Page 22 of Playing Hard to Get

Waving her off, I said, “Let me take care of you, darlin’.” More cooing followed and I eyed the growing crowd. More women than were there a minute ago. Beautiful women. Hell, they were gorgeous. And then, I got it.

Got why Frankie wanted all the doors locked.

Because every eye in the room was on them. Male, female. Didn’t matter. All those long legs and full chests and flowing hair.

Turning my attention to the drinks, I made a whole batch of margaritas and a virgin for the momma-to-be. I handed my girls their glasses along with a kiss on the cheek for both before turning to the ladies waiting at the bar.

With pursed lips, I squinted my eyes, a fake play of contemplation. “Let me guess,” I said, then pointed to three of the ladies gathered around. “You, you, and you all want the same as the lovely Emily. Non-virgin.” I threw a wicked grin and got girlish giggles in return. I placed three margaritas on the bar in front of them.

To a pair of brunettes, I said, “A couple cosmos. And you…” I pointed to a beautiful blonde with pouty red lips and let a crooked grin pass. “A martini. No. Dirty martini.”

The women all nodded and laughed and smiled. Hands at their throats, perfect white teeth gleaming, eyes sparkling as they grazed my face. I knew what they saw: the careful flirt I’d perfected over the years, enticing the ladies to keep coming back, keep wanting more, keep doling out the tips that lined my pocket and paid my rent. Gave them what they wanted, made them think they were getting so much more.

I set to work on making their drinks and sent them all off with a wink and a promise: I'd be there all night.

The rush was over and I was left to chat with a random guest or two. Emily’s Ramon came over for one of my strawberry margaritas, saying it was for her. I smiled and didn’t say a word about the half-full glass she was still grasping in her hands.

A few couples started to dance after the lights were turned low in the living and dining rooms. I hit the switches in the kitchen, turning off the overheads and flipping on the mood lighting around the bar. Frankie outdid herself when she decorated her place. No penny was spared making it the perfect home.

An energy in the crowd drew my attention away from the drink I was fixing for one of Corey’s teammates. I handed over the glass and looked out into the room. There were too many people gathered ‘round, I couldn't get a good look. But then the crowd parted and I saw her there.

Vivian.

So fucking gorgeous. The dip of her dress showed off the swell of her perfect breasts, those long, long legs pouring out of the thin black fabric. And the heels. Like the ones she wore last week when I took her home.

She made her way over, her eyes on the crowd. Flirting with every guy she passed with that dazzling smile on her lips. She didn’t realize it was me workin’ the bar. When she saw me, she stuttered her step, her eyes going wide for a split second before she pulled the mask back over her face. That same glorious smile, all fake, fake, fake. She came straight around the bar, slipped her arms around my neck.

“Evenin’, darlin’.” I pulled her body close, wishin’ I could get closer. Nuzzled into her neck, taking in her scent.

She pulled back, putting a sliver of space between us I didn’t want to allow. “I didn't realize you’d be here tonight.”

“Would have come earlier if you knew, yeah?”

She shrugged. “Or maybe not at all.”

I gave a quiet chuckle. “You’re killing me here.”

“The truth hurts.” She pulled away, eyes on the bottles on the wall.

With my elbows on the bar, I leaned her way. Every part of my body was craving her, wanting to touch her, needing to sink down deep inside of her. But I knew, the way her body curved away from me, that was the last thing she wanted. Not in her cousin’s home.

“What can I get’cha, darlin’?”

Vivian bit into the corner of her lower lip and glanced over her shoulder, into the dark living room. Her eyes skimmed my face before returning to the bottles. “Something hard.”

“Yeah? I'll give you whatever you want.”

A tight laugh erupted from her throat before she reached out and grabbed a bottle off the shelf. She turned toward the bar, her hand extending for a glass. I grabbed her hand, grabbed the bottle, pulling both close to me. She wouldn’t let go, just held on, her hands clenched and her breath hitching as her chest grazed mine.

“Not that,” I told her, my breath blowing across her beautiful face, wisps of her hair flying in the light breeze.

“Thought you said you’d give me anything I want.”

“Not that.” I tugged harder on the bottle, trying to pry it from her hand. Only her body came closer. “Everclear’s too hard straight up. You’ll kill yourself.”

“I can handle my liquor, Mitch. I know how to control myself.”

“Yeah?” I pried the bottle out of her fist. “You like control?”