Make Me Yours

by Kar, Alla

  MakeMeYours

  Alla Kar

  NA Romance

  2013. Copyright. Alla Kar

  All rights reserved. No parts of this books may be reproduced or transmitted in any forms without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it or won it in an author contest this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storyline are created from author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

  Chapter One

  I’m not too big on titles. They’ve always been unnecessarily cliché to me. You’ve got the preppy girls, the punk girls, the jock guys, nerds and so on. For me, I’d rather just say I’m a girl and that be the end of it. But, because I’m the one in a million that doesn’t like titles, I guess if I had to choose I’d fall under the title hustler. Laugh all you want, but I’m way better than anyone gives me credit for. In fact, I’m so good every guy that’s surrounding this pool table right now thinks I’m a damsel in distressed, twirling my long blonde hair around my finger. My hip pressed again the edge of the pool table and my back arched, so that the drooling baboon behind me can see my long legs barely hidden beneath my blue jeans shorts.

  Sure, call me sleazy, a flirt or manipulative, but that’s my game. That’s how I pay the rent. And its due next week, so I’ve hustled quit a few tonight. Suckers.

  I drop my finger to my low cut shirt and drag it slowly across my cleavage. “Wow, that was a great shot,” I say, leaning further over the pool table. I make sure my cleavage is showing before I bite my lip and stand back up.

  Jason-I think that’s his name- pushes his fingers through his perfectly quaffed Justin Beiber hair and smiles. “That’s how Daddy does it,” he laughs.

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and substitute it with a giggle. Daddy doesn’t know that he is gonna get his ass whooped.

  Placing a hand in his thousand dollar jeans, he tosses his blue beer bottle back, eyes traveling down to my cleavage. Obvious much?

  “Come on, sugar, it’s your turn,” the guy standing behind me says. I give him a sideways glance. His hair is in an Edward Cullen, wanna be, wild cluster. Smiling a crooked smile, he winks, sliding his hand over my lower back. I wouldn’t be wasting my time with such amateurs if I wasn’t hustling, but they have daddy’s pocket book and a shield when it comes to anything with boobs. So, they’re my best bet.

  Stifling, I grit my teeth and bend over the dark green table. Never lose character, Layla. I narrow my eyes and block out the warmth of Wild Hair behind me. This is the good boy pool hall. Well, as far as a rich, manipulative good boy will take you. They spend their family’s money on booze, sex and pool. They just don’t know they’re about to lose two hundred dollars to a girl. A smart girl.

  Squaring my stick, I shoot the ball right in the pocket. I smile to myself. “Lucky shot,” I say, standing up straight. A perfect shot. They’re too dense to know.

  Jason laughs and glances down at the table. “Lucky shot, sweetheart. Looks like you’re getting the hang of it.”

  You have no idea. “You’re a good teacher,” I say, biting my lip. Jason watches me, scratching underneath his chin, not embarrassed that he is bluntly checking me out. I glance over at the bar, in the next room. Cindy is sitting on a barstool arm hanging over some overly sized jock. No boundaries. If she weren’t my roommate, I would slap her silly. Give her a pretty smile, nice car and a fat wallet, she is all yours for the night. Or two.

  She glances over at me, and shakes her head. She doesn’t exactly approve of my lifestyle. But, when rent comes around, she sure is glad I hustled the people I did. The money I make at the campus coffee shop, doesn’t cut it.

  She points to the muscled baboon beside her and mouths something. I nod, pretending like I know what she is talking about. I really don’t care.

  Jason’s hand in front of my face, brings me back to hustling time. “Oh,” I say. “My turn again?” I ask.

  Jason gestures toward the table and nods. “Sure thing, sweetness. Your go,” he whispers.

  Okay, time to lay it down, baby girl. I smile to myself. Daddy didn’t raise no fool. I bend over, square it and shoot it right in. “Wow,” I say. “Got another stripe in there.”

  Jason narrows his eyes. “Two in a row. Your turn, again.” He takes a long swig. I can see a bead of sweat on his forehead, he wipes it off with the back of his hand.

