Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Being a famous athlete, I should be careful about who I spend my nights with. Many times I’ve ended up on trashy sites looking messy with a cute guy in a club. It’s not ideal when that happens because while the league frowns upon it when it comes to straight guys being photographed in different states of undress with women, they really hate it when it’s photos of two guys being splashed all over the internet.
Double standard, yes, which is why I don’t cover my face by wearing a baseball cap—my own little act of rebellion against the flawed system—but at the same time, I try to make sure whoever I hook up with won’t exploit me for it.
I turn and order another drink, but when it’s placed in front of me, the bartender’s hand lingers, and our fingers brush against each other.
He’s new, or at least, I don’t remember him from any of the times I’ve been here. I would’ve remembered the mane of curly blond hair and bright blue eyes.
“You look familiar,” he says, “but I know I haven’t seen you in here before.”
I eye him in the cocky way I always do when I flirt. “Sports fan?”
He screws up his face. “Hell no.”
I laugh. That’s one trait I look for in a hookup. If they’re a fan, they’re more likely to document their experience.
“Maybe you just want to recognize me, then.” I wink.
He looks at his coworker who’s busy at the end of the bar and then leans in closer to me. “I’m not supposed to hit on customers, but my break is in twenty, and you’re gorgeous.”
I lick my lips as a prickle of doubt shoots down my spine.
On paper, he’s the perfect candidate. Needs to be secretive because he’s not supposed to fuck customers. Doesn’t know who I am. Hot. He’s definitely hot.
Then why don’t I want to jump his bones?
“Thanks, but I’m—” A hard presence presses against my back.
I know who it is without having to turn around, and I light up from the inside.
The bartender retreats. “Ah. Got it. No problem.” He nods down at my drink. “That one’s on me.”
I try to school my face before I turn around, but Anton’s large hand grips my hip.
His breath hits my ear as he leans in and says, “The bar is mirrored, dumbass. You can stop looking so smug now.”
I meet his eyes in the reflective glass, and he is the type of famous athlete to hide his face with a cap. The dark scruff on his jaw makes it appear more square than usual, and I want to feel the roughness on my skin.
That ick feeling disappears.
“I told you. I’m not in the mood for begging.”
“Then don’t beg.” Anton takes my hand and pulls me toward the back of the club where that dark and private room is. He moves like he’s on a mission, and that’s when I realize something.
“You’ve been here before,” I say over the noise of the club.
“Duh. It’s discreet. Unlike certain bartenders.”
“Careful. That sounds a hell of a lot like jealousy, but that can’t be right.”
There are some other guys in the room when we get there, but it’s practically pitch-black, so it’s hard to see anything.
Anton pushes me against a wall and presses his hard cock against mine. “Let’s get one thing straight. This has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with not wanting to get an STD panel done every time we hook up.”
An unwelcome gasp parts my lips. “Are you saying you want to regularly fuck me? I think you might like me, Hayes.”
“See, I think I might be starting to, and then you open your mouth. But yes. I want this to happen again. I want to keep doing it until I no longer have the urge to shut you up by sticking my dick in you. However long that will take.”
My smile is almost painful. “I dunno. I am really annoying.”
“I’ve noticed.” Anton reaches between us and pops the button on my suit pants.
I ditched my jacket back at the hotel and rolled my sleeves up on my shirt so my biceps bulge. Those babies have gotten me more hookups than I can count, so I always try to show them off. But Anton’s muscles are just as impressive, and I can’t help gripping his arms while he works open my fly.
When he gets it undone to the point he can take me out and wrap his fingers around me, my whole body thrums in anticipation, but his touch doesn’t come.
“I only have one stipulation …”
The word anything almost falls from my mouth, but I hold it back.
“I’m not going to be your side toy like Westly Dalton was. I don’t share.”
I knew I wasn’t going to like it. “Now, that sounds like commitment, and—”