I groan in defeat while watching as her lips turn up.
"Yes, I do. You're the freaking best." Flailing arms slide around me, the smell of cotton candy overwhelming.
“I know. Now let go of me before I get a sugar rush from that damn perfume of yours.”
Chapter Three
BRADEN
Having made it twenty-six trips around the sun has its benefits, regardless of how shit it might make me feel. There are countless things that I’ve learned, gathering in my head and collecting like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. And every once in a while, I make use of all of that information. Like when I get dragged by the ear to a club that smells like cheap whiskey and roofies.
For example, I know that if you want to be taken seriously in this competitive—sometimes unforgiving world—you have to carry yourself with an unwavering sense of confidence. Without confidence, how do you expect anyone to take you seriously? Without a sense of high-strung determination and power, attempting to skip a long line to get into a club you don’t even want to be at would be nearly impossible. But with it . . . that’s a whole different story.
“Big Dave, have you been working out?” My voice carries strong across the packed, brightly lit sidewalk as we walk towards the front doors of Sinners Paradise. The at least three-hundred-pound protector of the neon gates turns away from the bloodshot-eyed teen in front of him, his lips threatening to tear straight from his face as they lift in a twitching grin. Clayton chuckles beside me when I send him a prideful wink and raise my hand in a quick wave.
“I have, actually. You can tell?” Dave asks once we push our way in front of two women. One of them has a waist long, platinum ponytail that licks the top of her ass and if I had to bet, wouldn’t even reach my shoulders with six-inch heels on. The other, a taller, dark-haired beauty grabs my attention by the balls and clasps a tiny fist around my throat, stealing my air. Her eyes are hard, narrowed on the dimple in my chin, and for some fucking reason that has my blood burning with frustration, I wish that she would shift her gaze to mine.
With a shake of my head, I turn back around and force myself to refocus on the burly, unattractive security guard. “Of course, those guns could end world wars, buddy.”
There’s a slight, unnecessary flex of his arms when he puffs out his chest. I chew the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“I’m still waiting for those boxing lessons.” Dave says, moving the black rope aside that was keeping us from entering.
“Anytime. You know where to find me.” I pat his round arms and nod to Clay for him to follow me inside.
“Are you seriously going to let them in before us?” I hear a snarky voice snap, the strength in the tone taking me by surprise. Turning around, I lock my eyes with a pair of narrowed ones—the colour of molten silver right before it's poured into a mold, glistening in the brass pot—belonging to the brunette I noticed when we first arrived. She stands with a nearly overwhelming sense of confidence and poise, like she doesn’t fear anybody or anything. Like we should all fear her. And maybe, if I was any less of an egotistical prick, I would have been terrified to piss her off even further, but that’s not me.
Instead, I decide to lift a brow in a silent taunt before crossing my arms and snapping, “Well, aren’t you a sassy one.”
Her narrowed eyes roll as she places her hands on one of her full, totally graspable hips. And fuck do I want to grab and squeeze and knead them in my palms until I leave the skin red and sore. “You have no idea.”
“How about you show me just how sassy you can be then.” I nearly combust staring at the scowl darkening her face. She laughs humourlessly before shaking her head, mouth opening to throw something back at me when she’s interrupted.
“Leave it, Sierra,” her blonde friend sighs.
Sierra, hey? I can already imagine that rolling off my tongue later while I’m fucking that attitude right out of her.
“Have fun inside, fighter. I would say let’s do this again, but I would rather light myself on fire.” Sierra doesn’t spare me a second look before turning her back to me and going inside. I can’t help but stand there, watching the sway of her hips and the way her perfect round ass bounces with each step with a loose hanging jaw and a pulsing cock. I hear a few snickers before I run my thumb over my bottom lip and groan.
Well played, gorgeous. Well played.
“You made it!” Ethan shouts, his words already slurring into a barely eligible sentence as he stumbles his way to our spot at the bar. As graceful as a baby deer, that one.
“I see you started without us.” I stretch my neck so I can eye up the crowds grinding and drinking until they stumble, bumping into each other with grins that show they couldn’t care less. Most of these people won’t even remember who they met or what songs they dirty danced to when they wake up. But that’s what’s fun about being young and careless, right? The lack of repercussions for our actions and mistakes. So why does the idea of tipping back shot after shot until I can’t manage to walk three steps ahead of me without stumbling not give me the same buzz as before? Fuck, I really am getting old.