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“No, you can’t join us,” the bride-to-be says.
“Even if I buy you all a round or two of drinks and find the hottest guy in town to strip for you?”
I grin slyly and watch everyone’s eyes soaking me in. Even if the bride doesn’t want me to stay, her bridesmaids do. They need me to stay. Because, unlike the bride, they don’t feel special tonight. And they all think I’m the guy who will make tonight a little easier by making them forget that they aren’t the ones getting married and most likely aren’t even
close to getting married.
“Yes!” one of the bridesmaids sitting next to the bride says, taking her life in her own hands instead of waiting for the bride-to-be to answer.
She just doesn’t know that I’m not here to have a one-night stand with one of the hot bridesmaids. Although I might regret that because several of the bridesmaids are easily in the top ten hottest women I have ever seen. One is wearing such a short dress that I can already glimpse her perfectly shaved and pierced pussy from where I’m standing.
I force my eyes to turn away from the piercing that I desperately want to see in action. I’m not really sure how it could make sex any better, but I’m sure that it could.
When I look back to the bride-to-be, she is glaring at me.
“So, when’s the wedding?” I ask the bride-to-be.
“Sloane is getting married next month,” the same loudmouthed bridesmaid from earlier answers.
I grin. It’s a perfect timetable. I don’t have a competition for about five weeks. I can seduce this woman, make her fall for me, and get it out of my system before I have to get serious when competition season starts next month.
“What can I get y’all to drink?” Paige asks. She’s the bar’s new waitress from Georgia, and she has that Southern accent to go with her adorably naive smile.
The women start shouting out drink and shot orders. But I’m not really interested in what any of them are ordering. I’m interested in what Sloane wants to order.
Paige looks to Sloane, and Sloane leans back in her chair.
“I’ll have a whiskey.” She pulls something out of her purse. “Do you mind if I smoke this in here?”
I know the bar has a no-smoking policy, just like every other bar in the city.
“I won’t tell,” Paige says, winking.
I raise one eyebrow at Paige. I’m surprised by both women—Paige, for having the guts to say that Sloane can smoke in here when she can’t, and Sloane, for holding a cigar in her hand.
Paige leaves to go get everyone’s drinks while I take a seat next to Sloane.
“Have you ever smoked a cigar before?” I ask.
I doubt that she has. Someone must have bought her a cigar to celebrate her engagement. That’s all this is.
Sloane laughs. “Why? Are you going to show me how to smoke a cigar?” Her voice teases me, but her eyes travel up and down my body, drinking me in.
She might be laughing now, but I’ll have the last laugh.
“No. I’m just don’t want you spending your night coughing and sick after one inhale. I don’t want you to miss the show I’m going to put on later,” I say with a wink.
She lights the cigar, takes one puff, and then slowly releases the smoke from her mouth. My eyes fixate on her mouth because it is the goddamn sexiest thing I have ever seen.
“First of all, you don’t inhale a cigar. You would know that if you had ever smoked a cigar before. And, two, thinking that I have never smoked a cigar because I’m a woman is the most sexist thing I’ve heard in a while. And I run my own company, so I hear sexist things all the time. And, three, I would rather spend my evening in the restroom, puking my guts out, than watch whatever show you will be putting on.”
I grin the whole time as I stare intently at Sloane’s mouth, waiting for more of the sexy smoke to escape her lips. I love how fierce and take-no-crap she is. Women like this are always the hardest to crack, always the hardest challenge. But it will only be a challenge if she is really in love with her fiancé. If she just sees her arrangement with him as a business deal, which I imagine is how she looks at much of life, then it won’t be that difficult to get her to cheat on her fiancé. It won’t be that difficult to convince her that she could fall in love with me.
“So, did your fiancé get you into smoking cigars?”
She frowns and then puffs on the cigar again before slowly letting the smoke out. “No, I got him into it.”
I smile because I don’t believe her. There is no way a beautiful woman like her would take up such a nasty habit without a man convincing her to try it. At least, I’ve never met a woman yet that would smoke a cigar because she wanted to and not to impress a man.
