Alphas & Millionaires Starter Set

by Brooke Cumberland

  I dart my naked butt to Carissa’s bathroom and grab the closest towel. Scooby Doo? Really, Riss? She looks all female and sex appeal, but deep down she’s still so much a child.

  I wrap myself up in Scooby and grab a smaller one for my hair. I come back out, blushing now. I could die right now. Literally die. I’m embarrassed I acted like that, but mostly I’m embarrassed because he just saw everything and more. So. Much. More.

  I tiptoe back out to the living room. He and Carissa are casually sitting on the couch, apart from each other. Carissa is good at getting what she wants. She never has a problem getting a man’s attention, but the way Eric is ignoring her and only pretending to be interested in what she’s saying is humorous and honestly, priceless. I can tell his lack of interest is annoying her, so she stands and huffs off.

  “He’s all yours,” she whispers in my ear as she heads back to her room. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t bother to think about it as I’m standing in the middle of the apartment in only a towel.

  “I’m, um, going to get dressed now. Is there something you needed?” I ask, hoping he gets the message to leave.

  “Just wanted to make sure y’all were adjusting well.” The squeak in his voice tells me otherwise.

  “We’re fine. Really, you don’t have to keep checking up on us. I don’t think the taxpayers are paying for that.” I cross my arms, keeping the towel in place.

  He laughs at my dry humor. “No worries. It’s on the house,” he plays back, showing off all his perfect teeth again. “And we’re neighbors, so really, I’m just being neighborly.”

  “I’ve never seen you around before.” I sound more accusing than I mean to.

  “That’s because I just moved in.”

  “Where are you from?” I ask, realizing he’s keeping me around longer than I intended.

  “Canada,” he answers, breaking into laughter as he sees my confused expression. “Texas, actually.” Figures. Southern. Hot. And a Texan.

  “Well, I appreciate the southern hospitality, or whatever it is you’re doing, but it really isn’t necessary.” I don’t know what I mean by that; I just want a reason to make him leave. The way my bare skin reacts to his voice makes me cringe inside. His emerald eyes pierce through me so far that I feel it all the way down to my toes. His smile is genuine and his voice charming.

  “Perhaps I’ll see y’all around then.” He nods and lowers his head. He stands up and starts walking past me when I reluctantly grab him by the arm. I could die right now. Literally die.

  “Hold on.” He turns back around and faces me. I get a whiff of his musky scent, and instead of making my eyes water like the smell of cologne typically does, it makes me smile. His smell is so addicting it arrests my ability to speak or move.

  “Yes?” he asks after I stand there saying nothing.

  “Thank you again,” I say, eventually spitting the words out. “I mean it. You really did a sweet thing coming to help.” I realize my hand is still touching his arm, but I can’t find the strength to move it. He smiles so sweet and natural that I’m lost in it.

  He takes my hand in his and moves it to his mouth. “It was my pleasure, Velaney.” He lays a soft kiss on the back of my hand and looks intently at my eyes again. We share a moment—or two—before he moves. “If you need anything, you know where I am.” He walks out leaving me completely breathless and confused. If I need anything? Like what? Perhaps an oxygen mask from constantly holding my breath around him…

  * * *

  Oh, frack, my body aches like a son-of-a-bizznatch. I really need to work on my lack of synonyms. Not only did I grow up with a father who screened my teeth every chance he had, but also my mother is a pastor. That’s right. A pastor’s daughter right here. My parents were constantly creating replaceable swear words—usually ridiculous ones. Bizznatch, fudge, tartar sauce, and holy biscuit were the common ones I heard over my childhood years. As much as my mother didn’t approve of any kind of swearing, she gave in to replaceable words. However, between my father and older brother, Aiden, there were slip-ups.

  I wasn’t completely against swearing. Hell, shit, and damn were usually the ones my mother allowed to slip. She’d say Hell was a place, not a swear word, damn was something beavers made, and shit was something all animals do naturally. Why she had exceptions for those were beyond me…

  I ran every day this week. I pushed myself harder and harder each day, letting out the sexual frustration that had secretly built up. As Carissa called it, my pussy fairy needed to twirl her magic wand and give me a big O or I’d run to the point of no longer feeling my insides.

