by D. K. Combs
He was allowed to be pissed. Chase gloating didn’t help matters, either.
“Wanna bet?”
Noah paused. Those were the words.
The words that had caused fights, broken hearts, empty bank accounts... Those were the words that neither Chase nor Noah could walk away from.
This time, however, he was not going to bet on his own misery, because there was a good chance that Chase would manage to win that one, too.
“Screw off,” he snapped, then stormed into the theater.
“You know, if you’re too salty to see this movie, we can always do it later… Like, after you get your thirty-K back. Would that make you feel better?” Chase called after him.
Soon enough, the blonde haired man was running after him, his own ticket in hand.
Chase was that type of friend. The one you couldn’t help but hate a little every time he opened his mouth. He was successful, and every time he visited Noah, he had no problem splurging. He had money, he had smarts. He had it all—including Noah’s hard-earned Ducati pot.
So excuse him if every word that came out of Chase’s mouth made him want to toss a wrench at his perfect, blonde head.
The theater wasn’t busy, but that wasn’t a surprise. Wednesdays were never busy, and even though the place was in a lot better shape than it had been a few years ago, the business was slow and dying. In the last few years, new management had taken out purple and green carpets and replaced them with red, had updated all the concession counters, and had even put leather reclining seats in all the theaters. Still, to the locals who drove the luxury BMW’s or Aston Martins, this place was a dump.
Noah didn’t care. This was where he and Chase had been going for years to see a movie every time they caught up, and until the place burned down or went out of business, it would stay that way.
“So. About this new bet,” Chase said, wagging his brow. Of course, he would bring it up—the guy was an opportunist when it came to money, especially Noah’s money. But that’s what happened when you were best friends to a Wall Street accountant.
“Seriously? You can’t even give it a day?”
“I’m only here for a week and a half, asshole. I plan on going home with at least fifty-K this time.”
“Screw off.”
Chase’s laugh trailed off as he seemed to focus on something.
Noah followed his gaze.
Standing there, with her arms crossed over her chest, was one of the most rigid, most uncomfortable women he’d ever seen in his life—and he had seen a lot. Vibrant red hair fell around her shoulders in perfect neat waves, the striking color of it completely at odds with the tight expression on her face.
Her eyes were green, the color so pale he could see it from where he stood a few feet away. Her gaze flits from one place to the next, and every look that crossed her face was a variation of disgust and discomfort.
He took in her clothes, and then it started to make sense. The dark gray slacks she wore were high waisted, cinching at a tiny, delicate waist, and the silk burgundy shirt was tucked into the slacks. There wasn’t a single panty line, not a single misplaced fold or crease. Everything from the top of her head to her black heels was…perfect—and out of place.
The woman looked like she should have been going to a business meeting rather than a movie date, and even the expression on her face told him she would have rather been at one, not standing next to a gawky, creepy dude who had shifty, beady eyes.
The man was standing next to her, obviously trying too hard to look cool. He kept making attempts to speak to her, but she was barely paying attention—which was probably for the better anyway, because every time he looked at her, his scrawny hand crept down to his pants to adjust himself.
Noah grimaced and looked back at Chase. He had a look on his face that had Noah narrowing his eyes on him.
“If I were an asshole,” Chase said slowly, eyes not straying from the scene before them, “I would make her part of the bet.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t anyway,” Noah muttered. She wouldn’t have been an easy target. The haughty, disgust-filled look in her eyes was enough to make him not want anything to do with her, even though she was a beautiful woman.
Her features, while pinched right now, would have been stunning if they were relaxed. Either way, he could still see the plumpness of her lips, the delicate arch of her perfectly plucked eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline... Not only was her face impressive, but so was her figure.
Her arms were toned yet elegant, legs as long as a mile, and her hourglass figure gave her curves in all the right places.
Basically, she was perfect—except for the way she was taking in her surroundings. The contempt etched into every line on her face was enough to ruin the illusion.
There was nothing wrong with being seen at the movie theater, but then, maybe she was disappointed by who she was with—in which case, he could easily understand. The dude she was with was a creep. He had never seen a guy rub himself in public so many times at once, all the while trying to hold eyes with a woman who was obviously not interested in him.
“God, that has to be the most awkward couple I’ve seen in a while,” Chase said, cringing.
Noah couldn’t help but agree. He kept watching them, head tilting to the side despite himself. It was like watching a peacock and a slug try to get it on. Awkward and gross for everyone involved. Why the woman had agreed to go on a date with a man who she obviously had no interest in was beyond him.
Unless it was a pity date.
If it was a pity date, she could at least try a little harder to seem more…pitying.
The two of them stepped up to the concession counter. He knew he was going to regret it, but he listened in on their conversation. It wasn’t his fault he was eavesdropping, he told himself—Chase was the one who had drawn attention to them in the first place.
“We’ll take a large popcorn and one large drink,” the guy said as she opened her mouth to speak.
