This girl with the fruity cereal name, Trix, and her associate, Angel, aren’t here against their will or being taken advantage of. As a matter of fact, they seem to be the only ones in the room, with the exception of their bodyguard, in total control.
After they started dancing and ended up in nothing but small strips of satin between their legs, I sat there as long as I could. Trix kept her distance from me, choosing to focus on everyone else, not that I’m surprised. My guess is I’m not her favorite person after our less-than-pleasant meeting. And for some stupid fucking reason that bothers me.
The uncontrollable urge to touch her becomes too much, and I make my way to the small bar in the corner of the room. My annoyance is curbed by a sense of sympathy for Trix and Angel. It’s not healthy for a woman to expose the most private parts of her body to a room full of strangers, letting every man fantasize about a body meant for just one man. Her man, whoever she ends up with.
And yet I’m hard as steel. My conservative opinions apparently have zero effect on my dick’s response to Trix. Something about her, maybe it’s the yin and yang of our earlier argument to the sultry enticement of her moves, but the stirring in my pants ignores my command to chill the fuck out.
Why I even care about any of this is stupid. This girl hates me. Hell, I hate her. Okay, maybe I don’t hate her, but I sure as shit don’t like her.
Jayden palms her breast. Don’t fucking touch her. A low growl rumbles in my chest. I take a step forward to remove his arm from his body, but Trix takes care of it with less bloodshed. Rather than shove him away, she simply grabs his wrist, moves it from her body and shakes her finger in his face while biting her lip. He drops his hand to his lap and grins like a good little puppy.
“What’s wrong, Tiger?”
I dip my chin to the pretty dark-haired girl, Angel, as she runs her hand from my forearm to my shoulder.
“Whoa . . .” Her wide dark eyes meet mine. “You’re big.” She squeezes my bicep a few times. “You must work out.”
With a slow grind of her pelvis to my thigh, I grip her wrist. “Don’t.”
Her eyes widen, and I immediately release my hold. “It’s not you. It’s just”—my gaze slides to Trix—“strippers don’t do anything for me.” I’m such a fucking liar.
“Well, thank gawd. I needed a break.” She pushes into the spot next to me and smiles. “So, what do you do for a living?”
I have a hard time keeping my eyes from her perky naked breasts and wonder how she can so easily have a conversation while standing here topless. “I’m an athlete. Universal Fighting League.”
“Ah, well that makes sense.” Her eyes shift around the room. “Are all you guys fighters?”
“No, just me.” I shrug and settle back, at ease now that I realize she’s more interested in conversation than anything else. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d love a Diet Coke.” She nods toward the mini-fridge. “Think there’s any in there?”
My lips curve into a smile, and I reach down to grab a Diet Coke from the fridge. I pop the can open and hand it to her. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks.” She takes a few greedy gulps and then shifts to lean her back against the counter in a casual way, like we’re just two friends in bar. “So, you’re the only fighter. These guys your groupies?”
“No, Drake’s my little brother.” I nod toward him, and I try to avoid staring as Trix moves to straddle his lap. “They’re in town, visiting.”
“Visiting from where?” She takes another pull off her soda.
“Santa Cruz, California.”
She tilts her head up, eyebrows pinched in thought. “Is that north of Los Angeles?”
“Mm-hm.” I nod.
She shrugs and takes another pull from her drink. “Anywhere near San Jose?”
“Yeah, but coastal.”
“Trix knows—”
“Drake . . .?” We all still, heads swiveling toward the small frame of a woman as she comes into view from a darkened bedroom off to the side of the living space.
My eyes dart to Drake, whose mouth is in Trix’s ear while she straddles his lap on the couch, her perfect tits pressed to his chest and her blond-and-purple-streaked hair tossed all around him. The woman steps into the light, and my breath catches in my throat.
Long golden hair parted in the middle cascades over her shoulders to her ribs. She’s wearing a tank top and floor-length hippie skirt, which hangs off narrow hips, showing bare feet.
She’s aged since I last saw her; time combined with rough living has made its mark on her once youthful face, but it’s her.
“Babe, get your ass back to bed.” There’s no kindness in Drake’s command, not even a hint of shame at being caught red-handed with a naked stripper on his lap.
Trix cringes and pushes off Drake, her expression twisting in pure disgust and hatred. “I’m taking a break.”
“No, stay right where you are.” Drake reaches for her, but Santos moves in, and with one look, he sends Drake’s hand back to his lap.
“Drake, what are you doing?” Jess moves farther into the room, her pained expression meant only for him.
“I said go the fuck back to bed!”