Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,2
and laughs.
“Harlow, sweetie, if that boy wants to sprinkle rose petals all over the bed and make sweet, sweet love to you, I’ll jump up and cheer. You’ve needed a good roll in the sack for a long time.” She smiles, and I stare ahead, not willing to say anything else to my big-mouthed friend. “I’ve never had a problem getting a ride home if I’ve had too much to drink, and I think Chase might be here tonight.”
I don’t even try to hide my face. “Chase? I forbid you to go home with him again. That boy wants you for one thing and one thing only.”
She bats her long lashes my way. “Baby, the thing is, if I want to give it to him, then it’s all fair. And good. Mmm, so damn good.” She closes her eyes and grinds in the seat.
“You’re crazy,” I laugh, and I’m glad I have Daisy to help me forget the butterflies beating their wings harder and harder in my stomach.
Because I’m going to see him.
Finally.
And I’m so damn scared.
And so damn ready.
Bring it.
CHAPTER 2
GUNNER
There’s nothing I don’t like about this bar.
The worn leather stools. The crappy neon sign that never lights up all the letters at once. The smell of stale peanuts and beer in every inch of the place. The rotating display of racks of every gorgeous girl in town.
Most of all, I love the fact that this place is all mine.
Sure it was bought with dirty money. But that money didn’t come easy. Who would have guessed that the summer my father took me and my brothers across the country to slave away as roadies and muscle for the band, Pitch Black Riot, we’d witness more than a few things that they didn’t want anyone outside to know about? When one groupie wound up being a trust fund baby and my brother got some footage of her, the bassist, and the drummer doing things that would make the most hardcore porn studio drool, my father made quick work of sending a snippet to her daddy. And, a few negotiations later, Dad kept the lion’s share of a shitload of hush money, but he gave each of us a little bit.
My dad may be an asshole, but he’s loyal as hell. We worked our asses off, and he paid us.
Suddenly the good-for-nothing Hunts proved we were a force to be reckoned with in little old Piedmont. Most citizens of this fine town figured we’d drink and drug the money away, but my dad raised us all smarter than that.
“Why buy the booze from the bar when you can own it off the tap? Smart, son,” he said, his smile of pride falling a little when I made it damn clear I wasn’t opening a bar so everyone with the last name Hunt could get a free drink whenever he wanted.
We like to fuck, so there are dozens of us. And we’re all pretty damn cold-blooded, mean as hell, and always starting trouble. I love my blood, but I have no interest in spending any more time with them than I have to.
And now that I can be done worrying about them making it, I left them all, never looking back. Some might say I’m crazy for walking away from the limitless fortune I could have had if I’d stuck around with my dad while he bought oil rigs and got my brothers to work for him and buy up shares, but they don’t know what it’s like to live in a constant state of backstabbing, lies, and revenge. Money corrupts like no one’s fucking business, and I feel like I didn’t know the people I was raised with anymore. It’s rough not having anyone to trust, anyone who’s real.
“What’ll it be?” I ask, drying a rocks glass, and then stacking it on the shelf with the others.
“Jameson, on the rocks,” the suit says, pushing past a tiny blonde.
I roll my eyes at his choice. His suit doesn’t fit well, and he looks like he thinks he’s much more important than he actually is. Which irritates me, because he may have a good job, but that doesn’t make him any more important than the rest of us.
Besides, I may come from white trash, but we were always taught ladies first. With everything. First in line, first to order, first to get off when we’re fucking. What can I say? I’m a gentleman to the core.
“I think the lady was first,” I say,