The look she gave him was enough to have Noah chuckling. When she looked over her shoulder, he quickly glanced at Chase—who shared the exact same expression.
“Will that be all for the two of you?” the cashier asked, numbers flashing up on the monitor as their total came up.
“Yeah, thanks.” The guy pulled out a card and the transaction finished quickly.
The kid who had checked them out went to take care of their order, and another kid came to the counter, saying, “Next,” when they stood there. Well, she stood there. The dude moved to the side, obviously thinking they were done.
“That would be me,” she said. Her voice was sharp, superior. Incredibly haughty but definitely feminine. By the way she spoke, you would think she was used to being in charge of things.
Noah wasn’t the only one who raised a brow. The dude next to her looked just as shocked and confused as she placed her own order.
“I had planned for us to share the drink and popcorn,” the dude said, frowning at her as she handed the kid her own card.
“You only ordered one of each,” she told him, her tone dripping with scorn.
“We’re on a date, though—”
She held up a hand, obviously expecting silence. She didn’t even bother to look at him when she spoke. Yeah, the woman was kind of a snob. Hot, but a snob nonetheless.
“That’s not how this works. I am perfectly fine paying for my own things. Thank you.”
Then she moved to the side. The distance she put between the two of them was definitely intentional.
He almost felt bad for the guy.
Almost.
If it weren’t for the way he once again rubbed himself with a pervy look in his eye, even after she had given the attitude, he might have.
If she was so uncomfortable and had no issues with being standoffish, why wasn’t she leaving?
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing right now,” Chase whispered covertly. Noah nodded. Honestly, this was like s
omething out of a bad movie. Normally, people had more chill, but this woman…she just didn’t care.
“Why are they even on a date?” Chase asked.
“I don’t even know. What I want to know is how they met?”
“Right? The guy looks like he hasn’t left his house in God knows how long, and she looks like she doesn’t want to be caught dead here.”
“Blind date?”
“Has to be,” Chase whispered, giving the two of them a once-over. “She’s probably some law firm assistant who doesn’t have enough time to date.”
Noah nodded, though he wouldn’t say she was that low on the totem pole. The way she held herself screamed control-freak.
As they got their stuff, the redhead leaned forward for a straw just as Noah stepped forward. As she pulled back with a frown on her face, her bright green eyes met his.
Her movement slowed.
He paused. Yeah, he had gotten a good look at her when she had been treating her date like a leper, but there was a difference between looking at someone and looking into someone. And her eyes were almost too easy to stare into.
Noah wasn’t one to get caught up in meaningful moments. He wasn’t one to be affected by people. Or fleeting instances. Or random connections. Or anything, really. All he cared about was his shop and bikes. So when a weird feeling in the pit of his gut actually stopped and made him stare back into someone’s eyes, it was kind of creepy.
More than creepy.
It was downright disturbing.
What was even more disturbing than that he felt something, was what he felt.
It was like someone had taken a hot poker and stabbed him square in the diaphragm. If not for his poker face, his breath would have left him in a rush, and he probably would have sprung an erection.
Which made him just as bad as the dude she was with.
At least he wasn’t turned on by how much she didn’t want him. No, instead, he was turned on by the abrupt shift in her gaze. It went from pissed to hot and full of desire in a second flat. Like someone had flicked a switch, all expressions of disgust and contempt disappeared, leaving her eyes full of sensual intrigue, full of need.
His earlier thoughts of not wanting anything to do with her? Gone.
Now all he could think about was what she would look like without those slacks on.
And if her actions earlier weren’t enough reason to break whatever screwed up trance he was in, that did it. Noah cleared his throat and backed away, giving her the space she needed to take her straw.
Like that, the daze was gone, but the feeling…was not.
“Oh, man,” Chase said with a laugh when she quickly walked away from him, her gaze downcast. The dude was left to keep up with her as her elegantly long legs took her down the hall. “You are so lucky.”
“Why?” Noah asked, dragging his eyes away from her.
“Because there’s like a one in fourteenth chance that we will be in the same theater as her.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Noah asked, still struggling to get out of the fog she’d left in his thoughts. God damn him, but all he wanted to see was if she could be as unrestrained as her eyes said she could be.
“She wanted you to finger bang her.”
Noah barked a laugh. “Doubtful.” Liar.
“Dude. We all saw it. Me, her, her date… She was like a cat in heat for a split second.”
He just shook his head. “Even if we were in the same theater, what would that have to do with anything?”
“I’d bet you on whether you could finger bang her. Right there.”
“With her date sitting there—and do you really have to say that?”
“He’s more like an unwanted bystander, so yeah. Right there,” Chase said, ignoring Noah’s question.
“And you’d bet me on it,” he said, raising a brow.
“Damn right I would,” Chase said. He quickly gave him both their orders, then pulled out a bill and handed it to the cashier. It was the same as always—two large popcorns, two large drinks, and four boxes of sour gummy worms. Chase was covering it this time.
