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“See ya, Lexy.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LEXY
TheUberIrequestedwill be here in three minutes. Thank God. I need to get laid–by someone who is not Troy.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I wrap the strap of my red heel around my ankle. I haven’t been this trapped in my head in a long time. It’s time to get the fuck out of it. I stand, tugging on the hem of my frayed jean shorts and adjusting my tucked in white tank top before looking at my full length wall mirror. Damn. I fluff my curls and twist my body, keeping my eyes locked on my reflection. Soul Cycle five days a week is seriously paying off.
Sliding my ID and credit card in my bra, I lock the door behind me as my phone vibrates in my back pocket with my ride's arrival.
Maci has been gone for a few months. Before she moved here, and prior to Mack living here, I was fine going out on my own; I don’t let lack of company stop me from getting what I want. The past year I’ve grown accustomed to my sidekicks, but with Maci gone and Mack rarely in the mood, I’m back to being a party of one. Outside of them, I’ve never had friends I wanted to hang around consistently. I could call old acquaintances, but it’s not worth the effort or the drama. I want easy.
Find a guy.
Hook up.
Get out.
A simple mission that doesn’t require outside assistance–a well crafted game of which I’m a master.
Stepping out of the Uber, I sashay my way to the red velvet rope blocking the line of men from admittance to the club. The burly bouncer, who looks like he could John Wick you if necessary, unclips the gold hook to let me through.
“Lexy, it’s been a while.”
“Back on my bullshit, Damon,” I quip.
His usual stoic expression breaks with a smirk. “I’ll get you what you need.” He waits for me to walk through the doorway and snaps the red rope in place. I know if I don’t find someone suitable in the next few minutes, Damon will let a few of my type in soon.
The D is a cross between a bar and a club and a mix between classy and grungy. The actual bar is nice, but the floor and walls are trashed. It looks like they started to remodel and update then stopped halfway through the renovations. It’s been stuck that way for a year. But the drinks are cheap, and its name aligns perfectly with the missions it helps me complete.
I’ll talk crap about LA all day, but I can’t deny it’s perfect for some things. Tonight one of those things is a distraction from the only guy who has ever occupied my mind for more than five minutes because… fuck that nonesense. I really thought Maci hooking up with him in Vegas would be a deterrent. Apparently it was not. Troy has not only crossed my mind consistently since then, he hasn’t left my brain at all over the past week. I’m usually more than content relying on my vibrator to take care of my needs, but this cursed blond has entered my fantasies without permission one too many times. Giving into the urge to make my fantasies a reality was supposed to get him out of my system. Instead, I’m shifting from the occasional daily thought to obsessing like a psycho.
Entering the edge of the dance floor, music assaults my ears. The DJ is mixing something new, and it’s total trash if you ask me. Needing someone new in both my bed and my head, I ignore the sound thumping through my veins and scan the room until my eyes land on a well-built guy with his hip pressed against the bar. He’s leaning into his elbow, finger floating in the air, asking for attention from the bartender.
Jackpot.
His perfectly styled light brown hair matches his perfectly styled clothes–dark jeans and a maroon button up with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms.
The denim is rough under my fingers as I graze the fabric at his hips to get his attention. “Excuse me.” He turns, his eyes gliding up my body before landing on my face.
“Hello.” He pulls his attention from his current task and shifts gears, flashing me a grin. “Can I help you?”
“You tell me. Can you get me a drink and a good time?” Over the years I’ve become exceptional at pinpointing exactly the kind of man who can get the job done–for one night only.
“That could be arranged.” He steps closer, his hand finding my hip. I feel nothing from his touch except hope for waking up with a clear mind. “What are you drinking?”
“Tequila is good, thank you.”
He motions to flag down the bartender before turning back to me. “So, do you live around here?”
“Born and raised,” I say with more enthusiasm than I feel about the fact. “You?”
“Nah. Flagstaff. Here for the weekend.”
I give myself an internal hi-five. Damn, I’m good at picking exactly the men I need.
The bartender slides two drinks in front of us, and I take a sip of mine while guy-whose-name-I-still-don’t-know cashes out.
