“I’m gonna nurse this one.” Raising my glass to his, I take another small sip.
Rio proceeds to lift his hand towards the server, signaling for a new drink—his third of the night. Which, if I’m still around by the time he tries for a fourth, I’ll make sure to stop him. I’m not the captain, but I am the alternate, and even though I fuck around, I still have responsibilities to make sure my guys are ready to go when it’s game time.
As I’m deep in thought about how this is my year to win it all—the Cup and the new extended contract I need to earn by the end of the season—the sexy server comes by with Rio’s fresh drink. But she doesn’t look his way while she places his beverage in front of him.
No, she keeps her sultry gaze locked on me.
“Can I get you another one?” She leans her elbows onto our high-top table, casually pushing her tits up even more. My eyes fall directly on them. “It’s on me.”
And my mind doesn’t miss the connection of where I’m looking and what she just said. I wouldn’t mind those being on me either.
Somehow, I tear my attention away from the slit in her cleavage that’s doing all kinds of things to my imagination. “Self-inflicted two-drink rule.” I raise my glass to show her my final drink of the night.
“That’s a shame.” She bites her lower lip, leaning in closer to me. “I was hoping you’d still be here when my shift was over.”
That was easy. I haven’t said two words to her before this, but she’s hot as hell, and her long raven hair is gonna look awfully pretty wrapped around my fist tonight.
I lean onto my elbows, my face only inches from hers. “Just because I’m not drinking doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”
“I’m Meg.”
“Zanders.”
“I know who you are.” The corner of her lips lifts upward. “I’m off at midnight, and my place is only ten minutes away.”
“My hotel is right across the street,” I offer.
“Even better.” She licks her lips, and my eyes trail the movement. Those are gonna look even prettier wrapped around a different part of my body.
I fuck a certain way—no lovemaking, no soft and slow. No kissing if I can help it. I’ll explain the rules, and if she’s into it, cool. If not? Someone else will be.
A quick shift of chestnut curls draws my attention in the distance. My eyes follow the movement, instantly recognizing the honey strands intermixed among the mass. The owner of the wild hair spent the entire flight waiting on me, hand and foot, getting me absolutely everything I could possibly think to ask for, down to a tissue out of the bathroom.
I’m a dick, but it was fun.
Stevie hastily puts her credit card in the bartender’s hand as she stands from her seat, ready to bolt. She’s dressed much more casually than her work uniform today, but even with the oversized flannel, I can see just how nice her ass is from here.
I’m an ass guy.
And a tits guy.
She’s got both, but her disdain for me turns me off from the rest. Or challenges me, I’m not sure yet.
“Zanders,” Rio snaps me out of my trance. “She’s talking to you.” He suggestively nods towards the waitress who is currently offering up her body to me.
“Yeah?” I absentmindedly ask, my eyes still flickering to the flight attendant at the bar.
“Are you going to wait until my shift is over, or can I get your number?”
“No numbers—”
“Meg,” she reminds me.
“You can find me on Instagram.” My eyes dart back to Stevie at the bar, her foot tapping with either impatience or nerves. I can’t quite tell.
Without another thought, I stand from my seat, my feet carrying me her way.
“Zanders!” Rio calls out in shock.
I’m a little surprised at myself too. That waitress is a smoke show, but the most fun I’ve had in a long time was torturing Stevie on our flight today, and I want to do it again. I’m sure that waitress will still be waiting for me when I get back. I did practically nothing so far, and she’s already offered up her bed for the night.
I quickly approach Stevie from behind, my tall frame overpowering her as I cage her in, placing my hands on the bar top next to her small ones that are decorated with dainty gold rings.
“Stevie.” I bend down close to her ear. “You following me?”
The steam almost rolls off her red cheeks. Standing this close to her, the rosiness of her face is more evident than it was today. Her skin is a pretty shade of light brown, but it’s contrasted by pink cheeks and freckled skin. Another thing I didn’t notice was the small gold hoop in her nose or the numerous gold rings that decorate her fingers and ears.
She nervously spins the one on her thumb. “Seems like you’re following me,” she retorts.
She refuses to turn around, most likely because I have her locked in, and she’ll be faced with my chest, as she was today on the plane when I bombarded her. But I hope she does. I like seeing her falter and flustered. After her little arrogant show during the security briefing, I had a blast putting her in her place, reminding her of who she works for.
But still, she doesn’t turn around, so I lean to the side, resting an elbow on the bar top, until finally, she faces me, doing the same thing.
“My hotel is right across the street, so what’s your excuse?”
She nods towards the TV. “Closest sports bar I could find. I needed to watch this game.”
“And yet you’re leaving before halftime?”
“I can watch the rest in my room.” She frantically glances around the bar, looking for that sleazy bartender, I’m sure.
“What’s the rush?”
“Truthfully? I don’t want to be in the same bar as you. You’re kind of a dick.”
My head falls back in laughter, and a confused but playful smile dances on her lips.
“Well, I think you’re kind of a brat, so it is what it is.”
I search her freckled face, looking for any sign of offense, but there isn’t any. Instead, a bit of amusement shines in her blue-green eyes, which makes me like her a little bit more. But not too much more. I can’t imagine most people would react this way if they were called a brat right to their face.
My stare wanders her frame. Even though her shirt is oversized, I can still make out the shape of her tits and waist. Her outfit is causal and thrown together, whereas mine was planned and prepped.
“You sure you have to go?” the douchebag bartender asks Stevie as he places her credit card and receipt on the bar top in front of her.
“I do.” Her tone is laced with regret. “Thanks for the drinks, Jax.”
Jax? Even his name screams, I’m a tool.
“Yeah, thanks, Jax,” I add his name on in a condescending tone. “But you can go now.”
“Excuse me?” both Stevie and the bartender say at the same time.
“You can go now,” I repeat, brushing him away with a simple motion.
Jax looks from Stevie back to me, his expression full of confusion before he shakes his head and walks away.
“Why are you such a prick?” she asks, her tone full of disgust.
Well, that’s a loaded question, so instead, I deflect.
“That guy is a prick.”
“No, that guy was nice, and we had good banter. You just ruined it.”