  Right about now, he is regretting the two hundred dollar bet he placed on our game. Sucker. I shrug and bend over. Let me show you how it’s done, bitches.

  Ten minutes later all the striped balls are safely in the pockets. I smile. Jason’s mouth is ajar. “What the fuck just happened?” His brown brows are pulled down and he hasn’t moved.

  Placing the end of my pool stick on the floor, I lean on it and shrug. “Beginners luck? I’ve never done this well before.”

  A laugh from the corner of the game room catches my attention. A tall, dark haired guy is staring over at us, smiling. Where did he come from? “Nice job, Layla,” he says, tipping his beer backwards, never taking his eyes from mine.

  What the hell? “Do I know you?” I ask, popping my hip out. I’d definitely remember him. He is tall, has dark, cropped hair, and tattoos popping up from his V-neck, tight, gray shirt.

  He shakes his head and steps forward. “No, you don’t. But, I know you.” He winks. Lame ass.

  I’m about to cuss the creepy, stalker dude out, when Jason slams two hundred dollars down on the wood of the table. “Here, bitch,” he mumbles, turning on his heel and stalking away. Wild Hair follows him out, shaking his head. I’ve been called worse. “Now, that’s how Momma does it,” I mumble to myself.

  I tuck the money deep down in my jeans shorts. There you go, Layla. Spare no one. Clapping stops me from my mini praise. I turn on my heel, lean against the pool table and stare at the guy in front of me. “Do you need something?” I ask.

  He smiles, and my heart races just a tad bit. His heavy jaw is scruffy and his lips smooth and full. Stop it, Layla. Stalkers aren’t supposed to be sexy. Creeper guy leans back against the table opposite of me, crossing his combat boots over one another. “No, just taking a minute to check you out, Layla. I’ve been a fan for weeks.”

  I cock my head to the side. He is definitely confirming the stalker theory. “Fan of what?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  He laughs, it’s deep. He takes a long swig of his beer, and I watch as it slides down his thick throat. “Your hustling skills,” he says, pushing off the table. He points his beer bottle toward me. “You’ve hustled too many guys over here, and they’re too dumb to see it. Great job,” he says.

  Aggravated, I stand straight. He is not supposed to catch on. Why is he staring at me? Why is he watching me anyway? Dad’s number one rule: Never get caught. “As lovely as this has been, I’ve got places to go. Nice to meet you guy and your weird creeping. Chao.” I give him a fake crusty, before the fake smile.

  He furrows his brow and drops his jaw. I notice his tongue and the silver piercing pinched into the meat of his tongue. I walk out of the game room and toward Cindy. I push my way through the crowd. It’s way too crowded for my taste. I can’t risk having someone see me hustle, and in a college town everyone would know in five minutes. I finally find her, grinding against the same baboon from the bar. Jeez.

  “Cindy, it’s time to go,” I say.

  Tossing her head up, she yells, “What? Come dance with us!”

  I glance over at the guy behind her, he s
eems really focused on her ass. “No, time to go.”

  “Nope,” she says, turning and facing the baboon, who grabs her ass. She giggles. I roll my eyes. Jesus, getting her to go home is like pulling teeth. Huffing, I blow my blonde bangs up and cross my arms.

  “Trying to get your friend to leave? You that desperate to get away from me?” someone says into my ear. Way too close to my ear. I turn and glance up at the creeper guy. He smirks, and I notice a small dimple on his right cheek.

  “If you know that’s what I’m doing, don’t you feel stupid coming up and asking me?”

  He laughs, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat. Another tattoo catches my eye coming out of his shirt on the opposite side. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetheart.”

  Sigh. “I—ouch,” I say, feeling Cindy’s hand wrap around my upper arm and jerk me away from creeper boy.

  “Jesus, Layla. Do you not know who that is?” Eyes wide, she is staring at me. Straight-faced. Her demeanor tense.

  “No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.” I snatch my arm away, rubbing at the tender skin. Jeez, she’s got a hard grip.