“I don’t think there’s enough money in the world that would get me to do that, but nice try.”
“We both know there’s always ‘the right amount’ for you. What if I bet you back half the money you lost at the races?”
Noah stilled.
“That’s a lot of money. What about the other half?” he said, giving Chase a side-glance. The one thing about their bets was they were always good on them, so if he won the bet, then he would get that money—and he wanted it.
“The other half would come later. This would be a pretty high-stake bet. You’d have to get the snob willing, in a dark theater where there isn’t a way to explain what’s going on, next to her date.”
He gave his friend an arched look, taking the popcorn that was handed over the counter.
The thought was tempting. Even though the chances of them being in the same theater was slim, he still didn’t know if he could go through with it. He could entertain the idea of it, but he preferred his women to be less...stuck-up.
But then, a bet was a bet.
And that bet wasn’t going to be placed.
When he didn’t say anything, Chase spoke up. The cashier handed over the rest of their things and they headed toward their theater.
“You’re right—you wouldn’t do it. Even if we were in the same theater, you don’t have the balls.” Chase was famous for his goading—just like Noah was famous for falling for it.
“Whatever, man. I want to enjoy my movie, not spend most of the time convincing a condescending woman that I have to stick my fingers in her because I want fifteen-K back. Do you know how horrible that sounds?”
“Who said anything about explaining things?” Chase said, laughing. They entered the theater and went down the entry hallway. As they came around the corner, he scanned the seats.
In the same moment that Chase laughed, Noah’s eyes landed on the object of their discussion.
Her date was already sitting down, but she was swiping her pants off like she had sat in a pile of dog hair and cradling her purse, looking like she was strongly debating walking out of the theater right then and there. But, low and behold, she sat—gingerly, with deft movements that told him she wanted to be lighter than air—or not there at all.
Her purse stayed on her lap, her knuckles almost white from how hard she was holding it, and the look on her face…was priceless.
“Wanna bet?” Chase asked, elbowing him in the side.
Her eyes flickered to his as they stepped further into the theater, the lights not so dim that one couldn’t make out the features of the people already in there. Along with the vague surprise, that same look, the hot, hungry look on her face, coupled with the thought of getting back his fifteen-K had him walking right toward her.
“You’re not even going to ask what the stakes are?” Chase asked from behind him.
“No need,” Noah said over his shoulder. “I have this in the bag.”
If she wanted him, she was going to get him—and he was going to get his money back. Screw her date, screw the fact that they were in public, screw the fact that Chase had clearly baited him into it.
He was going to get that money back, and he was going to get his Ducati.
As soon as she was shaking in her chair, it was all going to be his.
Chapter Three
There were two contributing factors to the worst moment of her life.
One: she was in a movie theater. A run-down, smelly, disgusting, germ-infested movie theater.
Two: her “date” was a perverted moron.
What kind of person assumed a stranger would want to share a drink with them? What kind of person had to ‘fix his pants’ every time he looked at her? What kind of person put a picture of someone else on their profile? That was the exact thing Madeline had told her not to do, and yet people still thought it was acceptable!
; Bristol was not the kind to go on random dates. When she wanted sex, she went to a cocktail bar. Men were easy. Flash a little leg, smile, and then boom. She had her fix for the next month, and she was able to work without a problem. Without said fix, she would go insane.
When you lived, breathed, and dreamed about work, any type of relief helped. Sex, especially. It was quick and painless—if the guy knew how to do his part, at least.
This encounter, by no means, was quick and painless. No, it was probably one of the longest, most horrible, nightmarish experiences of her life, and she only had an evil, society-wrecking app called Tinder to blame—and Madeline, for introducing her to it!
Whatever had possessed her to go through with this, she would never know. Her normal routine of picking up guys at the bar had worked fine. She’d never not gotten the guy she wanted, but for some odd, stupid reason, she had chosen to do something different. Something stupid. Something that had wasted more of her time than the soap operas she used to watch.
She would much rather be watching a cheesy soap than be standing here. All this was, was a testament to one simple rule: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
And right now, she was really regretting not following that rule.
The first reason to that being she’d been freaking catfished.
The man in the profile had been dressed in a suit, had a nicely trimmed beard, perfect dark hair that flopped to the side, and his smile had been easy going. The man sitting beside her had none of that. His hair was dishwater blonde, though she assumed if he’d actually bothered to wash the greasy strands, they would be a decent-ish colored blonde.
Bristol did have to give him props, though—he at least had a beard...even if it looked like armpit hair was growing out of his face.
She was willing to bet the man in the picture would have smelled sharp, like an exotic woodsy scent. This guy smelled like he hadn’t showered in the last week. Smell was a huge deal to her, so when he lifted his arm and unleashed a wave of stink as vile as a skunk, she almost vomited.
What was even more vile? The reason he was lifting his arm in the first place.