  I picked running.

  I was fine with not having a man in my life. I had one relationship out of high school three years ago, so yeah, it may have been some time since the pussy fairy has spread her love, but running was my outlet. My sexual tension releaser—what I would tell Carissa anyway.

  I stopped to catch my breath, and propped my sweaty hands on my knees. Bent over, I close my eyes and focus on catching my breath. Just one more mile. I can do this. I ran out of water a mile ago and am now running off pure rage. Rage I’ve been holding in since I was a little girl. Rage that my family has put me in…

  Looking up, I see the sun rising—yellow and orange fluorescents stream in between the city buildings.

  I swing my arms around, crack my neck and slam my feet to the pavement. Rage and anger are what fuel my runs every single day. A childhood filled with regret and pure hatred is the focus of it all. What sounds like the perfect childhood—dentist father, pastor-preacher mother—was anything but.

  Oh God, I made it. Oh, sweet, baby cheese balls—as my mother would say—I’m home. Desperate for air and water, I sprint to the elevator. I slam my body against the back of the elevator, except it’s not the wall I’m used to hitting my hands on.

  I look up and see Eric. Shirtless. Sweaty. He smiles down at me, and my hands that are supposed to be smacking the wall are pressed up against his hard, sweaty chest. Oh hells bells, he has a nipple ring. And tattoos. Good Lord, I’m doomed.

  “I’m so sorry! Geez. I’m sorry, Eric. Did I hurt you?” What a ridiculous question.

  “Of course not. I should be asking you that.” He laughs, well aware of how hard his chest is. His chest hairs are covered in sweat, but surprisingly, he smells sweet. I’ve never had the urge to lick someone’s sweat before, but he gives that thought some merit.

  “Can I sue for wrist damage?” I tease back. Of course, it was my fault for running into him, but my wrist really does hurt.

  “Can we settle out of court, at least? I can’t have felonies on my record.” He smirks, and I swear I feel my heart beating out of my chest. Holy shizzwizzle, his body is wicked hot.

  Insanely hot.

  “I suppose I could. What are you offering?” I ask, crossing my arms, seeing if he plays along.

  “I would settle for dinner,” he smiles, leaning back on the railing.

  “Dinner? You’re a cheap—” Nope, I can’t say it. No matter how much I want to, I can’t get it out.

  “Ass? Were you just about to call me a cheap-ass?” he asks, pretending to sound offended. I laugh, embarrassed that he even noticed.

  “Yeah, but I failed miserably.” He continues laughing as I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m not some childish good girl, I promise. It’s just that every time I swear, or attempt to, that is, I see my mother’s sneering face in my head.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can’t swear.” I wave him off, not wanting to have that conversation. “Working out?” I ask, changing the subject. There’s more to the swearing thing than I ever plan to explain. Damn and hell are the only ones that I allow to slip out, especially because they don’t hold a painful memory in my mine…like the F bomb.

  “Yeah, I run to the gym and back. Cardio and such,” he explains. He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. “So, you can’t swear, huh? Did a bad ol’ witch put a spell on you or somethi
ng?” He chuckles as if this is absolutely preposterous.

  Bad ol’ witch? Yeah, that’s a good name for my mother.

  “Something like that,” I smirk back. “Wait, there’s no gym in this neighborhood,” I mention, changing the subject once again.

  “I know. I run to the one by the university.”

  “That’s like ten miles!” I gasp. There and back.

  He laughs. “Yeah. It’s nothing.” He shrugs as if he’s too macho to complain. “You should come with me some day. I’ve seen you out running all week.” My insides heat at the fact that he’s noticed. My legs weaken and I grab the railing behind me to keep myself up.

  “I don’t know,” I vaguely respond. The elevator dings at the fourth floor.

  “See ya ‘round, Velaney.” He walks out and turns around to face me. The doors close on his smile, leaving me completely breathless, again.

