Handsome men think they can win women over on looks alone. All good-looking guys are just that—good to look at. Then they open their mouths, and I’m reminded that God seemed to give up on making real men about twenty-two years ago. Instead, he’s created stuck-up, self-serving, prima donnas who wouldn’t know how to take care of a woman if their wieners depended on it.
I pinch closed my eyes, immediately feeling guilty for my blasphemous rant. Sorry, God. You know I don’t mean that.
I shift my eyes from the icy-blue stare of this Abercrombie-model-looking jerk and settle on Angel. She’s already plopped down on the lap of a big guy with a strong roman nose and a goofy smile.
It takes all of five seconds to do a quick assessment of the type of men we’re dealing with. They’re rough, but not scary. Sure they’ve got the tattoos, one even has a scar, but everything else about them softens all that. Tan skin seems to make all their eyes appear light, and even the brown eyes look tawny in comparison. Sun-bleached blond and brown hair adds sweetness to their wannabe hard looks.
“We’ve been hired to keep you guys company tonight,” Angel says, addressing the room. “This is Vegas, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have rules. You boys keep it respectful, and we won’t have to get Santos over there to feed you your own blood. Sound good?”
Santos is a huge Mexican-American, who I’m pretty sure spends more time in the gym than anywhere else in the world. He’s been a bouncer at Zeus’s Playground since before I started working there and thinks of all the girls as his little sisters. I’ve seen him break fingers, arms, and noses. The dude doesn’t mess around.
“You girls got names?” A shorter guy, probably not much older than I am, asks, and I do a double-take. He looks exactly like the guy leaning against the pool table only his light brown hair is longer than the shaved-headed, tattooed version. Twins.
I avoid broken-phone guy’s eyes and move to the pool table twin to lean next to him. “I’m Trix. This is Angel.”
“You girls gonna stand around and talk all night or get naked?” The second biggest guy in the room looks a lot like the rest save for the scar and the fire of irritation in his eyes. I zero in and size him up.
He’s dressed nicer than the others, although not as nice as the guy I ran into downstairs, but the way the room quiets when he talks says a lot.
He must be the head dickhead ’round here.
I move to him slowly, making sure he tracks every roll of my hips, until I’m standing between his feet. “You tell us, big guy. What do you want?”
His expression turns from annoyed to hungry, and his hand darts out to my thigh. “Depends. What’re you offering?” He rubs from my knee up under my dress to almost my hip.
This guy has balls. “Dancing.” I still his hand before he’s able to continue his course that’s leading to my bare ass. “That’s it.”
“Oh, come on.” He licks his lower lip, and I have to give him credit. He’s handsome in a dangerous kind of way. “For the right price, I bet you’ll change your mind.”
A low rumble catches my attention, and I turn to find cell-phone guy shooting daggers at the guy’s hand as it caresses my leg.
I gasp as the hand clenches my flesh. “What do you say, Trix? You feel like getting fucked—”
“Drake.” Cell-phone guy growls in warning, and for a second, I want to tell them both to fuck off, until I see the barely concealed rage in his eyes.
“We’re here to party, Mason.” Drake says his name, and it drips with contempt and sarcasm as they stare off. “I’ll make sure she spreads the love.”
Something is off between these two.
“Boys, boys . . . No sex. Just dancing.” I swivel out of Drake’s hold and over to the stereo. “Relax.” I turn up whatever they’re listening to, well aware that men respond better when they’re able to listen to their own tunes, and Angel and I can move to anything.
I take a deep breath and push back the part of me that hates what I do. I tell myself that my body is my superpower. My sexuality works like kryptonite, weakening men and making them pliable. I remind myself why this is necessary, and with every article of clothing I remove, the power surges from within.
For me, nakedness doesn’t equal vulnerability. It’s strength in its purest form, used by women since the beginning of time, and I’d be an idiot not to take advantage of it.
Three
Mason
I hate this. I hate every fucking thing about this, and yet I can’t leave.
From the moment I walked into this fancy, freakin’ suite, I’ve been battling two opposites: the pull toward my brother and the anger that pushes me from him. Throw into the mix the violet-eyed panther who’s currently shaking her G-string-clad ass in Jayden’s face, and I’m damn near homicidal.
But why?