And if I’m not mistaken, I think he likes what he sees.
He takes the stool next to mine, which sends my pulse racing. I chalk it up to the anger I’m feeling at his refusal to participate in my brilliant-but-now-crushed dreams of Reel World domination. After he orders a draft beer for himself and a refill for me, calling the bartender by name—it’s Carl—Flint turns back to me and clinks his glass against mine before draining half the beer in one long, glorious pull.
While he’s doing that, my phone buzzes in my purse. I make the mistake of checking it and see a text message from Tyler: ‘if ur pms is over now, we should talk about co-pitching to davis on monday. smart move for both of us-u game?’
Game? I’m game, alright. But my game involves a baseball bat and Tyler’s balls.
What the actual fuck? He can’t be serious. Co-pitching? So he can steamroller me and take all the credit for ‘our’ idea, leaving me pitchless? Was I born yesterday? What the—but before my outrage can eclipse my common sense and force my fingers to text him back with something I’ll probably regret later, I hear Flint slam his now-empty beer glass onto the bar, startling me back to reality. I throw the phone back in my bag like it’s a hot coal and look over at him.
“So what kind of surprises are you full of?” he asks. Not in a flirty way—but curious. Even so, a rush of heat radiates through me. I don’t know if it’s all the inconvenient emotions pinballing around inside my head, the mass quantity of scotch I’ve just downed, or the sheer hotness of the man sitting next to me, but I lean toward him, steel myself, and steady my nerves with a single thought:
Get it, girl.
“All kinds,” I murmur, running a hand down his forearm. “Would you like to find out?” Maybe it’s the booze, but I could swear that something passes between us—something animal, magnetic, and totally out of our control.
“I would,” he says, his voice going low, his gaze locking onto mine.
Suddenly it’s not about the show anymore. It’s not about my career, or that jackass Tyler, or whether this trip was all for nothing. It’s about me getting what I want in this moment—right here, right now. And what I want is Flint McKay.
It’s like a jump cut to the narrow alleyway behind the bar, because suddenly I’m pressed back against the brick wall with Flint’s strong, firm hands roaming over my shoulders, my waist, squeezing my hips, cupping my ass. His lips are locked onto mine and I moan into his mouth, so turned on I can barely stand. I don’t know how this happened, but it’s like my fairy godmother came down and waved her wand and now I get to stick my hand down Flint McKay’s pants and—oh, holy hell. Either I’m passed out drunk in my hotel room and this is all a dream, or I just won the dick lottery.
I pull back from the kiss, trying not to smirk, enjoying the groan that escapes his mouth as I squeeze his thick, hard cock in my hand.
“We should stop,” he growls, thrusting in my grip.
“Do you want me to stop?” I tease, circling the tip of his dick with the soft pad of my thumb.
“God, no,” he says, his breath catching.
That settles it. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since Tyler, and I can’t imagine a more delightful rebound than this chiseled god standing in front of me. I need this.
I get one knee on the asphalt before Flint says, “Wait,” and tugs me back up. Then he shrugs out of his jacket and spreads it on the ground for me to kneel on.
“A true gentleman,” I tease, but I’m getting impatient. I quickly tug his jeans down and open my mouth, letting him slide in between my wet lips. My tongue traces his head, the length of his shaft, down and back up, circling again, and then I hold him steady with one hand and take him all the way into the back of my throat, sucking with everything I’ve got, eliciting a groan. His cock is perfect.
I look up at him and when our eyes meet and hold, Flint curses under his breath. Behind his head all I see is a sky full of stars. I go back to sucking, losing myself in the task, relishing the taste of him mixed with the sweet smoky hint of scotch in my mouth.
“I’m getting close,” he warns, his hands tangling in my hair, guiding my head back and forth, thrusting against my tongue in a steady rhythm.
“Mmmm,” I reply, knowing the vibration of my moan will push him even closer.
I alternate soft suction with deep, hard sucks, stroking with my tongue the whole time. I feel him tense up, grow impossibly hard, and suddenly he’s jerking faster and deeper, his breath coming in short gasps, until finally he groans and the heat of him spills into my mouth. As he holds out his hand to help me up, I can’t get the grin off my face.
“I win,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.
He laughs. “Does that make me the loser? Because I don’t feel like one.”
“First runner-up,” I say.
“Ah. Then maybe we’re due a celebratory dinner?”
I tilt my head, pretending I actually need to think it over. “I accept.”