It’s no secret that Jo hasn’t had an extreme amount of men in her bed, and I’m seriously proud of her for that. All the guys she has had are boys—cute, funny, and sweet, but boys nonetheless. I personally like a man—a man’s man, a throw-you-against-the-wall and fuck you within an inch of your life kind of guy. Since those men can be hard to find, I, too, have not had many men in my bed…lately.
When I first moved to Boston, I went wild with one-night stands, and later, I realized I was just screwing anything that moved to get back at my abusive, controlling ex. One day I just stopped and really looked at my life. Extremes weren’t cute, so I decided to chill out on the men and focus on my career. The last man I had was over a year ago, and my vagina is starting to retaliate against me. Self-induced orgasms are starting to become few and far between.
“Ladies,” the bartender says, sliding up in front of us.
“Vodka and cranberry, light on the cranberry,” I say, smiling.
Jo orders her favorite appletini. Those things make me freaking sick. I don’t know how she can stand it. We stand and drink our cocktails. Well, I drink, and Jo sips. We survey the club for anyone who looks halfway appealing. Unfortunately, none of the men appeal to me in the slightest. I down the rest of my drink and grab Jo before heading to the dance floor. It smells like sweat and liquor as we start moving to the rhythm.
A few guys decide they are brave enough to try to hump us while we dance. Lucky for me, the one who picks me is a whole head shorter than I am. I take my heel and stab it into his foot as soon as he begins to dry-hump me while putting his hands on my hips. That’s a no-go, my short friend. He gives me the stink eye and slithers away to his next unassuming victim.
Jo seems to like the next guy who comes to dry-hump her, so I give her a smile and walk away, heading toward the bar. I need a break from the music and handsy sweaty guys.
I’m just downing a second vodka and cranberry, when I am tapped on the shoulder. I spin around to see a huge, brawny guy in a black shirt that says Security in big white letters across the chest.
Oh, hell, what have I done now?
I think maybe it’s the bouncer from the entrance. Buying him a beer and chatting would be kind of nice right about now, but when I look into his scowling face, I realize it’s not him.
“Come with me, girl,” he growls.
Damn, he looks mean.
“Um, no, thanks. I don’t know you.”
I’m not trying to sound like a bitch. Frankly, this guy scares the shit out of me, and not many people do that. I’m about six feet six with my high heels, but this guy has at least three inches and two hundred pounds on me.
“I’m club security. Come with me.”
It’s not a question. It’s an order, and it’s freaking terrifying. He grabs my elbow and pushes me in front of himself to guide us through the crowd of sweaty bodies dancing around the floor. The people part like the Red Sea. We must be a sight—me with my white-blonde hair and creamy alabaster skin, standing above everybody, and him with his dark mocha skin and shaved bald head, also standing above everybody. I nervously giggle to myself, ebony and ivory seems fitting in this moment.
We arrive at a set of stairs. I look up, and it’s almost pitch-black.
Oh, hell, he’s going to rape me. I know it. Or he’s just going to kill me and leave me up there.
Shit. Jo has no clue where I am. Great.
“Up you go,” he orders, pushing me toward the stairs.
I dig my feet into the ground as much as I can. It isn’t all that much, considering the floor is cement and I’m in spiky heels with zero traction ability.
“Excuse me if I’m a bit reluctant. I have no clue what the hell is going on here, and I’m not about to go up some pitch-black freaking stairs, so you can kill me,” I huff, looking up at him.
He cracks a smile on his stony face, and for some reason, I’m not as terrified as I was, but I’m still pretty wigged out.
“I am just the messenger. Someone wants to meet you.”
He points up to some alcoves, and I can see what could possibly be outlines of shadows up there but nothing else.
“What is all this about?” I ask, putting on my brave girl panties.
“You’ll see. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you, girl. This is the VIP section, and there is a bouncer at every single alcove,” he states, pushing me right up the stairs.
My feet should have been planted firmly on the ground, but they’re curious little bastards, and up the stairs I go. A long walkway is lit only by those little lights that they use in the movie theaters, so I each step I take is with pure hesitation and I can hear my heart thumping each time one foot glides in front of the other.
The massive guy stops and leans down to whisper to another big, heafty man standing at the entrance of one of the dark alcoves. This screams rape and murder—or at least, serious trouble—but I’m too fucking intrigued to leave. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
“Come in,” the second beefster says, opening the rope and waving his hand like he’s the ’roided-out little brother of Vanna White.
