“I’ll take you home.”
“What? No.” I move to pull away, but he doesn’t release his hold. That’ll ruin my plans for strategic avoidance. That last drink has me a little wobbly on my platforms. And shit! That last drink took my last twenty bucks. “I’ll see if one of the guys can give me a ride.”
“Yeah?” He tilts his head. I stare drunk and unabashed at his handsome face.
A soothing warmth envelops me. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He finally releases me with a nod and turns back to his spot at the bar.
I roll my eyes at his back and decide to take my chance to get away while I can, but at the same time I’m a little disappointed that he let me go so easily. It happens all the time, and for some reason, I find myself a little surprised each and every time it does.
They let me go. They always do.
Unless they’re getting something from me.
The great thing about being asexual is I have nothing to offer.
*
Cameron
I must be under more pressure than I thought. That’s the only conclusion that would explain why I’m standing in a bar and so turned the fuck on I can’t concentrate. It makes sense. With all the heat I’m getting from the board about putting the UFL back on track and positioning myself to get back into the octagon, it’s no surprise my body is looking to work off some steam. My reaction to Eve is nothing more than a red-blooded male’s response to stress. Sex is a cure-all in most cases. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes.
I offered to take her home? Since when do I care about how a woman gets home?
Yeah, I better get the fuck out of here before I catch another glimpse of her that I won’t be able to drag myself away from.
“Cam, you leaving already?” Mason snags my attention just before I step away from my barstool.
“Long day.”
Caleb strolls up with a girl under his arm, but in a quick scan, I don’t see Eve. I thought she was going to hunt these guys down for a ride. Maybe she changed her mind and decided to take a cab. What the hell? Why do I care?
“You think I’ll get a shot at Santori this year?” Mason has his elbow propped on the bar and a longneck between his fingers.
“You tell me?”
We launch into talk about who’ll be fighting whom in this new season, and it takes the edge off of the Eve-induced disorientation I was experiencing earlier. Caleb hands me another beer. So much for leaving after one drink.
“You think after tonight’s fight Wade will go after Blake for a rematch?”
“Personally? I think he’d be stupid if he—”
Mason turns away as if someone tugged at him from behind. I down the rest of my beer and take advantage of his diverted attention.
“I’m takin’ off.” I shake Caleb’s hand and move to give Mason a visual see ya when a flash of blond hair catches my eye.
“You’re right, Mase. I could probably hang out a little and just drink wa—” She yawns. “Water.”
Mason shifts on his feet and has removed his arm from the shoulders of the girl he was with. “Are you sure? Or um . . .” He looks around, and his eyes land on me, just as Eve’s do the same.
Mason’s narrow, while Eve’s go wide.
“Cam, you’re takin’ off, right?” He hooks Eve around the waist and guides her toward me. “You mind dropping Eve off at home?”
Ah, I see. Eve’s looking for a ride, but Mason’s in the middle of negotiating a sleepover with the little brunette.
“No, that’s not . . . You don’t . . .” Eve’s words die when my hand comes down around hers.
“Let’s go.”
Four
Cameron
This is stupid. I should put her in a cab and leave. The words came out of my mouth before my brain was able to get on board. There’s something about this girl that calls to me, one very specific and demanding part of me. There’s no denying it after watching her on the dance floor, her body fluid and seeping sex vibes. Who am I kidding? Even when she’s telling me to fuck off, she’s all-consuming.
With a quick chin lift to the guys, I put my palm to the small of Eve’s back to guide her out through the crowded bar. In the short distance between the club and my car, I struggle to sort out my body’s reaction to her and what the hell I plan on doing about it.
With a face like a doll and the body of temptress, this woman stirs my blood. She’s pissed off: bitter, stubborn, and disillusioned. But one thing she certainly is not is gay. It’s evident with every blush of her cheeks, her tiny intake of breath when I get close, and then there’s the way her gaze burns into mine. It’s hot as hell, but there’s an innocence to her, too, that tugs at something deep I can’t even name
“Can you slow down?” Her shoes click against the asphalt, and I realize I’ve been so stuck in my head that I’m practically shoving her to my car.
“Shit, sorry.” I slow down and I know—I know—I should drop my hand from her back, but it feels too good give up.