Wrapping my wet hair in a towel, I wander into the kitchen and rifle through the stack of takeout menus clipped to the fridge. Dim sum sounds amazing. It will eat into my budget for the weekend, but … my imagination conjures the taste of steamed pork dumplings, pan fried noodles, and deep-fried eggplant, and my stomach rumbles loudly, voicing its opinion. Dim sum it is then.
The front door slams closed. “Lily!” Jen calls.
“Right here,” I say.
She rushes toward me, breathless like she sprinted up the stairs, her cornflower-blue eyes wide with excitement. “You are going to freaking love me,” she squeals.
“I already do,” I remind her.
She tilts her head and runs her tongue over her perfect white teeth. “True. But you’re going to love me even more when I tell you what I managed to score for tonight.”
“No.” I hold out my hands and shake my head. “No more edibles. Last time I thought I was the king of the fairy underworld. Kevin from down the hall still looks at me funny whenever he sees me.”
My beautiful best friend howls with laughter at the memory and wraps me in a hug. It takes her at least two minutes to regain the ability to speak. “No more edibles. This is even better.” Reaching into her back pocket, she brandishes what looks like two tickets and squeals. “I got us passes for Marché de Viande!”
My shoulders slump, and I let out a loud groan.
“Lily!” she admonishes. “It’s literally the hottest club in New York.”
“It’s also the most expensive,” I remind her with a dead-eyed stare.
“These tickets are free.” She waves them in my face for emphasis.
“The drinks inside aren’t though.” Despite my argument, I know I’m going to give in, and I mentally kiss my dream of eating dim sum in my pajamas goodbye. Whatever Jen wants, she gets. She’s the only person I know who can talk just about anyone into anything, even me. Plus, I do kind of owe her. I’d be homeless if it wasn’t for her willingness to share her one-bedroom apartment. Unfortunately for me, delivering documents and packages doesn’t pay enough to afford a place to live in New York City.
She gives me her best puppy dog eyes. “We’ll just have a few sodas.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “You do know the name literally means meat market in French, right?”
Her whole face lights up, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a laugh. “Really? That’s so hot.”
I shake my head. I should have known that wouldn’t deter her. “It’s really not.”
She fixes me with a stare like she’s trying to peer into my soul. She can’t. Nobody can. “Hell yeah it is! When’s the last time you got any action that wasn’t of the battery-operated variety?”
“I’ll have you know that my womanizer is rechargeable. Plug it in for thirty minutes, and I’m good to go for hours. No batteries required.” Grinning triumphantly, I wink.
She snorts a laugh but quickly turns serious. “Lily. You need to get out there and have yourself some fun. You’re twenty-four and you currently live the life of a nun.”
“I do not! I’m just …” I sigh. “The last guy I hooked up with at a club turned out to be in breach of his parole, remember? I mean he was cute, but …”
“Yeah, didn’t the cops bust into his place while you were doing the deed?” She snort-laughs again, and I shake my head. I have the absolute worst judgment when it comes to men. “This time just try and steer toward the guys who don’t have tattoos on their hands, okay?”
My bottom lip pops out a tiny bit. I love tattooed hands. “That is an outdated and offensive stereotype, Jen.”
She plucks the takeout menu from my hands and grabs my wrists. “Please come, Lils. You can wear that red dress you have stuffed in the back of my closet.”
Now I’m really pouting. “I’ve had a stupid busy day,” I whine. “My legs are aching. And I got soaked by a taxi.”
“Awww.” She pulls me in for another hug and pats my back. “I’m sorry, girl.” Gripping my shoulders, she tilts her head and gives me a bright smile. “A night out might be just what you need. We can be home by two. Promise.”
I can either spend my night arguing with her or just give in and go. At least if I give in, one of us will be happy. “Fine,” I grumble, defeated.
She nearly deafens me with her excited shriek before kissing me on the forehead and dashing out of the room.
Chapter
Four
ZEKE
Xander squeezes my thigh. “Relax, big guy. Tonight will be fun.”
Grunting, I continue to stare out the car window as we pull up outside our club. The queue is already around the block, a fact that will please West. Marché de Viande was his idea, and it’s one of our most profitable ventures.
“Will you two lighten the fuck up?” Xander demands. “Or I’m going home with some stray tonight and leaving you two the fuck to it.”
Quick as lightning, I take hold of his jaw and turn his head, forcing him to fix all his attention on me. He is such a fucking brat. But I’m grateful that his petulance pulls me out of my bad mood a little. “You find a stray, you bring them to our place. You don’t go anywhere with her. You got me?”
He grins wickedly and runs his sinful tongue over his bottom lip. “I know the rules.”
I squeeze his jaw tighter and slide my other hand up his thigh until my fingertips brush his semihard cock. “Don’t fuck with me, Fitch.”
“Oh, I am gonna fuck with you two all night long.” Laughing, he sinks back against the seat and wrenches out of my grip.
West catches my eyes and rolls his. He needs to cut loose for a few hours even more than I do. He always gets this way when we’re close to closing a huge deal, and it puts me on edge whenever he acts like a grumpy asshole. I have no idea how Xander puts up with the two of us. He’s a sucker for torture. I guess all three of us are gluttons for punishment in our own way.
Xander whistles and cranes his neck to look out the window next to me. “Would you look at all that pussy. Please tell me you’re both planning on getting laid tonight.”
West rocks his head from side to side. “Fuck yeah.”
“Zeke?”
Probably not. But I don’t reply because I don’t need to. They both know me well enough to know my answer. And my reason why.
Xander squeezes my shoulder. “Will you at least get drunk and chill out a little then?”
“I’ll get drunk if West does.”
West’s eyes narrow. “Now, why do you want me drunk, Zeke?” His deep voice is an octave lower than usual.
My cock twitches at the memory of the last time we both got drunk together. We were in his office with a bottle of fifty-year-old Macallan, celebrating a deal. And fuck, did we celebrate. “So I have someone to talk to while Fitch is knee-deep in pussy.”