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The place really is beautiful and feels modern, industrial, and masculine. I love it.
The pretty bartender returns and smiles at us as she slides over the assortment of drinks. I’m surprised when I look her over. I know you can’t judge a book by its cover, but she doesn’t look like the kind of person who would work at a club or be a bartender. She looks like a librarian and though she looks sweet, she radiates innocence.
She has long, mousy brown hair, big round glasses, no makeup and wears simple yet frumpy clothing. At first glance, a person wouldn’t notice her, as though she’s trying to blend into the background. She’s unlike any bartender I’ve ever seen but her smile is genuine, and it makes me like her immediately.
“Here!” Lily hands me my drink and a shot of vodka, pulling me away from staring. I look down at both drinks, a bit taken aback by the aggressive alcohol intake she unilaterally decided we’d be doing tonight. “Cheers bitch! Congrats on being officially free to fuck whoever you want and for finishing your sexy-as-shit book! We love you!” she shouts while holding her drink up.
At that moment, one thing becomes glaringly obvious. My big sister pre-gamed.
Poppy and Remi both bring their drinks up and offer cheers and congratulations also. I shrug, raise my Sex-on-the-Beach for the toast while downing my shot, then I chase the vodka with the mixed drink. Cheers to me. I guess we’re getting fucked up.
After one more shot for my two sisters and myself, we make our way through the throngs of partiers to find a tall table to sit at. When we’re all settled, we fall into a comfortable, albeit very shouty conversation over all the noise.
We’re laughing about something Remi and Lily’s son Benji had done earlier in the day when the back of my neck suddenly breaks out in prickles. An intense awareness takes me over and I get the sensation that I’m being watched. My heart drops momentarily thinking Elliot may be here, which would ultimately ruin my celebration of dropping the bastard.
I’m too nervous to turn around and look behind me, fearing what I might see. Lily suddenly grips my hand tightly while looking over my shoulder. A giant smile spreads across her face, and I instantly want to smack her, knowing that whatever is behind me is the reason for the secrets tonight.
“Lily, I swear to Hades, if you set me up, I will never babysit for you again,” I hiss, knowing damn well that may be the case.
Both of my sisters have been trying to set me up with “Mr. Right” since I left Elliot. Neither of them ever liked him and they have been eager to find a replacement since before I even became single. Unfortunately for me, and them, they really just don’t know what my type is. Elliot sure as hell wasn’t it, he was just my first love. When we met, I was still learning not only about love and relationships but also about myself.
Poppy seems to think my future husband is one of Justin’s friends which would be a big fat fuck no . I will never date another uppity, suit-wearing, stick up his ass, rich prick.
No offense to Justin, he’s lovely, I swear.
And Lily…well, considering she has a wife, our types are wholly different. She’d love to see me with a hipster from the photography classes she teaches. Nope, nope, double nope. They may be good-looking, I will never begrudge a man-bun, but no thanks. I want someone who will throw me around a room, lick me seven ways to Sunday and call me a good girl. Not someone who only buys Vegan lube and tells me yams are good for my vagina’s PH.
Lily just starts laughing while both Remi and Poppy follow her line of vision.
“Oh, crap Lil, is that them?” Poppy whisper-shouts with an awe-struck look on her face. Remi’s not faring any better which makes my stomach clench with nerves. She’s always calm and easygoing, so her panic-stricken expression doesn’t bode well for me.
Poppy’s words finally trickle in through my anxiety and my mouth immediately goes dry. Did she say them ? Who the fuck is she talking about?
This is going to be terrible; I already know it. My mind begins to plot all sorts of revenge as my anxiety slowly shifts to anger. Sitting up straight, I grit my teeth, shoving all of those messy emotions down. Surely, I’ve been through way worse than whatever these hussy’s have planned for me. I steel my spine and finally turn around to where the three traitors are looking.
Holy-Shit-Fuck-Balls-Oh-No!
Three gorgeous men are directly behind me leaning against the bar like it is their goddamned job to do so.
Three gorgeous, tattooed, pierced, buff, alpha gym rats.
All. Fucking. Three. Of. Them.
How? How is this even my life right now?
I can’t help but stare at them, my mouth still dryer than the Sahara. They’re ordering drinks and doing a slow perusal of the club patrons while gesturing and laughing between themselves. No doubt looking for their conquests for tonight. Intense jealousy instantly pools in my stomach. It feels hot and sour. I don’t like it. I quickly turn my gaze back toward my sisters who are studying me for my reaction as though I’m some sort of science experiment.
I want to punch them, or maybe thank them, I’m not sure. My body wants to flee even while my traitorous nipples harden to diamond peaks. My heart is now racing a thousand miles a minute and I have to tuck my hands beneath my thighs to hide the way they’re shaking. There is a lump in my throat that is making breathing difficult and a strange ringing in my ears.
Is this what a panic attack feels like? Fuck. Maybe I’m dying. Is it hot in here? Did someone spike my drink?
