Boyfriend Bargain Page 3

  “There is no eye-fucking going on here!” I feel ridiculous even saying that.

  She curls her lip. “You and your top-shelf tequila. Please.”

  I inhale a deep, cleansing breath. Harry just grins at me, his gaze bouncing from me to his Pixie Girl. Obviously he’s enjoying the attention.

  I swear her nose flares when she says, “Maybe it’s time you left—unless you want to regret it later.”

  Is she going to drag me out to the parking lot and kick my butt if I don’t? How have I gotten myself into a chick fight when all I wanted to do was spy on the hockey player?

  A few people around the bar stop what they’re doing and stare, and I blow out a breath, angry and maybe a little intimidated. I could have spooked Horny Harry the Frat Boy eventually—I mean, I’ve handled my fair share of leeches at Boobie Bungalow (with the help of a bouncer)—but toss in a catty jealous girlfriend and all bets are off. Women are vicious, and I like all my hair on my head, thank you very much.

  A new song comes over the speakers and I feign interest, bobbing my head. “Wait? Is that 50 Cent’s “In da Club”? Yeah, it is.” Fake smile. “Sorry, guys, gotta go.” And I dart for the dance floor. My plan? Shake my ass all the way to the door and get the hell out of here.

  The dance floor is a madhouse of bodies, and I boogie along with them, eyes locked on the exit. My purse gets shifted behind me during my exodus, resting on my butt as I push through the crowd. I don’t bother fixing it, but halfway to the door, there’s a tug on the strap that jerks my shoulder. Afraid it might be Pixie Girl ready to pluck my eyes out, I whip around with my fists clenched and raised—my mama didn’t raise no slouch—but it’s only a dancer with her arm tangled in my strap. “Sorry,” she calls out over the music, and I nod. I turn back around and run smack into a brick wall of muscle.

  “Whoa there,” says the deep, husky voice.

  Holy hockey jackpot.

  It’s him.

  5

  Sugar

  My head looks up…and up…and my eyes widen as I take in the broad shoulders, the thick lashes, and the dark scruff on his perfect jawline. He bites his lip and pushes his wild blond hair off his face. Damn. Just damn. His cologne, something spicy and all male, hits my nose, and I inhale deeply.

  His full, sensuous lips part slightly as he blinks at me, and there’s a look of uncertainty on his face as he stares back. His jacket eases open as he moves to let someone pass by us, and I see the tight black shirt he’s wearing underneath, the way it clings to his lower abdomen. Hockey players have notoriously well-developed physiques, and Zack doesn’t disappoint. I swallow, imagining the six-pack under the shirt, the V on his hips. I think about the texture of his skin that I can’t see. Is it rippled and hard? What would my tongue feel like—

  Stop, Sugar. That’s not why you’re here.

  His eyes gleam down at me, the color of molten hot steel as he watches.

  Later, I’ll blame my reaction on the adrenaline from the incident at the bar and my lack of dinner, but right now, I’m disappointed in myself. Apparently I’m just like those other girls who look at him with rapturous expressions on their faces.

  And right there, it happens. I chicken out. I decide I can’t ask him for help.

  I’ll find another way.

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I move to walk around him.

  He sidesteps, blocking me. “Wait a minute. Were you behind that column earlier…over there?” His head tilts toward the support beam in the center of the room.

  “Nope.”

  A furrow forms on his forehead. “I could have sworn—”

  “Who’s this?” A sharp female voice interrupts from beside him, a stunning petite redhead in a black miniskirt and a red halter top that matches her hair.

  I’m not sure how I missed her arriving.

  With a slight curl to her ruby lips, she runs a cursory glance over my frame, her eyes widening as if she sees something weird. Feeling paranoid, I pat down my hair where I’ve been twisting it.

  I don’t respond to her question about who I am. I’ve had enough of this place and these people.

  “Let’s go play darts, Z. It’s too crowded over here.” She dismisses me and turns her attention away, her lashes fluttering up at him as she runs a possessive hand over his shoulders. There’s a familiarity in her touch, as if she’s known him for a long time.