  I stumble back to my apartment, entirely taken aback. I’ve encountered men that were interested in me before, and even dated one guy, but Eric was affecting me differently than anyone ever has. Perhaps it’s because he saved me from smoke inhalation, or the fact that he saw me naked, but I couldn’t let it get to me. I wouldn’t. Men are just after one thing, and that one thing is on strike. For now.

  I grab my towel and head right for the shower. I have images of Eric in my head the entire time. His body. Covered in sweat. Sweet-smelling sweat. His dark hair brushed back, his piercing emerald eyes. Oh God, get out of my head. Out!

  I finish my shower in record time. I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Work. I only work weekends when Coach asks me. I try not to make it a habit, but most weekends I don’t have anything else to do anyway.

  I dress, eat, and head out to my car; the Ladybug as Carissa calls it. I bought my red Volkswagen Beetle as a college graduation present to myself last year. I studied sports medicine at Boston University, and after graduation, I was offered a job at the university to work with the hockey team.

  Most of them flirt with me and make sexual references to the fact that I get paid to rub them. There are a couple of cute ones. However, I’m not ready for that yet.

  “Good morning, Coach.” I smile and wave with my coffee cup in hand.

  “Vel! Just the girl I was looking for.” He steps behind his desk and walks toward me with a clipboard in his hand.

  “Whatcha need?” He directs me into the workroom where two of his players are laying on padded tables. “What happened?” I rush over to one and examine the damage.

  “Bar fight. Fucking idiots,” he mumbles. “Trey smashed his fist into someone’s face, and Brandon sucker-punched another.” He makes a face of disappointment and slams the door behind him.

  “Your hand is bruised and pretty swollen,” I explain to Trey. “Can you move your wrist?” He shakes his head as I continue examining his injuries.

  After assessing both guys, I send them off with ice packs and ibuprofen. I tell them they’ll need to rest their hands if they want to play by the next game. They nod and chuckle as I turn my back to them. Ugh…boys.

  I’m done by four and walk back to the Ladybug, who takes me to my second job where I bartend a few nights a week. I’m hardly a drinker, but the tips help pay the bills.

  I pull my hair down and brush my fingers through it. I shimmy out of my sweater, leaving only a pink cami. Not only does it get hot during the busy rushes, but also the more skin I show, the better the tips. Shallow perhaps, but necessary, yes.

  As I walk through the back, I grab my apron and tie it around my waist. Then I head up to the bar where Julia and Kenna are already working.

  “Hey, girls,” I smile as I punch in my code on the computer screen.

  “Carissa coming in tonight?” Julia asks.

  “As far as I know.” I pinch my lips together tight. I helped Carissa get this job, but she’s somehow managed to give herself a name. And not a good one.

  “Can I get some fucking service over here?” I turn and see a man who has clearly been drinking for a while. His eyes are bloodshot and he can barely stand. He holds on to the bar for support and nearly stumbles as he waves his ten-dollar bill at me.

  I’m used to customers like him. It doesn’t really bother me much, but at times, it can be annoying. Carissa will usually yell some foul language back at them and then squeeze her boobs together to get them to calm down.

  I sigh and make my way in his direction. After grabbing the money from his fingers, I lean down and ask, “What do you want?”

  “Are you an option, sweetheart?” Ugh, he’s disgusting. He laughs at his own question. I back up and cross my arms, rolling my eyes at his lame attempt.

  “No. Now, either tell me what you want or I’m leaving you here to drool.”

  “Whew…I like ’em feisty! Especially with a rack like yours.”

  “Get your ass out of here!” Carissa yells from behind me. She waves the guy off and stands in front of me.

  “I had it under control, Riss,” I pout that she doesn’t think I can handle it.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you did.” She smirks and hands a customer a beer. “You wanna stock?” It’s slow enough still, so I nod and head to the basement. I grab a couple cases of beer and head back up. I go back and forth five times before I finally have everything I need. Beer. Liquor. More beer.

  “Hey, Riss? Can ya help me?” I call out from the back freezer. I don’t hear her walk through or call back, so I yell again.

