out my ball-busting moves.
I head on over just as an equally tall blonde latches onto him, and they take off in a hurry. Strike one. That’s fine. I just as easily spot another hooded male slouched over a barstool sucking down a beer while bobbing his head to the music. His build is nice, and I must admit that hooded mask the males are all given to wear has my engine revving for reasons unknown, but is that—?
Oh, for crap’s sake. He’s wearing sweats. Sweats! What’s the matter, big boy? Mommy wasn’t around this morning to lay your clothes out? He looks as if he came straight from the gym. Who could take him seriously? It will be a no-brainer to shove him away once we crest that coital chamber. I’ll look for Harley in her hot pink disguise, and we’ll hightail it out of here as if the roof were on fire. And then, I’ll be sure to set her on fire with my rage. I can’t believe I let her talk me into this sweat suit-induced nightmare. I stalk my way over, and just as I’m about to tap him on the shoulder, he slumps over onto the bar and about ten different men in suits rush to assist him before hauling him to the door.
“Oh my God,” I hiss. I pray he’s not dead. I’d swear on my life those security guards were dragging him out of here like a bona fide corpse. It’s like I have the Midas touch, only nothing turns to gold—men die in my presence. Die.
At this rate, I’ll never lose my virginity. Having sex with me could prove lethal, and something deep inside of me suggests it will be. After my mother took off—an outright rejection that you don’t need to be Freud to read into—and my father bit the big one sitting at his desk at work—a small part of me started to believe that I’m people repellent. Sure, Lex didn’t leave, but she was too mean to even consider it, and I say that in the most loving way possible. Marlin was actually already gone at that point, married and divorced by the time my father died. I’ve always feared deep down inside that I was destined to be alone.
I take in a ragged breath as I look around this hall of horrors. The music only seems to grow louder and far more spastic, and my head begins to pound like an entire tribe of indigenous sex slaves was rioting to get to freedom. The body count in the room increases exponentially—of the living. My God, I will always have to quantify that now for the rest of my life.
A gaggle of girls bump up against me, causing me to strut back a few paces, and suddenly it looks as if I’ve joined their disorganized conga line as I gyrate right along with them. Well, I’m not.
I give the buxom blonde, whose fanny keeps pecking at my midsection, a firm shove, and I back into a body myself. I turn around, fully ready and willing to slam another torso to the wall if need be, but am met with piercing blue eyes and a smile twitching on a pair of dangerous lips. And, my God, is that a suit he’s donned? I suck in a quick breath, more than impressed with the selection at hand. I give his shoulder a quick tap, and he doesn’t keel over so that has to be a good sign. He seems to be impervious to my necrotic touch.
His eyes stray to his shoulder and he looks mildly confused by my bodily intro, but in my defense, it’s too damn loud in here for social niceties. Something tells me that small talk is neither wanted nor needed in this place. I tick my head toward the red hall of pain, and yet he doesn’t budge.
What’s this? The one and only true gentleman in a room full of walking dildos? It can’t be. It’s as if I’ve accidentally stumbled upon the equivalent of a unicorn out in the wild. But too bad for him and his conservative ways because I need to get my bestie back to Briggs before we both turn into impregnated pumpkins.
I lean in and nuzzle my body to his. I run my hand over his powder blue dress shirt and can’t help but note how firm his chest feels. His eyes never leave mine, and there’s a hint of familiarity about him.