  He shrugs, his eyes never leaving me. “You go on, Veronica. I’m sure my brother is looking for you.”

  “He’s upstairs somewhere. I thought maybe we could hang out—”

  “No,” he bites out.

  Her face falls, a sullen expression settling in. She darts a glance at me before looking back at him. “But why—”

  “I said go.”

  She huffs and opens her mouth as if she might say something else but then decides against it, her teeth clamping together. “Fine.” She does a pivot and flounces off.

  “Girlfriend?” I ask, watching her leave, trying to suss out what’s going on.

  “Fuck no.”

  This is when things get really weird.

  Zack Morgan just stares. And stares.

  Warm tendrils of heat slide over me at his scrutiny.

  Then he frowns as if he can’t figure out what I am.

  “I’m human,” I say, and it’s such an utterly ridiculous statement to make, but he doesn’t even blink.

  We stand in the middle of the floor with bodies dancing around us, neither of us moving as his gaze moves from the top of my hair to the bottom of my black UGG boots, a gift from Mara. There’s a quizzical look on his face as he sizes me up, and a few ticks later, he physically winces as if something about me is…unpleasant.

  But I’m not unpleasant.

  I’m no beauty queen, but I’ve had the attention of attractive guys. Bennett is gorgeous, the little cheater, and according to Mara I look just like Mama did at my age with her pale creamy skin, heart-shaped face, and long blonde hair. Unfortunately, my eyes are my father’s, wide and thickly lashed, a blue-green color.

  “You…” His brow knits as he searches for how to finish his sentence.

  Someone dances into me with a hard bump, and I lunge forward again, my cheek pressing against his chest. His hands clasp my upper arms, steadying me as he sets me a few inches away from him.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  His eyes drift over my face, lingering on my lips, and I swallow. He drops my arms as if they’re hot, and I rub them briskly, acutely aware of his touch.

  Strands of “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt come over the speakers, and color rushes from my neck up to my face as I realize we’re the only ones on the dance floor not dancing.

  “This place is crowded. I should go—”

  “Would you like to dance?” he asks, interrupting me.

  I frown. “You want to dance with me?”

  “I do.” Inscrutable eyes rake over me as his expression shutters. His focus is still squarely on me as if I’m a magical creature—or a demon.

  Maybe there’s something hanging out of my nose or my Pirate Red lipstick is smeared across my entire cheek and I’m completely unaware.

  “Okay.” My hands reach up and curl around his shoulders, my fingers brushing at the hair there. His hands go to my hips, settling on top of my coat around my waist. We move around each other, almost warily, our bodies aligned in a slow rhythm, not entirely pressed together, yet the small space between us feels…electrified. I wonder how my skin would feel pressed against his if we closed that gap.

  We’re in a bubble, the two of us, and everyone around us seems irrelevant—or at least that’s my perception. I’m not sure what his is, only that his gaze never leaves my face and the intensity makes me jittery.

  “What’s your name?” he says with a scowl.

  I huff out a laugh. Where’s the charming playboy everyone said he was?

  “Sugar. My mama said it was a name for a girl who would be the life of the party.” I lift my
shoulders in a shrug, looking away. “It didn’t work.”

  “Ah, I hear a slight Southern accent. How did you end up in Sparrow Lake?”

  My accent isn’t thick, not after years of living here, but it does stick out like a sore thumb among all these Midwesterners. “Moved here when my mom passed.”

  “Any other family?”

  I stare up at him. “You updating my Wikipedia page?”

  He breaks our gaze, a flash of vulnerability in his before it’s quickly gone. “You favor someone I knew.”

  Oh.

  “Well, they’re not related to me. I don’t have any siblings or cousins on my mom’s side, and I look just like her. The family I do have is my dad’s and they’re in Alabama.” I pause. “I don’t speak to them.”

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. “That’s really none of your business.”

  “Why?”

