by Tara Brown
“No. Let’s pretend we’re the most fun girls in this bar. It’ll get William.” I wink and contemplate hooking her up with Carson for a night.
If she weren’t a virgin I totally would, but no one should lose their virginity trashed. I speak from experience on that one. I don’t even remember it and I hate that. But worse still would be losing it to Carson. He’s known for inviting other people into the party. Something I can’t imagine Nat would ever do.
The plan goes back to getting her drunk, so I drag her to the bar for some shots and then back to the dance floor to tear it up.
Chapter Three
Reality Bites
Matt
“So she’s not still seeing Colin?” Carson asks William as his eyes drift to the dance floor where Sami Ford is laughing and dancing her heart out. She’s even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. It’s a problem for me. Not her beauty, the fact I find her irresistible.
“I don’t know. She was. I never thought it would last as long as it has. I heard it was suggested they date to try to do some damage control. She hasn’t been out at all except in Greenwich. My brother saw her at a couple of luncheons and some of those parentally planned, mandatory dates.” Will rolls his eyes like he’s better than the societal curse, yet we both know he’s neck deep in it. His parents are horrible people. I should know, mine hang with them all the time. “I heard after she was seeing that British guy who took the video of her pouring beer on her tits, her dad told her to simmer down. I think they like that Colin’s a pretty chill guy.”
“Pothead. The word is pothead,” I blurt, trying hard not to focus on the fact Drew made the video. It makes me want to kill him.
Carson laughs. “That’s right, you know him, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I don’t like to dwell on it. Every time Sami dates someone, it’s one of my friends. It’s annoying as hell. My entire life revolves around my one regret: not being the guy who got to the Sami Ford line first.
But that ship’s sailed and she’s forever on the list of things I can’t have.
Of course adding her to the list only makes me want her more.
It’s a vicious cycle which involves more self-hatred than any other subject.
Luckily, most of the time I’m out of town for hockey so I don't have to suffer in silence much.
Running into her in London was a complete kick in the balls. Being a friend of Drew’s I shouldn't have kissed her in the black cab, but I couldn’t resist. Now I’m glad I did. “So Drew took the video?” Rage and evil thoughts start to build in me.
“Yeah, man. She caught him cheating on her or some shit so she goes into the pub and wins the wet tee shirt contest, and he said he filmed and uploaded the video.”
“Talk about being a little bitch about getting dumped.” Carson looks as pissed as I am.
“Well, it’s Drew. He’s always been a little bitch. She only dated him because her dad told her to.”
Knowing that’s how her night went kills me inside.
In all my life I’d never seen a more beautiful preoccupied gaze than the one she wore, staring at the entrance to the tube. She might have been drunk but it had worn off, and she was stuck with the shame of whatever she had done. It was refreshing to see at the time. Most of the empty-headed heiresses we know don’t regret anything. Everything is YOLO. It’s annoying. No consequences because someone will fix it or buy people off or lie to the papers.
But not her. She was filled with regret that morning. I saw it clear as day.
A storm of emotions sailed across her eyes as she talked about her mistakes and guys.
I wanted to see behind the curtain—to know everything about her. Not the regular stuff everyone else knows, but the tiny details she keeps to herself. The ones she hides because they make her different than the other snobby girls. I wanted to heal all the places she’d been wounded by other guys, by my friends.
But I couldn't.
It would have broken the one rule I have about girls and my friends, my hard limit. The one thing I believe sets me apart from who I used to be and who I am now.
And as a result, half a year has been spent envisioning how differently that night could have been, had I just ignored my rules and gone up to her apartment at One Hyde Park, instead of going around the block to cool off before going to my place. Had I known Drew had done that to her, I would have gone up with her.
What are the odds she’d be here?
I blink and rejoin the conversation between Fairfield and Carson, coming back at just the wrong moment.
“Sami’s a stone-cold fox. I don't care what you heard, Sami-fuckin’-Ford doesn’t date people because her dad tells her to. She does what she wants. I’m still jerking it to the video of her pouring beer on her tits. Drew might be a twat for filming it, but she’s fine.” Carson laughs and his comment makes me want to choke him out. Not kill him but maybe knock him unconscious. Just for a moment. Right after I kick the shit out of Drew.
Scowling, I glance back at her and the lucky clover tat she’s flashing. I’m Irish. My cock takes it as a sign, permission to forget all the rules.
I need to find something else to do with my time, and my hands. They’re twitching with demands watching her dance, lifting her shirt in the air every time her arms go up with the beat.
In my weak moments I consider going over and asking if she wants to go for a walk, just to get her alone so I can tell her I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss since it happened. Or the fact she’s infected me these last eight months with a constant stream of memories and regrets and possibilities.
“Dude!”
“What?” I snap my head around to Will and Carson gawking at me.
“This place is lame. You wanna go to that new bar over across from the pasta place we went to last time?” Will asks as Carson gives me a weird look, his eyes drifting to where I was staring.