  “Taylor Jacks.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  She cocks her hip to the side and throws her hands in the air. “Only the king of the kings on campus. He can have any girl he wants. You know Fight Night? The fighting arena up town? The biggest gathering of the student body…like ever!”

  Oh, Jesus. “You mean the barbarians that fight to get kicks?”

  She adjusts the straps on her, extremely too tight, shirt. At least I wear sleazy stuff to con men, she just does it for attention. “If that’s what you want to call it. He is so fucking hot, Lay. Brett is friends with him, he talked about crashing at his house tonight. You should come. Get you some goody goody.”

  Goody goody? “I’ll pass.”

  She huffs. “You never get laid, Layla. What are you hiding under there?” She points toward my crotch.

  I roll my eyes. “Are you okay to get home alone? I don’t want you calling me at 3a.m telling me I’m a terrible friend leaving you alone. This is your ride home, right now.”

  She rolls her brown eyes. “I’m fine, but you should totally come with us. It’ll be fun,” she wiggles her hips and does a stupid shimmy thing with her shoulders.

  “That’s my cue to leave, before you embarrass both of us.”

  “Grandma.”

  “Skank.”

  She smiles. “If the stiletto fits. I’ll text you when I get to their house.”

  “Sure,” I say, pushing my way back through the crowd.

  The cool April wind brushes against my legs and I shiver when I push open the overly heavy metal door. Digging through my pockets, I pull out my bus pass. I hate the bus. It smells like ass, and not to mention the shady characters that stare at the back of your head. Hardly any college kids ride the bus, but since I have no car, it’s that or walking. What’s left of my hustling money has gone into a huge jar hidden in my closet. I plan on getting a used car one day, hopefully soon. “Leaving already?”

  Damn, does this guy not have a life? “Look,” I say, turning toward him. The street light hits his face and I see the medal piercing in his eyebrow. Great, I’m stuck outside with a pierced freak. I’m gonna get raped. Well…maybe it fits him just a little. “I get it, I do. You’re the campus hottie that gets any girl he wants. And I’m the girl that doesn’t want anything to do with you.” I sigh. “That’s life in the fast lane, kid. It’s been nice chatting but I have to get home. I have work in the morning.”

  Taylor- I think that’s what Cindy called him- laughs. It’s the same deep laugh as before. “You’re funny, Layla. Very good actress.” He steps forward, towering over me. “That’s why I don’t believe you really want to go home right now.”

  “Mindless dreaming, Taylor. But- since you know- what do you think I do want to do right now?”

  He shrugs and looks over at a crowd of drunken kids stagger out of the bar. “Not go home. Your friend, Cindy is coming to my house with Brett. Wanna come?”

  Can this guy get any denser? “Are you deaf?”

  He steps closer, a smile crawling up his heavy jaw. A gust of wind slaps me in the face, sending Taylor’s scent over me. It’s manly, like a freshly showered Abercrombie model. Not that I’ve had the pleasure of actually smelling one, but I imagine that’s about what they smell like. “No. Desperate.”

  I take a step back. “You’re desperate for a lay and come to me? What a charmer.”

  He shakes his head. “To get inside that evil little mind of yours. You hustle, -what ten, twenty-guys a week and seem to have no strings attached to anyone. That’s strange. What’s your game?”

  He really isn’t that bad looking. I shrug and play with the fringe of my shirt. “Players never reveal their plays, Taylor. That’s what makes them good. You should know.”

  He bounces back on his heels, then smirks. “I’m not the player here, you’re the player. Why don’t you come show me what you got?”

  I fake a yawn. “Too tired.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “I have a pool table at my crib. One hour, if you’re not having fun, I’ll escort you home myself.”

  I glance at my cell phone and huff. This guy is not giving up. “One hour.”

  He smiles, that ruthless smile. “That’s all I need.”

  Taylor lives in the upper eastside of town. In other words, where the rich people send their kids after high school. It’s gated, and looks like it’s been built for royalty. Cindy is in the back seat of Brett’s BMW with me, it’s sleek, black and shiny. She keeps talking but I’m not listening to her. Sometimes I wish she came with a damn mute button.

