Sidelined
The BY HIS GAME series:
Sidelined
Intercepted
The CALL series:
The WILD series:
The GAME series:
The MEMORIES series:
The BURKE BROTHERS series:
For my Hartbreakers.
Your enthusiasm never fails to amaze me.
Love you, ladies.
T
he guy is a fucking god.
For real. It’s like Zeus created him a zillion years ago, looked at him, and then said, “Oh, dude, you’re too damn perfect for the Ancient Greeks. I’m saving your fine ass for the twenty-first century.”
So here I am in LA’s newest and most exclusive club, stuck staring at Jack Carr’s sexy-as-sin person. Wanting to punch him and fuck him simultaneously. Because, hot damn, I will refer you to my previous thought: the guy is a fucking god.
Like, dark hair. Really dark hair. Messy and disheveled, like he’s had numerous sets of fingers running through it all night. Green eyes. Green. Fucking. Eyes. The rarest color just happens to be on the most goddamned freaking perfect-looking guy in the history of ever. And then there’s the cheekbones and the jawbones and oh sweet fucking hell. It could be the margaritas, but I’m telling you, the guy is to die for.
And I need to get laid. Pronto.
Or my vibrator. You know, that would do the job perfectly right about now. So I may come to the thought of Mr. Sexy Running Back, but that’s how it goes.
This tight coil in my stomach made purely of sexual desire needs to fuck off sometime last week, because Jack Carr and his sexy-as-hell ass are not part of my five-year plan. Hell,
names
aren’t part of it.
Mitch ruined that. My ex-boyfriend took my perfectly-figured-out five-year plan of buying an apartment together and getting engaged and possibly married and tore it into a thousand pieces when he bedded my cousin and knocked her up.
Kudos to him though. It was a rare occasion when he could make me orgasm, so for him to have made a
baby
? His cock was high on crack that night.
Still…
I drag my eyes from where Jack is chatting to—and up—a blond model with legs to her armpits and tits to Saturn and focus on the bartender. “Another.” I slide the glass across the bar toward him, and automatically, my eyes flick back to Jack.
Shit. Seriously? I fuck the guy twice—twice too many times, despite the decidedly delicious abundance of orgasms both times—and now, I’m staring at him longingly across a bar. Write me a fucking love story, someone. You’re looking at a number-one New York Times best seller with that.
I hand the bartender ten dollars from my purse without looking at him and wrap my fingers around the stem of the glass. Jack looks away from Ms. Extraterrestrial Tits, and his eyes collide with mine.
Bright green and blazing. I feel the fuckers everywhere. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I feel their slow perusal, their roaming appreciation, their blazing attraction.
And I look away.
Fuck this.
I swing my legs around the stool, stand, and tug my little black dress farther down my thighs. And, let’s be honest, with a skirt that barely contains my panties, it needs to be tugged down.
Glass in hand, I saunter over to where Corey and Leah are sitting at a little, round table. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?” I demand in a low voice, staring at her angrily.
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” She shrugs a shoulder.
Seriously?
“You know I don’t do the whole ‘hi, how are you?’ thing after fucking a guy.”
“Then don’t talk to him.” Leah laughs. “Seriously, ignore him, and he’ll ignore you.”
I, “Mmph,” into my glass, my eyes sliding across the darkened room until they find him again. Sitting in a booth with the blonde. And now, she’s draped over him the way I drape chocolate sauce over my cream puffs when I’m on my period.
Fantastic.
“Why are you still staring at him?” Corey asks.
I snap my eyes to him, my jaw tightening. “Because I fucking want to. He’s pretty, all right?” I turn away from him and finish the rest of my cocktail although it’s only minutes old. “I’m going to get a drink,” I announce, getting back up and going back to the bar.
This time, the bartender takes my glass without a word and refills it. I wordlessly hand him another ten and pick my glass back up.
“Mace.” Leah takes the seat in front of me, which, incidentally, blocks my view of Jack and Bimbo Barbie Boobs and makes me focus on my best friend.
“Lee.”
“Snap the fuck outta it!” She clicks her fingers millimeters from my face. “Now!”
I blink and lean back. “Whoa. What fired your loins up?”
“Besides the hot-as-hell quarterback ten feet away?” She raises an eyebrow. “I know the look in your eyes. You look like you did when you turned up at my house with three bottles of wine, a bottle of tequila, six lemons, and a tub of salt after Mitch told you about your cousin.”
My jaw tightens. “We were together for nearly three years. I fucked Jack twice. So not the same thing, and totally
not
six-lemons’-worth-of-tequila-shots worthy.”
Leah nudges my glass toward me and finishes what’s left of hers. “Then get up, come dance, and stop staring at him like you want to put your glass through the head of his cock.”
I breathe in, pause, then down the remaining three-quarters of my margarita in one go. Hey, the dance floor is far enough away from Jack that I can’t see him, so I’m all for it. Especially if I’m being dragged there.
Leah squeals and grabs my hand. I smile as she tugs me off the stool, wiggles her fingers at Corey, and drags me toward the stairs that lead to the dance floor.
I tug at my dress again as I follow her onto the busy dance floor. The music is pumping out, and Leah grins, stepping back into the throng of people with a sway to her hips. My own lips form a grin that matches hers, and I sigh, feeling the music pumping through my blood.
All right. Okay.
I run my fingers through my hair and let my hips find the beat. Hands land on my back, and I turn to see Ryann joining us, grabbing both of our free hands. She shakes her boobs and throws her head back on a laugh. She’s half drunk, I know, but so is Leah. And hell, so am I, so I laugh, too.
And I let go.
I forget Mitch. I forget the penguin-looking baby that is my second cousin. I forget Jack. I forget Ms. Extraterrestrial Tits.
I focus on my best girlfriends, the margaritas, and the music; and I let the fuck go.
“Girls Just Want to Have Fun” blasts from the numerous speakers, and several shouts of, “What the fuck?!” ring out in suspiciously male-sounding voices. The girls all laugh, and in seconds, there is a chorus of voices singing in perfect time to the words.
Leah meets my eyes and winks, a playful smile on her face. Oh, yeah, this was her doing, and I’d bet fucking anything she did it before she came to me at the bar. This bitch knows me way too goddamn well.