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“Yeah, well, we have great chemistry, too,” Bryce says. “And I’m not forty fucking years old.”
“Okay, this is pointless. Like I said, I never intended to humiliate you. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time or embarrassed you. I’ve got to go now.”
“With him?” Bryce grabs my arm to keep me from leaving, his dark eyes on fire. “He’s not going to give a shit about you after tonight, Georgie.”
Before the “fuck you” in my throat escapes my mouth, Reed appears at my side, anger wafting off his muscled frame. “Release,” he says sharply, like he’s a dog trainer ordering the obedience of his pit bull. “Now.”
Instantly, Bryce obeys Reed, like a good doggie. But in one final show of defiance, he leans into my ear, right in front of Reed, and whispers, “I can do casual, if that’s what you want. I just didn’t think a girl like you would want that.”
I don’t acknowledge Bryce’s insulting comment. Or his implication that “wife material” girls can’t enjoy casual hook-ups, just like anyone else.
Reed’s dark eyes are hard and his jaw clenched. He puts out his arm to me. “Ready, Cinderella?” He levels Bryce with a glare that makes my spine tingle. “It’s time to go.”
Relieved, I take Reed’s arm. “I’m ready, Prince Charming.”
I meant that last thing as a joke, of course. And Reed’s smirk tells me he’s taking it that way. Clearly, this man is nobody’s Prince Charming. Least of all mine. Indeed, if there’s such a thing as Prince Charming for anyone but my mother, I can’t imagine he’d be a guy who brazenly cops to having no interest in doing anything but “seducing” women.
After I’ve linked my arm with Reed’s, he puts out his free hand to Bryce, daring him not to shake it—daring Bryce to snub him because he’s feeling territorial about a girl he barely knows—and thereby mess up his sister’s chances at possible musical stardom.
For a second, Bryce stares at Reed’s extended hand, but, quickly, he forces a smile and takes it. “No harm meant, man. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“Totally understand. Have a great night.”
“Thanks again for looking at my sister’s Instagram.”
“You bet,” Reed says. “I’m looking forward to it.” With that, Reed unlinks our arms so he can slide his strong arm around my shoulders, before confidently guiding me toward the front door.
As I walk with Reed, I feel swept away. Like I’m physically swooning. I inhale the scent of Reed’s cologne, as well as his confidence. I register the strength and hardness of his fit body. The urgency and command of his grip on me. All combined, I’m feeling physically intoxicated by Reed in this moment, in the best possible way.
“Have you slept with him?” Reed says, when we’re out of Bryce’s earshot.
“That’s none of your business.” Okay, I can’t help myself. “But, no, I haven’t. Get this. Bryce and I haven’t even kissed.”
Reed chuckles. “Well, damn. He’s awfully wound up about a girl he’s never even kissed. Although, in the guy’s defense, I could say the same thing about myself.”
Butterflies release into my stomach. “Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
I snort. “That remains to be seen.”
Reed chuckles. “I knew I liked you, Georgina. You don’t pull any punches.”
“Honestly, Reed, I still haven’t decided if I like you. You’re a bit of a mixed bag for me at the moment. But I’m most certainly attracted to you physically.”
Reed shrugs. “Works for me. Like me or loathe me. It’s all good. Just as long as you want to fuck me.” He winks. “In fact, in my experience, it’s often the ones who hate my guts the most who enjoy fucking me the most.”
I say nothing. Because I’ve got a hunch he’s right about that. I mean, look at me. I’m still peeved at the condescending way he spoke to me when he first walked up. More than a little wary about the way he treated that blonde girl. Not impressed by the way he looked at Marcus like he was dirt on the bottom of his shoe. And not certain if I was impressed or repelled by the way Reed took such obvious pleasure in cutting off Bryce’s golden balls, and then dangling Bryce’s sister’s Instagram page in front of Bryce’s face to keep him in line.
But even if the jury is still out on Reed’s likeability—whether I ultimately decide I like him or loathe him, as Reed said—he’s absolutely right: there’s no doubt in my mind I want to fuck him like my life depends on it. More so, in fact, than I’ve wanted to fuck anyone in the four years since I started having sex.
Reed draws me into his muscled frame even closer, and whispers, “What’d you do to that boy, Georgie? Tell me the truth, as a cautionary tale.”
