but he didn’t see a single woman who interested him, much less three of them.
Weird, weird shit going down here.
He begged his leave from the horn dog across from him and sought less promiscuous company. But Dare was with his brother—coming between that pair was an exercise in futility—and Max had disappeared for the evening. Maybe Max had already gone back to the bus. Maybe Logan should go back to the bus as well. Not to be with Toni. Just because this party was kind of dead. He usually had a lot more fun at these things. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? Maybe he was just tired. Or maybe he needed another drink. Or maybe he missed Toni.
Nah. He just wasn’t drunk yet. Though he usually didn’t drink enough to actually get drunk. He only drank until he mellowed.
A hush fell over the bar, and Logan turned to see Steve standing on a table and searching the crowd. “Logan!” he yelled. “Where the hell did you run off to, bro?”
Someone shoved Logan in the back, and he stumbled forward, his movement catching Steve’s attention.
“There you are. Candice and Tonya have agreed to a little game of double or nothing.”
“I don’t want to play. Pick someone else.” Why didn’t he want to play? It was his favorite game of all time, and the rewards were guaranteed to blow his mind. Or his load. Mostly his load.
“Awww, I think someone is pussy whipped,” Steve called to the bar patrons, getting everyone in the place chanting: “Pussy whipped. Pussy whipped. Pussy whipped.”
“Fuck you,” Logan shouted over the chanting. “You’re going down, Aimes.”
A knot formed in Logan’s gut as Steve’s two women removed their tops and lay on their backs, head to head across the wooden bar. They were still wearing their bras—which was a bit of a relief—but Toni wouldn’t like him playing this game. And she really wouldn’t like it if he won. The prize was a threesome with the two ladies. Logan wasn’t sure if Steve would purposely throw the game so Logan had to admit he didn’t want to bang the two hot chicks or if Steve honestly wanted a competition. Dude was almost as competitive as Logan was.
“Logan,” Reagan said, tugging on his arm. “Don’t hurt her. She’s such a sweet girl.”
He pretended he didn’t know Reagan was talking about Toni. “I’m sure they’re both sweet girls,” Logan said, “which is why they agreed to fuck the winner of this game. They won’t be sweet when I’m finished with them.”
Many of the male patrons at the bar cheered his boasting.
Once Trey had collected his cock-blocking pest of a girlfriend and the game had been set up, Logan stood next to the knees of one participant and waited for the festivities to begin. He couldn’t make it obvious that he was losing on purpose; he’d never live it down. At the very least, he had to make it look like he was trying.
“Go!” Steve shouted.
Logan leaned over the woman’s crotch, used his teeth to pick up the shot glass balanced on her pelvis, and tilted his head back to pour tequila down his throat. He swallowed, dropped the glass on the floor and bent over the woman again to lick the salt off her belly. He took the next shot glass off her stomach, which was a challenge because she was fighting a case of the giggles. Logan dropped that glass as well and fished the lime from between her tits with his mouth. Good thing she was relatively flat-chested, so it didn’t take too many swipes of his tongue to retrieve the green wedge. He bit into the lime and spit out the rind, wincing at the tartness on his tongue. He then snorted the bump of cocaine off her collarbone. Logan stood abruptly, smacking himself in the eye when the rush went straight to his head. He produced a full-body shudder and peeked at Steve’s progress. Steve was still trying to get the lime out from between his girl’s tits. Probably because he was doing more licking than lime seeking. Damn. Logan rubbed his nose and sniffed, shooting a second rush of exhilaration up into his brain. Whoa! Good shit. He didn’t do coke often—he was hyper enough without it. But how was he going to lose if Steve was so far behind? He had only one task left to complete.
Carla—was that even her name?—lifted a maraschino cherry toward him with her fingertips. Normally when