Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,52

love.

“You’d be settling to be with me,” I say.

“I don’t think so,” Rochelle says, smoothing her tiny dress down and avoiding my eyes. “I’m crazy about you, even if you drive me insane most days.”

I let out a low chuckle. I’m trying really hard to keep this low-key.

“You’re right, we do make sense. We have the same story from growing up, you get me, Rochelle, you really do. And I care about you—”

“But?” she says. Like she doesn’t already know the “but.”

“I’m in love with someone else. Someone who doesn’t fit neatly into my world, but she challenges the shit out of me. I want that for you, doll. I don’t want you to give away the chance to have you really deserve for some low-life like me.”

“You’re going to hurt her,” Rochelle warns, her voice trembling.

“God, I hope you’re wrong about that.” I rub my hand over my face.

“I just...I don’t understand really why I’m not good enough. I look the other way when it comes to all your asshole habits, I’m hot, I give amazing head—”

“All worthy qualities,” I laugh. “And someday you’re going to make some man very, very happy with those traits.”

She stares down at the floor, her lips twisted in a frown. “Just not you, is what you’re saying.”

I exhale a huge sigh of relief. She’s getting it. Without yelling at me, or punching me, or tossing aside those long, dangly earrings to go try to attack Harlow.

“I sorta like the thing your brother’s got going on. Gone for a week or two at a time? Sounds like there’s lots of time for earth-shattering homecomings,” Rochelle says, a single dark eyebrow raised.

“Are you seriously expecting me to set you up with Ryker?”

“No, of course not,” she says flustered. If Rochelle is flustered, you know an idea is damn crazy. “I mean, that’d be super weird, right?”

“Okay, cool.” I lean back in my chair.

“I mean, like, if he were to ask about me, now that I’m available...”

I stand up and make my way out of the room and this weird-as-hell conversation. “Chelle, I’ve got to get back out there.”

“Fine.” She stomps her stiletto in defeat.

“Oh, and Chelle?” I pause with my hand on the doorknob.

She gives me a look that’s half sullen, half hopeful. “Yep?”

“We’re good, right? I mean, I know it’s gonna take some getting used to, but you’re not going to go screw with Harlow are you? Because I can’t let you do that.”

Rochelle scoffs. “That skinny little twig? No way. She looks like a hair puller, and I love your cock something fierce, Gunner, but I’m not going to go start a fight with some girl who will fuck with my weave. This hair? Not cheap.”

“Don’t I know it,” I say, thinking of all the times I forked over the dough for her beauty treatments.

“Bye, Gunner,” Rochelle says with a little wave.

I should feel a weight lifted walking away from her. It’s what I’ve wanted to do for so long. But I can’t help but feel like a huge tool leaving Rochelle like this. Every time I’d tried to break it off before, she wore me down with her persistence, fast talk, and sexy clothes.

This time is different.

This time, I’m not just leaving her, I’m moving on—to Harlow. I’ve never really felt the pangs of rejection too hard, because I didn’t let people get that close, but the forced smile Rochelle is wearing right now only cements that I’m a total asshole and don’t deserve either one of these women.

But I’m a selfish asshole, and I want Harlow. I want her forever.

And right now, I want her to get off that damn stage and to take her home with me.

I round the corner back into the bar and see her talking with a few of the other girls, surrounded by roughneck, horny dudes.

I sneak up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her into my chest. I bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair and kiss her neck, not worried about anyone seeing us together anymore. I taste the sweat on her skin and can’t help but be turned on.

“Hey, stranger. Was wondering if you took off without me,” she says, turning to face me, her expression relieved. I keep my hands locked on her hips and watch a couple of the guys scowl before turning their attention to some of the other dancers.

“Never leaving without you,” I say.

“Good. So, we’re okay?” she says. She smiles at me and for