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“What’s upstairs?” she asked.
I leaned in. “I live upstairs.” I placed my hand on her shoulder and changed the subject as quickly as possible. “This is Everly Parker.” Ryan held out his hand and she gripped it with ease. “This is Fridge.”
He winked. “My friends call me Ryan.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.”
He motioned inside with his chin. “I’ll let Bryce know you’re here.” The red carpet was rolled out every time I arrived.
“Thanks, bud.” I slapped him on the back. “I’ll see you later.”
“Nice meeting you, Everly.” He shot her the sweetest, ass-kissing smile then winked at me. A sly curve to his lips told me we had some talking to do. Or rather, I had some explaining to do.
Admittedly, Everly wasn’t the usual type of girl I brought to this establishment. She looked nothing like the women who waited on the opposite side of the velvet rope. The lineup looked like a casting call—all pushed-up cleavage, tight dresses, red lips, and high heels. A glaring contrast to the woman I led into the bar.
Tonight, she wore dark jeans and a black sweater that she’d buttoned up all the way to the hollow of her neck. Her hair was down, loose, shiny curls cascaded down her back—one of her best assets, in my opinion. I was weirdly drawn to the glossy strands. Wanted desperately to run my fingers through them, bury my nose in them. But even more, I wanted to know what that hair would feel like skittering across my abdomen as her lips wrapped around my cock.
I shook off the thoughts with a full-body shiver. There was no way Everly was going to let me run my hands through her hair, and certainly not suck my dick. Which was part of the draw. I knew she thought she was too good for me. That spreading her legs for me was the lowest item on her to-do list, but that was the reason I was here. I wasn’t just Max Levin, porn guy. However, I had no idea what other guy I was.
One date. One time. No sex required. Even though I couldn’t stop fantasizing about it. Especially every time she took a sip of her drink and her tongue slipped out to press against the cool glass.
We’d been given priority seating at the end of the bar, facing the dance floor, but as I watched the hundred or so people crammed together, she sat deep in thought. Occasionally, the bodies were illuminated by the strobe lights above. There was a lot of grinding going on down there. I wondered if she noticed, or if she was too lost in her own head. I knew she was thinking about something. I could practically see the gears turning. Plus, she had that distant look. The one that clouded her presence. Despite being with me, she wasn’t with me; her thoughts were somewhere else.
Maybe she was reciting the Constitution of Canada or some shit like that.
Every once in a while she’d smile at me, but only half-smile. I needed to step up my game if I was going to show this woman a good time.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Huh?” She stared at me blankly. Almost as if she had forgotten where she was.
It wasn’t an expression I was used to. This girl couldn’t care less about being here with me. Damn if that didn’t make me want her even more.
“You seem preoccupied,” I yelled over the music, a well-known hip-hop song that had the crowd on the dance floor writhing and thrusting into one another. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” I grabbed her hand and leaned closer. She tensed, and ripped it away from under my loose grip, settling back against the plush velvet chair.
“I’m sorry…I…” While she contemplate
d whatever it was she wanted to say, she chewed on her bottom lip. It took everything I had not to reach out and rub my thumb across it.
“It’s just…I have a paper due tomorrow. I really shouldn’t be here.” Guilt washed over her face.
I knew exactly how it felt to dedicate yourself wholeheartedly to something. White Lace had been my life for the last four years and would be for the next thirty.
My chest tightened, a weird feeling—one I didn’t recognize—washed over me. Was White Lace really the life I wanted?
“You could have sent me away.”
I had shown up on her doorstep and was surprised when I walked into the foyer to find furniture that was at least three decades old. The house looked like it was the home of an eighty-year-old woman, not Everly and her two escort roommates.
She shook her head. “I need to conquer that list.”
The gears starting working again. Her mind had taken over.
“Why?”
She leveled me with an annoyed glare. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Said the soon-to-be lawyer.”