“No. I’m going back to my place. I’m pretty bagged. The guys I came with are leaving soon.” I point at the three Rangers who invited me up to hang out for the weekend. “The team has been trying hard to get me to sign a contract, but my agreement with my father has always been that my first degree will happen before the NHL. So I come up and train with them and get courted. It’s a lot like dating. They take us out and show us a good time, hoping we dig the team and choose to play for them.”
“They show you a good time, that’s funny. They don’t realize you invented a good time.” Carson laughs.
“Yeah.”
“Clearly, they haven’t been to the cabin fever party at your house.” Will scoffs and glances back at Sami.
“Right, exactly.” I roll my eyes at Carson who snickers. “And now thankfully they’ve all paired off so we can kill the night early and I can get some sleep.” The thing I actually want when I come to the city. Coming to Manhattan is like a little retreat from college for me. I sleep in and play video games. There’s no pressure to party or have fun if no one knows I’m here. But being with the Rangers is different. It’s go time non-stop.
“You pucks. I thought most of you were into each other.” Will laughs. “Circle jerks and all.”
“Ask Carson’s sister how much she likes our circle jerks.” I take a drink of beer, laughing.
“Whatever, asshole! She wouldn’t even flick a cig at you,” Carson snarls. His overprotectiveness of his sister has always made tormenting him enjoyable.
“You sure you don't wanna come?”
“No, I’m cool here. I’m bagged. You guys have fun. I’ll let ya know when I’m in town again.”
“Maybe we can show those hockey players what a real good time is.” Carson waggles his eyebrows.
“They wouldn't be able to keep up. See ya.” We shake hands and I head back to my group. They’re surrounded by girls, of course.
Three unmarried hockey players don't have to look for ass, it falls into their laps. Hell, even the married ones are beating it off with a stick. Well, some of them. A lot
of them have a little slice on the side.
Scanning the club, I pause on the set of eyes staring at me. Sami narrows her gaze like she hates me and goes back to dancing.
“Brimstone, this is Minky.”
“What?” I turn toward Laramie and realize he’s talking to me.
“What’s with you tonight, man? You are in space, brother. Come back to earth and meet Minky. She’s from South Africa. Minky, this is Brimstone. He plays for Michigan.” Laramie, one of the Rangers I’m friends with, cocks a grin. “Minky likes hockey players, long walks on the beach, and whatever else hot girls like.” He laughs. It couldn’t have been a cheesier moment if he’d tried.
“Hi, Brimstone.” Minky, a gorgeous brunette with sharp green eyes, gives me a wry smile. She inhales, lifting her already perky tits. “How are you?”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I try to be polite but PFs aren't my jam. Hockey and girls are two different aspects of my life that I don’t like touching each other.
When they do, there’s a good chance that more than one guy in the locker room has had my girl. Which isn't appealing to me. I don’t like sharing. Not with friends and not with teammates.
There’s nothing more disgusting than a guy telling me what an amazing bang a chick was as he hands me her number, like I need to experience what he has. We call them pass-along girls or puck fucks, and I don’t participate. When I was younger for sure, but I got burned and it stopped being fun.
When I do eventually decide to be with someone, one day, I want her to be mine.
Thinking the word “mine” drags my gaze back to Sami. She staggers and stumbles, falling on the dance floor with her friend. When she gets to her table she slams back another drink. “Jesus.” I wince.
“What?” Minky smiles blankly.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, okay. Anyway, like I was saying—” She rattles on while I watch the shitshow going on in the corner. The little blonde falls and Sami bends down to help her up but falls down too. They both laugh, flashing more of themselves than I think they want.
A cell phone pops up, but as the pervert about to take the picture zooms in, a bouncer steps between him and Sami.
That’s about as far as I can let it go.
“Excuse me,” I cut Minky off mid-sentence, turn, and walk back to Sami’s table to see if she’s into going home or calling a car. Her driver needs to come and get her.
Sami tries to walk to the dance floor, but she shudders like she might get sick and instead leans on a table. Her eyes widen when she sees me, she even pauses. It’s weird. Like she’s uncertain of something, maybe me. It lasts a second before she’s back to rocking the usual stone-cold-fox expression.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Matt.” She says my name with a hint of annoyance and leans against the table, swaying slightly as she grabs her drink. How the fuck she has another drink is beyond me. She’s well past the point of not being served anymore and she’s underage. We both are.
Her plump lips press against the cold rock glass, leaving a pink stain on the rim when she puts the glass back down.
“You want to go for a walk? Get a slice of pizza, maybe? Sober up? I can call your driver.”
“What?” Her eyes dart to the little blonde she was with, the one who’s in love with Fairfield. “A walk?” Sami pauses, bringing her eyes back to mine. “Like in the streets, outside?” She appears confused by the idea.
“Yeah, that’s where the pizza is. You look like you need some food or your car or something.” I can’t help but grin.
“No.” She shudders again. “I don’t like that kind of pizza and I don’t walk—” She appears as if she might say something else or she might get sick.
Trying to stop her from focusing too hard on puking I try to make her laugh. “Let me guess, I think I’m good at this. You have someone who does your walking for you. No wait, your pizza is always delivered? No—your chef makes you gourmet pizza, even at three in the morning?”
