Liam
ForaTuesdaynight,club life here is fire. That’s what I love about Vegas. It doesn’t matter what day of the week it is, what time of day it is, you can always find some kind of party happening in this city. What better way to celebrate two of my best friends getting married in a few short days?
What started at the lobby bar turned into gambling at the tables for a few hours—I’m up enough to cover my tab for the night—before leading us to this. The hottest club open tonight.
It hasn’t disappointed.
Between the VIP treatment that bride-to-be, Savanna, got us hooked up with, and the brunette temptress in the sparkling red dress that I’ve had my eye on all evening, the night can’t get much better.
That’s a lie. It could be a ton better, but I’m refusing to acknowledge that sinking my cock into Jordan would take it to mind-blowing heights. It was dangerous enough pulling that shit when it was just the two of us over a shot of tequila. Admitting one of my deepest desires and longest running fantasies while she looks like a bombshell, is feeling vulnerable, and we’re in Vegas? It’s not just dangerous, it would be suicide.
I know damn well if anything were to happen between Jordan and me, Nate would kill me. Because not only is he my best friend, but he’s Jordan’s big brother. The first time he introduced us itcame with a strict warning to keep my paws off her.
That was over ten years ago when we were just youngsters in the beginning of our friendship, and careers as firefighters. Jordan was only eighteen, and while I thought she was smokin’ hot, Nate’s warning was serious enough that I heeded it.
A lot has changed since then. Nate turned into one of my best friends and climbed the ranks to lieutenant at the firehouse. Jordan grew up and became an emergency room nurse at our local hospital in our hometown of Santa Rosé. She’s gone from hot little thing to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid my eyes on. And she loves to keep me on my toes.
I probably haven’t changed as much as some would like in the same amount of time. I’d like to think I’m still the same asshole from ten years ago, with more experience under his belt. On the job, and with the ladies. I’ve turned into Nate’s second—the guy who has his back when he’s busy with a scene—and a serial fucker.
I relish the title. Serial fucker. I don’t date. I fuck. A lot.
And right now I’d love to fuck Jordan’s brains out.
Fuck, stop thinking about it.
It’s impossible, though. Refusing to acknowledge it doesn’t mean it’s not blaring like a goddamn truck siren in my head.
Our VIP area in the club is on the balcony that overlooks the dance floor below. I’ve been leaning against the railing for the last twenty minutes, watching Jordan move her body to the beat of the music, and it’s been equal parts infuriating and dick engorging.
I’ve watched guy after guy sidle up to her, wanting a piece that she has no interest in giving. She’s good at ignoring them, moving away until she’s pressed into Savanna, who dragged Nate onto the dance floor. If Jordan moving away from the men wasn’t enough of an indication she wants nothing to do with them, then one look from big brother is.
My dick keeps telling me she doesn’t want any part of another man because she’s still thinking about our run-in at the lobby bar. I know I am. I’ve never seen her as flustered as she was tonight, something I shouldn’t look forward to repeating, but do anyway.
Another guy is trying his luck with her, and I lean forward, a growl vibrating in my chest. I don’t have a claim on her. I know I don’t. Nor do I want one. But she’s had more than a handful of drinks and shots tonight, and I know she’s feeling it. Plus, even though she says she’s over that douchebag Paul, I know the news of his engagement rattled her.
I’m just watching over a friend. Watching over my best friend’s little sister.
I’m being a good guy.
That’s me. Nice guy Liam.
Throwing back the rest of my rum and coke, I turn back to our section. Savanna’s brothers, who flew in today as well, have deserted it, leaving only Brody, my other best bud, and me. I’m not shocked to see him where I left him twenty minutes ago, planted on the couch, watching the people of the second floor mix and mingle. Not even bobbing his head to the music.
Brody isn’t the greatest wingman. As a beast of a man who towers over most people, his six-five frame can intimidate some, and if that weren’t enough, his silence does the trick. Small talk isn’t his forte.
This is going to work hugely in my favor today. He’ll probably be happy that I’m leaving him to his own devices instead of dragging him with me to pick up women.
“Gonna do a round,” I yell over the music, twirling a finger in the air to indicate what I’m doing.
All I get is a nod of acknowledgement before his attention is diverted, not giving two shits where I’m going. The guy couldhandle getting laid once in a while. He’s probably worse than Nate prior to Savanna, though Brody has a better excuse for it. He lost his wife, Heather, in a car accident a few years ago and I’m not sure he’s even touched a female since.
Fucking heartbreak. Brody is another perfect example of why it’s better to remain single.
Heading away from the VIP section, I move towards the closest bar. This place has one in each nook and cranny. I could have waited until our waitress showed up again to get another drink, but I needed to move. Preferably in the direction of the dance floor.
Grabbing another rum and coke for myself, and a water for Jordan, I head down the stairs to the main floor. I’m not quite there when I spot her heading away from the dance floor towards another set of stairs in the opposite direction of me, but her footsteps are halted when a man steps in front of her.
Fucking hell. Does she have a tattoo stamped on her forehead tonight that says she’s single and ready to mingle?
