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Like he felt my eyes on him, Smooth glanced up, and even from across the room it was impossible not to get sucked into those piercing, cold baby blues. And that was only if you managed to look away from his well-toned physique, one that screamed of hours spent honing each and every curve of muscle.
Too bad his body wouldn’t be put to good use tonight. Not with limp dick over there, anyway.
I chuckled as I brought the cold beer up to my mouth, causing Smooth—still looking my way—to frown. With his brows pulled down, he narrowed his eyes, the question in them as loud and clear as if he’d asked it out loud: What the hell is so funny?
If he couldn’t figure that answer out for himself, I wasn’t gonna be the one to tell him.
Leaning back against the bar, I propped my elbows behind me, beer in hand, and cocked my head to the side. This guy needed a challenge, not the sure-to-be-a-disappointment in front of him. My lips curved, and I gave Smooth my most seductive grin, the one that had a ninety-five percent success rate, and waited for him to realize his mistake.
He held my gaze for a long moment, and just when I thought I had him, he shook his head, said something to peanut dick, and slid out of the booth. As his “date” followed suit, I kept my eyes locked on the two of them. It was clear I’d provoked some kind of reaction from the guy, but what I wasn’t quite sure.
Was he about to peace out on the idiot who’d shown up late to claim his prize tonight? Or was he—yeah, fuck my luck—about to take him out the back and try to prove to himself that he wasn’t more interested in me than the guy whose hand he was now taking hold of?
As Smooth wrapped his long fingers around the dipshit’s hand, I imagined how it would feel having them tightening around my cock instead. I widened my legs a fraction, my jeans growing uncomfortably tight as Smooth weaved the two of them through the crowd in my direction. I knew he wasn’t heading my way, but the fact that I could see his chiseled jaw and the stubble lining it just made my dick throb even harder. Because hell if that wouldn’t feel amazing between my thighs.
As though he’d read my mind, Smooth whipped his head in my direction, his eyes locking on mine like a missile finding its target, and just before he disappeared down the side of the bar, I threw a wink his way and then ran my tongue around the top of my beer before taking another sip.
Fuck it. If he was about to go out the back and get his rocks off with one of the most boring men to walk through the doors of this bar, he might as well do it with the image of me in his head, because let’s face it, we both knew whose tongue he wished he could be tasting here—and it wasn’t the guy he was now aiming a fake-ass smile at.
When Smooth disappeared from sight, I scanned the bar looking to see if there were any other viable options for the night. With NAFTA looming just around the corner, I’d come here tonight with a plan—to get laid. I had ten arduous weeks ahead, which meant ten weeks of celibacy. But with the only person I’d taken an interest in now off fucking someone much less interesting than myself, it seemed my plan had just taken a nosedive.
I turned back to face the bar and gestured for the bartender. I didn’t need the shot of tequila, but since my options had been find someone to fuck or get fucked, it looked like plan B was in effect: get off-my-face wasted. Nothing like a bangin’ hangover to make a good first impression on my instructors. Not that they’ll be expecting anything less from Mateo Morgan, I thought, rolling my eyes as I swallowed down the shot. I was more than aware of how my reputation preceded me, and the fact that I’d been accepted into the most elite fighter pilot academy in the world? Hey, they knew what they were getting into by shooting me an invite. After all, my last evaluation had read: While Mateo Morgan remains an excellent pilot, we have concerns about his reckless behavior, aggressive maneuvers, and his lack of willingness to be a team player.
“Team player,” I muttered to myself, holding my shot glass out for a refill. Maybe I’d be a fucking team player if everyone else got their heads out of their asses and learned how to fly a goddamn plane.
I downed the shot, not even feeling the burn this time, and then scrubbed my face with my hands. I hadn’t come here to think, not about anything other than my dick, and I refused to sit here wallowing with no prospects. This might’ve been the only gay bar on the outskirts of town, but from the look of it, I’d have a better chance hooking up with some random in an alley. Heading to a bar anywhere near the base wasn’t the smartest move, not with the way our small community talked, and God knew I already had a target on my back.