I tentively take a step into the alcove and look around. I’m alone. What in the hell? I walk over to a couch in the little area and sit down. Well, if this isn’t the weirdest night I’ve ever had…
My feet are silently thanking me for the chance to relax. I love a good pair of heels, but after dancing and spending all evening running around on them, I need the break. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see a very cute girl walk into the alcove. Well, I certainly hope whoever brought me up here isn’t anticipating some kind of kinky ménage a trios scene.
I’ve only done that once, and it didn’t work out the way I had envisioned, so it’s never happening again. It probably didn’t help that I didn’t know the other people at all. I was drunk as hell, and then I puked right when things were about to go down. I shiver at the thought. That was the last time I ever sailed with the Captain. I miss my Captain and Diet.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks, turning on a small lamp attached to the side of the alcove.
Wow, that’s much better.
“Vodka and cranberry, light on the cranberry, please,” I order, still uncertain as to why I’m even sitting here.
“Sure thing, honey,” she says before walking away.
She’s cute—young but cute, I think to myself, looking around.
This couch is freaking heaven. It’s so soft and plush that I could seriously lie down on it and sleep forever. I shake my head. No, I can’t lie down. I have to be on my toes for whatever is about to happen up here. I pull out my cell phone to text Jo and inform her that I was pulled away for a bit but to let me know when she’s ready to roll. The cute waitress comes back, sets my cocktail down on the little coffee table, and scurries off.
Weird.
I’m halfway through my drink when I hear a small commotion in front of me. The guard outside of the alcove opens the rope, and someone enters the small space. I can feel my heart racing. It’s pounding so hard in my chest that it feels like it’s going to explode. I’ve never been so nervous in all my life, and I have no clue what I even have to be nervous about. I see a tall figure walking toward me, and the person stops just a few feet in front of my body. My mouth gapes when I look up.
Holy. Shit.
Also by Hayley Faiman
Men of Baseball Series
Pitching for Amalie
Catching Maggie
COMING SOON—JANUARY 2016
My next series is about three men in the Russian Bratva and the women that they choose as their own.
Book One, Owned by the Badman, will be released on January 28, 2016.
It is a sexy tale about a Russian alpha male and the woman he chooses to be at his side.
His reward.
Sweet and innocent, she has no clue what she is getting into until their wedding night…
As an only child, Hayley Faiman had to entertain herself s
omehow. She started writing stories at the age of six and never really stopped.
Born in California, she met her now husband at the age of sixteen and married him at the age of twenty in 2004. After sixteen years together, he’s still the love of her life. Hayley’s husband joined the military and they lived in Oregon, where he was stationed with the US Coast Guard, before they moved back to California in 2006, where they had two little boys. Recently, the four of them moved out to Hill Country in Texas, where they adopted a new family member, a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.
Most of Hayley’s days are spent taking care of her two boys, going to the baseball fields for practice, or helping them with homework. Her evenings are spent with her husband and her nights - those are spent creating alpha book boyfriends.
First and foremost to my husband. THANK YOU BABES. Without his love and support none of this would be possible. He is truly my best friend and my constant. Sixteen years and we’re still going strong. He works hard climbing those poles so that I can live my dream. How do I not give him all of my thanks for simply that alone?
Mom—ALWAYS my best friend… seriously… I would not be the woman I am today without you as my moms. Without your unwavering support I would not have continued to pursue this dream. Thank you for being my Beta reader and sending me your suggestions…. Even when I don’t always use them.
Nisha—my sister from another mister. Thanks for always sending me your encouragement on even the smallest accomplishment. It means more than you know! Love you sister!
Cassandra Searby—I dedicated Libby to you… need I say more? Love you Boo.
Rosalyn—R.C.—My editor… my author BFF… my Sassy sister. Seriously. God placed us in each other’s lives at the most perfect time. Thank you so much for all of your help making Libby come to life. Thank you for making me work.
Cassandra Roop – Pink Ink Designs …. This cover… THIS COVER!!! It’s gorgeous. Thank you so much for busting this out. Seriously. It’s amazing and I am so lucky to have found you!
Stacey Blake—Champagne Formats … Thank you so much for bringing my words to beautiful life. You are the best babe!
My Fans, every single person who one-clicked this book, and this series.
THANK YOU
It means more to me than you will ever know to have somebody not only read but enjoy the stories that I have written. This is my dream and without each and every one of you it would not have ever come true. There aren’t enough thanks in the world that I could give. I just appreciate every single one of you so very much.
Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3) Page 26