“You’re a dick!” She laughs lazily.
“Maybe. But it’s the truth, admit it.”
“It’s cheating. You already know that about me.” Her eyes shine as she sways, making us both dizzy. “You know me, don’t you?” Her eyes squint, losing the humor.
“I do.”
“You’re a liar.” She shakes her head but she kinda laughs, bitterly. “Just so you know, I can walk fine just not in these shoes after dancing for hours. But I can and I’ve eaten pizza from a roadside vendor before, I just like gourmet better.”
“I have no doubt.”
“So,” she says with attitude, but I don’t know what she means by the “so,” or what I should say next.
“We doing this or not?”
“Doing what?”
“Walking. Getting you pizza and sober. Calling your car. Getting you out of this bar.”
“You seriously are asking me to go for a walk? Now? After you’ve acted like you—never mind.” She looks pissed and not just drunk. “I’m here with a friend. Maybe next time you’re in London you’ll remember to actually show some interest in a girl before you just end up kissing. Instead of doing it and then ignoring her and pretending like that amazing kiss never happened. Or lying about knowing the girl.” She hiccups as she staggers away, not making much sense but just enough that I see what’s going on.
“Right.” I turn. “Shit.” She completely remembers me from London.
I don’t know why I’m the one with the crappy feeling in my stomach when she’s the one who had the boyfriend. She’s pissed at me for not hitting on her when she was dating a friend? That doesn't even make sense. And she could have acted like she remembered when we met tonight, officially, but she didn’t. I took my cue from her.
I’m about to just leave when I catch Minky staring at me. She’s still at my table and giving me the look, the one suggesting we could be fucking right this second if I’m into it. But I’m not.
I contemplate what I’m going to say to let her down as I saunter back over. But I don’t even get my lips apart to say I’m not into it before Minky has my hand in hers. She spins and struts off, pulling me with her but not saying anything.
Laramie laughs, lifting his drink into the air.
When we get to a dark corner she twirls, grinning and licking her lush lips. She hauls me in, but I put my hand on the wall, stopping her. “Can I ask you a question, as a girl?”
“You can do anything you want to me.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Anything.”
“Awesome.” I want to wince at the awkward permission to play the back nine but avoid even acknowledging it. “If you were dating a guy and one of his friends kissed you on a random drunk night a long time ago, would you be pissed if the friend didn’t show interest in you after that? Like this happened a long time ago, eight months.”
“What?” Her shoulders slump and her sexy expression is replaced by disappointment.
“Like if I kissed—”
“No, I get the question. I’m not as dumb as I look. I mean, what does it have to do with this moment?” Her South African accent is gone. She sounds like she’s from Detroit.
“Nothing.” I pause. “I’m just confused. Besides, she isn’t single; she’s dating one of my friends. Last time I saw her, she was dating a friend. I couldn’t show any interest without being a bad friend. And I have a rule. I don't date girls who have dated my friends. It’s a thing for me. But she’s pissed because I didn’t say something. At least I think that’s why she’s pissed. I mean, we don’t even know each other. We just kissed and then I left before I made a mistake—”
“So we aren’t going to—”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Want me to suck you off then?” The way she says it with her Detroit accent is undeniably hotter than if she were still faking the South African one.
“I don't.” I laugh and step back. “I have a thing about love in the club too. Not really my scene.” I nod my head once. “Have a nice evenin
g.”
“You have a lot of things. Maybe you need to pull that tampon out and stop being a little bitch.” She steps into me, glaring. “If you kissed me and you meant it and you didn’t show interest afterward, I’d be pissed. Boyfriend or not.” She cocks a dark eyebrow, pausing for a moment and saunters off.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
On the walk back over to tell Laramie I am spent and emasculated, I pass Sami swaying and tripping on the dance floor. I nearly pinch between my eyebrows as my years of Sami Ford fantasies are crushed. Seeing her like this makes me suspect the girl I saw in London was short-lived, or just a lie, and she is actually a ditzy heiress. She laughs and stumbles from the dance floor, gripping the little blonde friend. They lean against the table and slam another drink.
I scan the club, noting she’s alone with the drunken blonde and no security, which is weird for a girl like her. But it was the same in London. So crazy. And now that Carson and Will are gone, they don’t have any other friends here. This club isn’t a place any of us have hung out at before. I wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t for the fact Laramie wanted to.
She trips and laughs, spilling drink on herself.
“Shit,” I mumble and walk to the table. “Can I call your car for you?”
“No.” Sami sounds like a child and shakes her head, pausing for a shudder. The third shudder always means vomit, in my research.
“Come with me. I’ll get you a cab at least.”
“I’m gonna puke. I don’t need dat filmed by peeeze of shit cabbie.” She is barely coherent.
Everything in me screams not to help her but for whatever reason, obvious insanity being a top possibility, I sigh. “Fine. I’ll walk you home.” There’s no way I can call Charles and risk them puking in our car. He’ll never forgive me.
“We can get dat pizzzza,” she slurs. She’s been slamming drinks nonstop for an hour.