Chapter 6
One of a Kind
Beau
The light was dim and the music loud and everyone had to shout to be heard at Club 1 OAK. We relaxed in the VIP lounge in the back of the venue, in a huge circular booth made out of plush velvet.
Yeah, so I had a moment of weakness. After dinner, I got bored while killing time at the hotel. I ended up reinstalling MeatMarket on my phone and messaged back a handful of those girls to meet us here.
And here they were. I had two girls on my left, two girls on my right, and both my arms around their shoulders. As the night got later, the girls scooted closer and closer until their warm bodies pressed against mine. After the first drink, their hands started moving under the table and out-of-sight. They traced their finger-nails up and down my thigh as a silent competition played out between them.
Normally, a little tease like that is enough to get me hard. I'm not ashamed of it—touch me like you want me, and yeah, I'll grow some wood. The girls always eventually notice the bulge running down my trousers—and then it's just a matter of time before they start secretly touching that under the table, too.
Tonight, though?
For whatever reason, it wasn't working. I guess I wasn't all that excited. I dunno, maybe Hunter was right. My head was in the clouds all day for some reason and I couldn't figure out why.
“BEAU!” Vinny yelled. The boys were embroiled in some kind of debate that I was supposed to be paying attention to, apparently. “You're awfully quiet over there. What do you think?”
“… About what?”
“Christ! Aren't you listening?”
I took a sip from my vodka-water and gave him a careless shrug.
The girl on my left jumped in with a giggle. “Can't you see? His mind is elsewhere.” She ran her fingers against my stomach, fondling the ridged texture of my abs through my shirt. Then she whispered in my ear. “You look so strong and sexy tonight, Beau.”
The girl on my right, not to be outdone, moved closer. She whispered in my ear so close, her gin-and-diet-soda breath clouding my space. “Just say the word when you wanna go. Remember: I'm your girl. All night.”
I gave her a polite smile. “Yeah, maybe later.”
I checked my watch. Two hours until curfew. Where the heck was she?
If Hunter had any idea that I had four girls hanging off me, but I was still thinking about the one who wasn't here? He'd bust my balls and come up with all sorts of conspiracy theories about how she's the one I wanted all along! Or some horseshit.
Thankfully, Hunter was back at the hotel—ever since he got married, he's not really into partying with the boys anymore. Which is probably why he's always telling us younger guys about how great life is once you settle down. Dude's just lonely, that's all. When we're on the road, he has to sit in that hotel room by himself. Highlight of his day is a 10 minute conversation with his wife when they talk about their days. And then they run out of things to say to each other and hang up.
No thanks. Not what I want.
I'll take this instead: four hot girls, whose names I can't even remember. Four hot girls who know they'll never see me again and don't even give a shit. Four hot girls who would happily fight each other just for the chance to—
Camille?
I peeked up just in time to see her. Camille and the other girl from the bakery—Piper, I think. My heart started beating a little faster, and for once, I started feeling more like myself.
She's here.
And damn. Damn. She looked amazing. She'd worn a strapless dress; the sexy little item hugged her hourglass curves and pushed her lovely, perky tits up, daring you to stare. I practically salivated at the sight and tried to lure her over with my eyes.
But Camille and her friend didn't come over to sit with us. Instead, they turned and fled straight to the bar.
Huh? Didn't she see me over here?
She had to have seen me, though. She looked right at me. I know she did.
But then why the hell was she hiding her face like that?
I watched as Camille and her friend went up to some Wall Street looking guys and struck up a conversation. Those girls were way out of those two greaseballs' league. Why the hell were they even talking to them?
A stifling heat boiled under my shirt collar. I tugged at it and grunted, but no relief came. Suddenly, a heat swallowed me whole. I pushed my shoulders against the girls on my left and right, trying to get a little extra space.
“Hey, what's wrong?” the girl on the left asked.
“I'm hot.”
“Yeah you are,” she flirted, moving right back.
I pushed her away again. “No, I'm not being cute with you. I'm seriously burning up over here.”
“Sheesh, alright, you don't have to be a dick-head about it,” she snapped. “Fucking asshole.”
“Whatever.”
With a tense knot in my throat, I watched as those Wall Street bastards tried to run their game on the two girls. Just from their body language, I could just see the horrible conversation going down:
Guys: Hey ladies, what do you do? Great. We're financial analysts. Yeah, here's exactly how our jobs work in painstaking technical detail …
Girls: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
I mean, Camille and Piper looked so bored. But they finished their drinks and then the guys ordered a round of shots for everyone. And then they took the girls to the dance floor.
Okay. Hell no.
I couldn't sit here and watch this torture anymore.
“Hey, lemme out,” I growled as I climbed over my teammates to get out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” the girls mewled.
“Don't worry about it.”
I made my way to the dance floor and bee-lined straight for Camille and her guy. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Hey bud. You mind if I get this dance?”