  He gives me an insistent look, and out of sheer annoyance, I say, “They’re rich folk who think I’m white trash.”

  He thinks about this, studying my face. “Sorry. That sucks. I’m Zack, by the way.”

  I know. I nod.

  “My friends call me Z.”

  “I’m not a friend.”

  “Yet.” His eyes go to my mouth and heat flares over my skin at the interest I see there. A blush creeps across my face.

  “I’ve never seen you at one of these,” he says.

  “Just trying new things.”

  “Like stalking hockey players?”

  My mouth opens and I almost stumble until he catches me.

  “You were at the Tipsy Moose last week,” he says, a satisfied look on his face as he takes in my face. “You sat in the back. I played darts…you watched. I talked to a girl…you stared. You sat by yourself. Isn’t that right?”

  My stomach flutters, recalling how packed that place was. The man has magical powers of observation. “Maybe we were just two people who happened to be at the same place at the same time. Maybe my eyes just happened to be on you when you looked at me.”

  He continues as if I never said a word. “You’re also in my American poetry class. You wear a knit hat and those big glasses. Maybe that’s why I didn’t…” He stops, his voice trailing off. “You sit in the back.”

  “And you sit in the front.”

  “You would know.”

  Shit! I blink rapidly “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Liar. I notice things—it’s one of my skills—and you were lurking behind that column when I came in…waiting for me.” His tone is silky, yet there’s a hint of accusation there. “My guess is you’re a jersey chaser, a new one since I’ve never noticed you here.”

  Anger stirs at his arrogance, and my lips tighten. “I’d hardly call it lurking. and you were staring at me.”

  “Maybe I was.” He halts our dancing when the music stops, but his hands are still on my hips and mine are still around his neck. It’s strange to still be holding on to him when it’s clear we’re sparring, but…but I don’t want to let him go. My hands cling to his shoulders, brushing across the soft leather of his jacket, and his fingers are digging into my waist. His touch isn’t unwanted. It’s tantalizing with a hint of dominance, as if he’s not going to let me out of his sight.

  I swallow.

  My chest rises.

  I want to smack that smirk off his face, but I also want to—

  What is happening?

  “I’m not a jersey chaser. I’m pre-law.”

  He sighs, twisting his lips. “Right. What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing.” Lie, lie, lie.

  He gives me a hard look. “Please. You wanna hook up with an athlete and brag to all your friends, right?”

  He’s so off base.

  Yet…

  My gaze goes to his full lips, taking in the sensual curves, wondering how they would feel pressed against mine. “Do I have a shot?” I don’t know what makes me say it.

  He gives me a wolfish, knowing smile. “I would love to fuck you, but we might never see each other again. I don’t make promises.”

  I picture us naked in a heated embrace, his powerful body sliding inside me, and my lower body clenches at the thought—even as I cringe. I’m supposed to still be in love with Bennett, and yet here I am, my body pulsating for another guy.

  “I don’t need your promises,” I snap. And even though I’m completely out of my depth with this level of hot guy, my hand is confident and gives his hair a tug. “And if we fucked, I wouldn’t want to see you again.”

  The air crackles around us, and his chest expands as his eyes lower. Everyone around us disappears, and it’s just us and this…energy. I read his face, taking in the dilated gaze, the way he bites that succulent bottom lip. He doesn’t know what to think of me, but he’s decided it really doesn’t matter.

  He wants me.

  His head dips to whisper in my ear. “Forget this party. Let’s get out of here.” The scruff of his jawline brushes against the sensitive skin of my neck, and waves of desire curl around me.

  He focuses back on my face, waiting for a response, but I can’t think. “Now?” I ask, not so brave anymore.

  His hands slide under my coat until they’re on my ass, guiding me closer until the space between us is gone and our bodies are pressed together. “Yeah. It doesn’t have to be complicated. I’ll make it perfect for you.”

