Page 47 of The Killer Card

“Need another drink, baby?” One of Cristian’s teammates murmurs in my ear, the touch of his lips against my skin sending a shiver down my spine.

The music in El Rincón is the exact level of obscenely loud that I requested. Elias will be singing tonight, per my vehement request. The Island King may not be my type, but I’m not oblivious to the effect the rhythm of his music has on the libido. I am nothing if not a little manipulative and I intend to make these men hungry for me.

With a grin, I grab the closest one by the front of his shirt, pulling him toward the bar. “You read my mind, handsome.”

I have no idea what his name is, nor do I intend to learn. Making Cristian invite them was an effort to get laid, not develop deep, sentimental ties to soccer’s legendary roots. Like I said, this night has exactly three goals.

Goals that would be a lot easier to focus on if Graham Rosales wasn’t looking at me like that.

Pathetic.

Starving.

Submissive.

“Hey there, angel.” His smile is fucking devastating and I hate it. “What can I get you?”

I try to remain as unaffected as possible- Fuck, who am I kidding? I was soaked the first sentence he spoke to me tonight. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Plastering on a smile I swirl my finger in the air to account for the little posse I’ve acquired. “Another round of birthday shot for me and my handsome friends please, Graham Cracker.”

His jaw clenches visibly. Through his teeth he grinds out a “Sure thing,” and gets to work on my order.

Another player begins kissing slowly up my exposed throat and I tilt my head just enough to give him a little more access while another on my other side skates his fingers up the small of my back where my dress dips too low.

“Save it for later, boys,” I admonish gently. “Don’t spoil your dinner with too many snacks.”

The one on my left curses in German against my shoulder. “Where has Santos been hiding you, Schatz? He has been holding out on us, all these beautiful women he casually surrounds himself with.”

I’m not sure casually is the right word, but I don’t correct him. Cristian has only been practicing with them these last several weeks and won’t even be starting next season. Let them cultivate whatever image of him they want, and if it’s that he’s a selfish cad all the better I say.

“Mmm,” the man on my other side hums. “I think we should make the rookie run extra laps this week, Maier.”

I grin, tilting my head up to smile at him. “You can do better than that. Make him suffer for keeping you boys away from me for so long.”

His grin is devilish as he leans in, brushing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “You are quite the minx—”

Shot glasses slam down on the bar a little harder than necessary, pulling the Argentinian player away enough for both of us to glance at Graham. His smile is so too sickeningly sweet. “Birthday shots,” he pours them each full to the rim. “On the house.”

“My three favorite words.” I grin, reaching for one of the glasses. The surrounding players and I cheers, the echo vibrating in the too thick air as Graham stands there, watching my throat work to swallow the sweet drink.

“Bienvenidos a todos. Gracia por venir esta noche,” Elias takes to the microphone with all the practiced ease of a seasoned performer as Clara and Nelly join us at the bar. “I want to especially thank the starting line-up of the Miami Sharks for coming out tonight.”

The players around me as well as a dozen others raise glasses as applause welcomes them to the club. Penelope grabs Cristian’s sleeve before he can duck out of the spotlight he truly hates being in. Fortunately for him, his daddy loves him enough to leave him alone. Instead, he turns his eyes on me, slightly annoyed but also slightly affectionate.

“And I want to wish a very happy birthday to Miss Naomi Mychal.” His eyes narrow. “I hope this fulfills whatever obligations you think I have to you as my girlfriend’s friend.”

It doesn’t, but I lace my fingers innocently beneath my chin, smiling beatifically in the spotlight. Clara rolls her eyes, reaching up to adjust the crown I’ve pinned to my braids- completely my idea of course. I also found a sash which I plan to put to better use later tonight.

“Vamos!”

As the music starts, Penelope immediately grabs Cristian, dragging him out to the dance floor and I hop off my barstool. I down the last shot left behind by one of the players choosing not to drink tonight and take two of their hands. “Let’s dance!”

Four of them join me on the dance floor, but eventually I lose one. Three, I decide, is still a perfectly reasonable number of toned bodies. It would have been fun if on my twenty-second birthday I could have played a little two plus two. But this- the German known as Maier runs his hands slowly up my legs from behind, pinning me to the Argentinian at my front as a third player I haven’t really spoken to grinds into my hips- will definitely do.

✽✽✽

I have, admittedly, possibly gotten too good at faking orgasms in the last sevenish years of sexual activity.