He looked at Camille. What was he looking at her for? Did he expect her to be the man in this situation?
“But—I just—” he whimpered.
I stepped in front of him and budged him out of the way. “Thanks, pal.”
Camille stared daggers at me. And Mr. Wall Street stood on the sidelines and glared at me too.
For a second, he looked like he might actually want to do something about it. Not that I was worried. I stood a head taller and had at least 70 pounds of muscle on him. What was he going to do? Scold me?
But then that anger left his face in a flash, replaced by a boyish excitement instead.
“Wait a minute. I just realized—you're Beau Bradford!” he squealed. “Can I get a selfie with you?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Sorry bud. I don't do selfies.”
“Oh, uh, okay … thanks anyway.” And with that, Mr. Wall Street put his head down and left me alone with his woman.
My woman now.
I grinned at Camille. She didn't look too thrilled—but for me, that whole scenario couldn't have gone down any more perfectly. Over the loud club music, I had to lean in and speak directly into her ear.
“Sup Rach? Glad you could make it.”
She gave me a dirty stare.
I leaned in again. The closeness was nice, even if we hated each other. I could feel her warm puffs of breath against my neck.
“Sorry if I butted in on something there. That was some guy you were talking to.” I chuckled sarcastically. “C'mon, you can do better than him.”
She stood on her tip-toes to reach my ear. She reached for my navel with her tiny hand and grabbed a handful of my shirt to hang on for support. I leaned down and met her half-way.
“You're such an ass, Beau.” She slapped at my shoulder angrily. “He was actually nice. You know what that word means, right? Being kind and considerate to people? You might try it sometime.”
“Oh, yeah,” I grinned. “You sure know a lot about that, don't you?”
Her eyes darted to the left. “I dunno what you're getting at.”
I didn't lean in to say anything that time. I just forced a smile.
A crowd of bodies surrounded us, moving to the club's hip-hop beats. They closed in on us, tightening like a knot.
“So, you wanna dance or what?” I shouted over the music.
“What about your harem?” she shouted, nodding in the direction of the four MeatMarket girls. Each of the four girls had a glowing phone screen jammed in their faces—a sight that made me roll my eyes. “Won't they be mad?”
“You think I care?”
“I know you don't care!” she shouted with a wicked smile. “That's why I said you're an ass!”
I had to laugh. She had a point.
But whatever. I wanted to dance. So I put my hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer. Camille sneered at my touch and stood her ground—but I knew part of her liked it anyway. And sure enough, once I started moving to the beats, she started moving with me.
Take note, Mr. Wall Street. That's how you do it.
The beat thumped in my body, pounding at the point where my the base of my skull and spine met. I let my thoughts go and let the music come to me. I let raw instinct take over, the same way I do in a game.
And raw instinct loved it all: the pissed-off smirk she wore at first, like she wanted to run off but couldn't actually convince herself to do it. Or the way she always defiantly pried my hand free from her waist the second I tried to grab her. Or when we got so close, her soft, round breasts brushed against me—and a wave of heat swept over my heart. Or when she whipped her hair about, and whiffs of her dangerously intoxicating scent filled my senses.
Hell. Now I wanted her closer.
I wrapped my hands around her waist. I could span her, all of her, between my large hands. I ran the tips of my thumbs over the softness of her taut belly.
With a scowl, she grabbed hold and peeled my hands off her again. She stood on her toes and shouted in my ear.
“Keep your hands to yourself!”
But I'd be a fool not to notice the conflicted way the tips of her nails glided up and down my chest—like she wasn't sure if she wanted to shred my heart out or grab a hunk of muscle and hold on.
Damn, that's nice.
Our dance might have looked more like a struggle of egos than an actual dance … but I think we were both enjoying it.
Actually, I know I was enjoying it. Camille had started to tease me, turning around for a brief second to shake her ass right over my crotch. She'd get close, but never touch.
But her tease drove me insane. And sure enough, my cock started to stir and lengthen in my trousers. Did she know? Could she feel it? I didn't know. But my cock grew harder until it was throbbing in the leg of my pants.
Who knew Little Miss Perfect was such a tease?
She did it again; she spun around and did another one of her booty shakes. This time, she got too close, or maybe I leaned too far forward. But she felt me, alright. She pumped her ass against my cock until the realization hit her: what she was feeling was me.
And I could tell it surprised the shit out of her. She whipped around and jumped backward, her eyes huge with shock over the fact that she'd just felt my dick.
Camille scrambled away, pushing through the crowd to get away from me.
And then I was being pulled in another direction. Four hands grabbed at my suit jacket and pulled me away.
The MeatMarket girls. They pawed at me. “Beau! Where'd you go? We've been looking all over for you!”
But I didn't answer. I just stared, trying to find Camille as she sliced her way through the crowd and disappeared.
I might actually have a shot at that grudge-fuck after all.