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I shiver at the image. “Fuck no. You turn me on. When you speak your mind, that shit’s a fucking turn-on. When you stand up for me, which by the way you really do not need to do, that’s a fucking turn-on. A complete other level of turn-on.” I look around. There’s gotta be a bathroom around here somewhere. A closet? Office? Fuck, I’ll take a dark corner at this point.
“Uh, thanks? I think. What are you looking for?”
“Somewhere I can take you and fuck you where no one else will see what’s mine. You heard Zac. He doesn’t want his club to be a blood bath tonight, which means no fucker can see your face when I make you come. Otherwise, I’ll have to shoot them.”
“Wow, okay. Um, how about we file that idea for when we get back to your place. Because as appealing as that is, I kind of wanna see what’s upstairs. Come on.”
Emily grabs my hand and leads the way, following the path she watched Zac take. Pulling her back into me, I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Our place. And I’m not sure I can wait that long. My balls are literally aching right now, Emmy.”
“You’ll survive. Delayed gratification and all.” She laughs.
* * *
“Sam, you’re here.”Emily jumps up, throwing her arms around him a few too many drinks later. Sam holds his arms out to his side, staring straight at me and not returning her hug. That is, until he realises she ain’t gonna let go unless he does. He lightly pats her back and pulls her arms from around his neck.
“You’re seriously trying to get me killed, Emily. You know that, right?” he says to her.
“Stop it. He’s not allowed to shoot anyone tonight. Zac said so.”
Sam’s eyebrows rise as he laughs. “That fucker is too crazy to listen to reason. If he wanted to shoot me, he would. Fuck, he’d probably even do it in a damn church.”
The next thing I see is Sam hunched over, grabbing hold of his balls, right where Emily’s knee just slammed into him. I wince for him. Even if he deserved it, that shit fucking hurts like hell.
“You know what? Zac said Josh couldn’t shoot anyone. He didn’t say I couldn’t. Josh, hand me a gun.” Emily holds her hand out behind her in my direction.
As much as I want to hand her a gun and see what she actually does with it, I also don’t want my friend shot tonight.
“Babe, if I can’t shoot anyone, then neither can you. Also, you’re drunk. You won’t even be able to aim properly.” I laugh, pulling her down onto my lap.
“I wouldn’t miss. I bet I’m the best shot here out of all of you,” she says, pointing to each of the men at the table. As soon as Emily and I sat down, it seemed Ella’s whole fucking tribe came and crashed our party. Ella, I don’t mind so much. She doesn’t piss me off every other second. Dean, Bray, Zac and their wives though? Different story. Actually, Alyssa is sweet as hell. Even I can’t not like her. Reilly, Bray’s wife… that chick is crazier than me. I feel like I always have to be on high alert when she’s around.
“Okay, Little Miss Sniper. How much we putting on this? I’m in. There’s no way you’re a better shot than me,” Bray asks Emily.
I’ve actually never heard if she can shoot or not. But my money will always be on her. I don’t even care if I win or lose. Because as long as I have her, I’m already winning.
“One mil?” I offer up a bet, waiting for Bray to either counter or back out.
Emily gasps. She turns and whispers in my ear, “Josh, I don’t have one mil. What if I lose?”
“Babe, how confident are you that you can beat him?” I ask her.
She looks over at him, then turns back to me and smiles. “Extremely.” She nods.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol in her system or not, but I’m not about to let her lose that confidence. “Make it two million,” I tell Bray.
He laughs. “Sure, if you wanna throw your fancy McKinley money away, who am I to say no?” he asks.
“Ah, Bray, that’s a lot of freaking money. What if you lose?” Reilly asks.
“Rye, relax, there’s no way I’m losing. Besides, I married a trust fund brat. I’m good for it.” He laughs and dodges her strike.
I’ve read about Reilly’s family. Her dad was a big-time investor before he went to jail; he left her and her twin (Holly) a hefty little nest egg. Not that Bray needs her money, these fuckers have more cash than they know what to do with. Maybe it’s not the McKinley kind of money, but they’re a long way from begging.
“Josh, this is crazy. You can’t waste that much money. What if I lose?” Emily asks again.
“I don’t actually care if you win or lose. It’ll be fun to watch him sweat a bit. He’s far too cocky.
“I’ll do my best,” she says.
