I stop trying to figure out why the redhead seems familiar when Grayson says, “Call Bennett. He’s struggling with his new placement.” He taps my shoulder, takes one final glance at the redhead, then enters The Manor via a squeaky screen door.
I wait for it to stop swinging before punching a frequently dialed number into Regan’s cell. I’ve never believed in delayed gratification, so I may as well tackle Grayson’s demand now.
Bennett doesn’t answer my call, but his voicemail is extremely concerning.
“Hey, you’ve reached Dok. Leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you.”
Dok? Who the fuck is Dok?
11
For every minute I spend drinking and chatting with Alex’s family, the chances of him waking up tomorrow morning still breathing increase. I should hate him for the predicament he placed me in. I should castrate him as a warning to any man thinking about strong-arming me, but when he waltzes into the room, his brows furled in confusion, the last thing I want to do is hurt him.
Kiss him. Fuck him. Do wickedly naughty things to him with my tongue. They’re the top items on my agenda. Then, after a quick rest, I’ll let him return the favor. I could blame the tequila in my veins for speaking on my behalf, but I had most of these ideas hours before alcohol hit my system.
A whoosh of lust shoots through me when Alex notices my heated stare. He dips his chin, his lips furling more than his brows as he makes his way across the room. The bustling chitchat filling the bar only moments ago fades to barely a whisper. All the guests are too enamored by our pull-thrust routine to continue with their conversations.
I’m not surprised by their interest. People I hadn’t been formally introduced to bombarded me the instant I was out of Alex’s earshot. Their questions all honed in on the one focal point: was I really Alex’s girlfriend? I should have told them Alex can’t afford me, but something stopped me from doing that. I dropped the “B” word first, so I can’t be angry at Alex for running with it.
“Hey.” Alex presses his lips to my temple, causing the crowd surrounding us to let out a collective sigh. “Settling in okay?”
I drag my hand along the countertop, revealing my last three hours have been well spent. If I wanted to add to the groove between his brows instead of erasing it, I could pretend alcohol is the only cause for my giddy state, but recalling his pledge for us to be honest this weekend has me saying, “Your mom is a hoot. If she wasn’t called away on a guest emergency, she would have drank me under the table.”
Alex grins, knowing I’m being 100% honest. He is the spitting image of his mom, Marilyn, but her personality is on the opposite end of the spectrum. She is cozy and warm, and has a mind as wickedly depraved as mine. I thought her nurturing side derived from raising four children with a somewhat absentee husband, but she guaranteed me that wasn’t the case.
“I didn’t know evil ran through my veins until I produced mini versions of myself,” Marilyn said earlier this evening, her tone half-witty, half-serious. “Alex’s dad already had me pulling my hair out, so imagine throwing four babies under the age of five into the mix. I’m shocked they made it to adulthood alive.”
“From the way your Ma talked about your Pa, I thought they were separated.” Alex’s lips quirk, not stunned by my reply. “It’s a pity for her I got my soul-matching skills from my mom. I can’t believe it, even thirty-five years later, your Ma is still head over heels in love with your Pa. He must have a magic wand or something.” I add a wink to my last sentence, giving it the frisky edge I was aiming for.
When a genuine smile crosses Alex’s face, I gesture for him to occupy the seat his mom just vacated. He accepts my offer, just not in the way I was anticipating. Instead of planting his backside in the seat next to mine, he plucks me from my seat, slides into my place, then lowers me to sit in his lap.
My cheeks flare as rampant heat attacks my senses. I could pretend my flaming cheeks are compliments of the numerous pairs of eyes glancing my way, but prolonged gawks are nothing new to me. I get them no matter what I’m doing. Even something as mundane as picking up my dry cleaning in a pair of dirty gray sweatpants and a plain white T gets me eyeballed. The attention used to bother me, but the more regularly it occurred, the more adapted I became.
It is so second nature now, I was genuinely put off when nothing I did secured Alex’s attention for more than two seconds when we co-dined at Taste. From his disinterest, it’s shocking how far we’ve traveled in such a short period of time.
Perhaps that’s the excuse I can use for not bolting the instant Alex relinquished my hand from his? His unexpected entrance into my life handed me months of sexual frustration, so it’s only fair he clears his debt before we move on to greener pastures.
Yeah, right.
As much as I hate to admit it, just the idea of Alex moving on ensures I won’t be seeking my own seat any time soon. Although that doesn’t mean I’ll go down easily.
“Is there something wrong with the four empty stools beside me?” I glance over his shoulder. As suspected, every eye in the room is on us. “Or the other twenty or so ones scattered around the room?”
My last three words come out in a purr from Alex’s beard scraping my nape so he can growl into my ear. “I prefer this seat. Do you have a problem with that?”
He didn’t have time to trim his beard, so it’s a little more scraggily than it was when we wrestled in the field. I should hate it—I should hate him—but his Viking facial hair doesn’t just have my insides purring like a kitty; it makes my heart gallop as well. I’ve always gone for sophisticated, clean-cut men. I had no clue what I was missing out on!
“Idohave a problem with you stealing my seat. . .if it improves my chances of getting spanked.”
When Alex’s brow gets lost in his hairline, I lift a recently replenished martini to my mouth to hide my smile. His lips aren’t moving, but I don’t need him to speak to know what he’s thinking. He’s shocked by my confession, and, if the thickness in his pants is anything to go by, incredibly turned on. I can understand both his responses. I don’t relinquish power—ever!But this is different. We’re even, which means the occasional switch up is okay.
Furthermore, the horribly depressed state my vagina was in the past two months has all but vanished from his devotion, so shouldn’t his dedication be rewarded in the most wickedly spectacular way?
I swallow my glass of martini in one gulp, pop the olive between my teeth, then slam my glass onto the polished bar so firmly it nearly snaps from my determination. “I’m horny. We should fuck.”
Alex coughs, choking on his spit. “What?”
I swivel in my seat, my desire intensifying when I feel him thicken beneath me. “I’m horny. We should fuck,” I repeat more slowly and seductively. Well, as seductively as I can since I’m three-quarters drunk. It was delivered a little more slurred than I would have liked, but the alcohol thickening my veins adds a husky edge to my voice I can totally pull off.
