Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,37
taunting me that it could all be undone with a single clasp. The shoulder-length, jet-black wig almost made her seem like a stranger, but I’d know those blue eyes—that body, anywhere. I’d had it against me.
She’d felt so good in my hands and tasted as sweet as sugar. Everything about her had felt like a dream—which was pretty much how it had seemed in the four weeks since it had happened. Yeah, we’d had a moment a few days ago where it felt like she’d been reaching for a little more, but…nothing. And it wasn’t like I was going to push her. I’d barely gotten my best friend back. I wasn’t about to lose her just because my dick couldn’t keep his opinions quiet.
“Roman?” The cheerleader asked again, stroking her fingers down my arm.
Teagan stopped moving for a split second.
I jerked my gaze back to the brunette and shook my head. “I’m sorry…”
“Desiree,” Hendrix offered, slapping my back. Guy knew more than a few of them on a personal level. A very personal level.
“Right. Desiree.” I flashed her what I hoped was an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to say no.”
“Oh.” Her face fell.
“Don’t take it personally,” Hendrix said with a grimace. “He’s basically a fucking monk right now.”
“Shut it.” I drained my glass of water and set it on the bar.
“What? You are.” He shrugged as a cloud of college-aged girls headed our way.
Desiree made her exit as Savannah—the birthday girl herself—spun out of the group of co-eds and stumbled.
Hendrix caught her before she hit the ground and set her back on her feet. No wonder she’d tripped, she was three shots past drunk, wearing thigh-high boots and a pair of shorts that barely covered her ass under a Ramones t-shirt. Of course, she wasn’t wearing a costume. She never did.
She flipped her long, red hair out of her face and grinned up at Hendrix. “Thanks for the save, Hollywood.”
“What the fuck are you wearing? Aren’t you twelve?” He looked her up and down, and then his jaw popped.
“Twenty-one, today. I’m all sorts of legal now.” She winked.
His jaw hit the ground.
“Hey, Coach!” I waved at no one, unable to let the moment slide without fucking him up a little.
Hendrix’s hands shot into the air like he was under arrest. “My hands aren’t on her!”
I laughed.
He backhanded my arm. “Fucker.”
“Wow. Even you’re scared of the thou-shalt-not-touch-my-daughter decree?” Savannah scoffed, flanked by a couple of her college friends.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You might be sexy as fuck, but a piece of ass isn’t worth my contract.” Hendrix leaned back against the bar, earning him a solid glare from Savannah. “Now, go play in the sandbox like a good little girl.”
She got right in his face. “And what if someone else wants to come play in my sandbox?”
His jaw ticked again. “Then I’d say be careful and choose well. The guy who orders your drink second won’t let you come first.” He smirked.
“News flash, I don’t need a guy to let me come.” She tapped his nose and then stepped back. “I do quite well on my own, thank you.”
She turned to walk away with her girlfriends.
“Hey, Red,” Hendrix called out.
Savannah turned.
“There’s a difference between an orgasm that you work for, and one that’s been given to you by a man who knows how. Something you might want to remind your little frat-boy sandbox partner.”
She rolled her eyes and continued her walk down the bar.
“There was no need to be a dick. She’s still Coach’s daughter,” I reminded him, since Nixon was busy talking to Weston Rutherford, our owner—who was dressed like a 1920’s gangster. Of course, his assistant, Brynn, was in a Flapper costume, complete with feather boa.
“And she knows I’d fucking kill any guy who did her wrong. Doesn’t mean she gets to fuck with me just because she’s drunk. She knows she’s off-limits.” He folded his arms and glared at her back, then promptly turned down the next girl who asked him to dance.
Interesting.
I locked eyes with Teagan as the song changed, the rhythm dropping from a quick, techno beat to something sultry as Beyoncé sang about being a naughty girl. Her lips parted as her hands skimmed down her costume-clad hips and back up. Damn.
She tilted her head and crooked a finger at me.
“Your Cleopatra beckons,” Hendrix laughed softly.
“We’re just friends.”
“Please. You guys brought a joint gift for Savannah. You might as well be married at this point.” He scoffed.