  Where the hell is she? Then I hear two men yelling, and Carissa telling them to keep it down. There’s a sound of a bottle shattering on the floor, so I rush to my feet and run to the front of the bar.

  There are four guys in the middle of the bar. Two are yelling at each other and the other two are holding them back.

  “You motha-fuckin’ asshole!” one yells. He’s clearly drunk, hoisting his fists to his chest, preparing to fight.

  “You cock-suckin’ fucker, what did you call me?” the other yells back. He’s a good five inches taller than the other one but has a beer gut. He’s holding an empty bottle of beer over the other guy’s head, ready to smack it down on him.

  I don’t know what, but something drives up inside me as the two fire out curse words at one another. I push past Kenna and end up right in the middle of the brawl.

  I yank the beer bottle from Gut Boy’s hand and push the other one aside. Anger and rage build up inside me as I yell at them to knock it off.

  “Look, Princess, this is between us men. Now get out or put out!” the shorter one yells as he spits beer at me. His friend next to him laughs and I’m beyond mad at this point. The word Princess strikes a nerve…Princess. I smash my hands hard against his chest, which is unexpectedly easy seeing that he isn’t solid at all.

  “Get out! All of you!” I scream back. I feel my body heat rising as they smirk at me. They obviously don’t take me seriously. “Carissa, call the cops. Now!” I demand as I look over my shoulder. She grabs her cell from her pocket and puts it to her ear after she dials.

  “Oh no, you called the po-po on us,” the taller one mocks. Without thinking, my right hand meets his face across the cheek. He immediately stops laughing and lunges for me.

  “You little bitch!” I’m sandwiched between the two men, inhaling their awful beer and liquor breath.

  “Get away from me!” I shriek, pushing against them. They close in tighter, not giving me any way to get out.

  I hear Carissa calling out my name as she tries to shove through. “Move, dammit!” she yells, pushing her body through the mass of drunks.

  Before she reaches me, the two men are pushed apart and a beer bottle slams to the floor again. I can hardly believe the police are here already. Wait, not police.

  “Get off her, man!” he yells. It’s Eric’s voice, but not his southern, sweet tone. Rather he sounds hoarse and aggravated.

  “What the hell? She hit me, man!” one of them yells again.

  “Touch her again, and I swear to God!”
Eric threatens. They look at his biceps bulging out of his t-shirt and back away.

  “Be cool, man,” Beer Gut Guy protests with his hands up in surrender.

  “Are you alright?” Eric turns to me and asks. I try to catch my breath, but can’t look him in the eyes yet.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  “I was grabbing a beer after work when I walked in on you getting your ass kicked.” He laughs and nudges me with his elbow.

  “I wasn’t getting my…butt kicked. And I had it under control!” I defend, but his smirk tells me he doesn’t believe me.

  “Oh, right. I saw how under control you had it, Velaney.” He rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath.

  “I don’t need you saving me, Eric. I’m a big girl.” I brush past his arm and walk back behind the bar. I don’t know why I just acted the way I did. He did nothing wrong. In fact, he’s so right. So sweet…charming…sexy. I hate that I need saving. Or that I like him. Or that I like him saving me. But there’s no reason he needs to know that.

  I help a few more customers before I finally settle down. Carissa tells me to go sit in the back, but I convince her I’m fine and continue working. The bar settles down, and the four of us get back to work.

  “Doing okay?” Julia rounds the bar, wiping up spilled beer.

  “I’m fine. Seriously, guys. I’m not that little.” I give the biggest cheesy smile I can form and laugh as she mocks my grin. “Whatever. It was just a fight. No big deal,” I lie.

  “Your hero is still here,” Kenna smirks and nods her head to the corner part of the bar. Eric is sitting in a booth, watching me intently. His lips are pressed in a firm line. He looks mad, but his eyes are soft. I can’t figure him out. He’s looking at me, watching my every move.

  “Ugh, what is he doing here?” I groan. I grab a bottle of beer and march over to his table. He watches me walk toward him and fights back a smile.

  “Here,” I mumble, setting it down in front of him. “It’s on the house.” I stand next to him and cross my arms. I don’t know whether to hug him or slap him.