  I can only imagine what’s perfect in the Hockey Player Hookup Handbook. Three orgasms, like a hat trick? And then there’s him, those moody eyes, that big stick he no doubt has…

  Without even being cognizant of my reaction, my hands massage his neck, tangling with the thick hair there. A long exhalation comes from his mouth and my heart pounds as I imagine going somewhere with him. Alone. I picture us without all these people. I know he’s right there with me because the air grows heavier and thicker, like a fog. I gaze up, trying to read more of him, to maybe see who he really is, but he’s a stone wall, a piece of hard granite with hot, smoldering eyes.

  Someone in the crowd calls out his name and I flinch.

  Clarity settles in slowly as I think over my reasons for being at this party.

  I—I can’t do this with him.

  “What’s wrong?” he says.

  What’s wrong?

  Part of me does want to hook up, but the other side is mortified at the idea of random sex. Serious relationships are all I’ve ever had, more specifically just one.

  “You’re scared,” he says softly.

  “Sex isn’t why I came here tonight…” I stop, not sure how to explain.

  His broad shoulders shift, shrugging, and his face gets that shuttered look on it again. “I get it. You don’t want to be the girl.”

  My mouth opens. “So it is true? You pick out a girl at parties?”

  His eyes rake over me. “Next time, don’t try so hard to get my attention, sweetheart.”

  Next time? Don’t try so hard?

  My heart sputters like a car running out of gas as mortification flares. I frown. “Don’t call me sweetheart, and for your information, I’m not some girl who’s out to bag the sexy and infuriating Zack Morgan. What I need is way more important than some furtive coupling in a frat house with a testosterone-addled hockey player.”

  “Sexy and infuriating? Testosterone-addled?” He bites his lip to keep from laughing. “You really know how to flirt.”

  “I didn’t mean to flirt. I just came to ask you to…” I stop, frustrated as I remove my hands from those broad shoulders and rub one over my face. “I never should have come to this party. It was pointless.”

  “Why?” His brows knit together as he studies me.

  A long silence stretches between us as I flounder around, my gaze bouncing throughout the basement as if the words might magically appear. Why can’t I think of the right verbiage to explain that my original intention was to ask him for help?

  I shake my head, emotion clawing at me as everything from the past month come
s crashing down at me. Catching Bennett cheating, losing out on the one law school I wanted, and now this…this guy thinking I’m just out to use him.

  You were, a voice reminds me.

  But not in a sexual way, I insist, yet uneasiness tugs at me.

  And for what purpose? I’ll never get into Vandy with this plan.

  God, what am I doing?

  I sway on my feet.

  6

  Sugar

  “Are you okay?” Zack says, lifting a hand as if to touch my arm but then letting it fall.

  My skin feels hot. “I need off this dance floor.” I’ve barely eaten a thing today except junk food and now this loud, gyrating party is about to send me over the edge. Toss in a hockey player with enough virility to get me pregnant just by looking at him, and I’m toast.

  “Come with me.”

  “Where?” I look up as he takes my hand.

  He gives me a concerned glance then leads me off the dance floor and up the stairs of the frat house. “You need air. I know where we can get it.”

  And he seems like he does, his fingers laced with mine as he pulls me through a throng of people. Girls glare at me as we pass by, shooting daggers, and several call out his name, but he keeps going. There’s a get out of my way pace to the way he moves, his shoulders edging around people as they step aside to give him a wide berth. We pass the second floor, which is just as crowded, and I get glimpses of rows of doors and assume those are the bedrooms where lots of shenanigans happen. Frat Boy lives here, probably. Julia might be inside one of those rooms too. I feel a pang of envy at the way she’s able to just let go and do what she wants.

  We head up the steps to the third floor. As soon as we hit the landing, I hear the welcome sound of muted music. He stalks through a common area with a sectional and a TV. Our hands intertwined, I follow him as he steps out onto a huge screened-in porch along the back of the house. No one is out here, and it’s bliss. Quiet and lit with moonlight, it’s warmed with gas heaters in each corner.

  “Better?” he asks softly.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief. “It’s paradise. Thank you. I…got too hot down there.”