  Cindy was a second choice for a roommate. I was actually supposed to live on campus, and when the dorms filled up, I had to find a place to live fast. I was not going back home to save my life. Too many memories lay there to haunt me. Cindy’s last roommate had graduated, leaving her with the rent to pay alone. One flier and phone call later, I was moving into the two bedroom apartment near campus. Luckily or unluckily, however you see it, Cindy and I bonded a little more than I planned. It’s not my agenda to make friends, not while I’m hustling, it never ends well. Cindy is a pain in the ass, but I love her anyway.

  “What do you think, Layla?” Cindy asks.

  “Huh?” I say, glancing over at her.

  She huffs. “You’re not paying a damn bit of attention. Sometimes I wish I could get in your head and see what goes on in there.”

  Taylor laughs from the front seat and I debate slapping the back of his head. Asshole. “I was just falling asleep from the damn long drive out here.”

  “Never been to this part of town?” Brett asks.

  I shake my head but realize he can’t see. I would never be able to afford this place but I don’t say this. “Once or twice,” I mumble.

  We pull into a parking spot, and everyone gets out. Taylor lives on the first floor, and I’m glad. It’s an easier escape route with no stairs. I don’t plan on staying long, as soon as my hour is up Taylor is going to take me home.

  Brett grabs Cindy and puts her over his shoulder, carrying her screaming into the house. She pretends to fight, hitting his ass. “You want a ride?” Taylor asks, eyeing me from the sidewalk. His voice shoots nerves through me.

  “I have legs,” I say, stepping up onto the porch of his apartment.

  A crooked smile trails up his face and his eyes lower to my legs before I turn my back to him. Don’t look at me like that. “Very long and nice ones at that,” he whispers from behind me.

  I’m glad I’m facing forward or he might see the burning underneath my cheeks. Taylor’s apartment is far larger and nicer than ours. His living room is filled with leather couches, a huge TV and enough Blu-Rays to last three years. The door closes behind me. I hear Brett close a door and Cindy yelp out. I can only imagine what they’re gonna be doing soon.

&nbs
p; “So, you ready to show me what you got?” Taylor asks.

  I examine my nails. “Sure, if you think you’re ready for that kind of punishment, Taylor.” He laughs, sending a hum radiating from his chest.

  He leans down close to my ear, “I can endure more punishment than you think.”

  A warmth spreads over my stomach, traveling downward to... ya know. Shit. I take a step back and gesture toward the room. “It’s your house, lead the way.”

  He smirks, and walks toward a small hallway. I follow him into a lit room, which has video games, air hockey, pool, and three theater seats in front of a large pull down TV. Swanky.

  “So,” Taylor says, shutting the door. I watch as he grabs two pool sticks and hands one to me. “I see you won off stripes last time?

  Very observant. I nod.

  “Well forget the break, you can have stripes.”

  I nod. “You’re going down, buddy.” I say.

  He laughs. “Wait, we need to make the deal a little more interesting.” He steps closer to me, his forearms touching my back. “For every time our opponent gets one in, we take one off.”

  My head snaps up. “Is this a so called cleaver way to get me naked, Taylor? Because, I’d need too much alcohol for that.”

  Leaning against the table beside me, he laughs. “Right, because I’m so repulsive that you couldn’t stand to see me naked.”

  My ears burn. Seeing him naked…didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. His shoulders were kind of large and the tattoos, I…I did like those…a little. I shake my head. This cannot happen. Daddy’s second rule: Never get too close. They’ll hurt you something fierce.

  He laughs, stepping closer, his mouth close to mine. “Does thinking about me naked…bother you, Layla?”

  I huff, it’s shaky. Why does he smell so good? “Hardly.”

  He smiles. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem, then, right?”

  I grip my pool stick harder and shrug. “Of course not. You’ll be the only naked one anyway. So, I’m not too worried. Let’s do this, big dog.”