Poppy speaks up first and her voice drags me from the anxiety-induced whirlwind currently going down in my brain. “So sister dearest. That’s them, huh? The three men of your literal dreams and fantasies? The faces of your book boys? The men you want to do unspeakably dirty things with?” Her voice is laced with a heavy dose of cocky pride, as though she’s in on some sort of secret that I’m not privy to.
How does she know about the guys? She doesn’t even go to our gym. I look at my other smiling sister who holds an equally cocky grin laced with a side of Devil.
This bitch.
“Seriously Lily?” I screech, though it doesn’t have quite the same effect with all the music and noise. “How did you even know they would be here? Was this your plan?” I ask incredulously as my hands slip from under my legs and begin to flail about.
She just smirks back at me and suddenly, it all clicks.
‘I heard someone at the gym talking about this place’ the evil brat had said.
I made the mistake of pointing the three boys out to my sister once at the gym when she had first read my book. I only agreed to point them out as long as she was sworn to secrecy and silence, never to confront them about it, and never to tell anyone else. I really never wanted my creepiness to get back to them. That would be literally traumatizing.
“I overheard them talking about this place earlier in the week. They said there was going to be some well-known DJ performing here tonight. I thought it was the best way for you to get your opening with them, and finally introduce yourself. If nothing else, I figured we would get drunk and dance while you ogle them,” she says with a shrug and a smile that’s all teeth and drips with loving manipulation.
Jesus, I don’t want an opening with them. I can’t have one. It would be too weird now.
Sighing, I discretely glance back at the guys. I guess she’s right about one thing; they are absolutely fun to ogle. My nipples and my pussy are fully on board with that idea.
“Fuck, I can’t just go talk to them, you guys. What the hell would I even say?” I ask as I sink a little further into my chair.
Look, I’m a confident ass woman. I am a boss-ass bitch. I take shit from no one. The days of hiding and simpering from a man ended when I walked out of my father’s house.
How-the-fuck-ever...
The three men leaning against the bar as if they are posing for a goddamned GQ shoot? Those are not the kind of men that one simply just approaches and lives to tell the tale. I would literally fucking wither and die if after all this time they are assholes and tell me to get lost. It would genuinely ruin the fictional personalities that I’ve created for them.
In my mind, they are domineering, demanding, kinky and rough around the edges. But they are also sweet, funny, and protective alpha males who like to shower their woman with unlimited orgasms. What the hell would I do if they are just straight-up douche-canoes?
“You don’t have to talk to them!” Lily shouts as she tosses back the remainder of her drink, and then Poppy’s, and then mine.
“What the heck! I wasn’t done with that!” Poppy screeches as she slaps Lily’s shoulder.
“Sure, you were, and now we need refills. Off you go, bitch,” Lily laughs as she shoves me out of the tall chair. I stumble but luckily correct my balance before faceplanting. I glare at the manipulative hussy, planting my hands on my hips. “Look, Vi, you’re hot as hell. You’re a badass bitch. You can do this. Just walk over there, order us another round, and smile. That’s literally all you have to do.”
“Fuck! Fine!” I shout, throwing my hands up in defeat.
I straighten my dress out, adjust the girls, and stand tall. I am a hot as hell woman and I can do this shit. I turn on my heel and muster every ounce of feminine power that I possess. You can do this, Violet, they are just men. Men who are all watching me walk toward them with rapt attention.
It’s okay, they probably just recognize you from the gym. Calm down.
I lock eyes with the man standing in the middle. He’s always in the middle of their pack. It’s like he’s the leader of this little group or something. The man is stunning, there’s no doubt about it. All three of them are. There’s a reason why I chose them as the inspiration for my book.
Mario, as I’ve dubbed him in my series, is hot as fuck. From the first moment I saw him, I mentally started calling him Mario because he looks like a tall, buff, Mariano Di Vaio. He’s at least 6ft3, built, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, thick thighs. I assume that he’s of Italian descent. He’s got this year-round deep golden tan that makes my mouth water. He looks like he’s covered in caramel, and I want to lick him.
Mario has black hair that’s full, thick, and always messy like he’s constantly running his fingers through it. His black full brows stand out on his face and though I’ve never been close enough to really look at his eyes, I can tell they are likely light brown. His jaw is strong, sharp, and always covered in days’ worth of stubble. He has the most beautiful cupids bow I’ve ever seen on a man. His lips are a pinker version of his skin color and full. When he smiles and laughs with his friends, his perfect white smile catches my eye, even from across the room.
He often works out in just a tank top and basketball shorts and from what I’ve seen, his beautiful skin is free from tattoos. Besides the two hoops he always wears in his ears, I’ve never seen any other piercings on him. But I’ve obviously never seen him naked. There are lots of places he could hide tats and piercings.
My mouth salivates at the thought.
I drag my eyes away from the tan god whose yet to break eye contact with me and look over at the man standing on his right side.
He is a bonified fucking snack.
Where Mario is all golden and hard lines, almost intimidating looking, Rook is his opposite. He’s the lightest skinned of their group but it’s hard to tell given that the majority of his body is covered in tattoos.
I named him Rook because to me, he’s almost identical to Brook Dede, that sexy as sin model that’s tatted, tall, and perfectly beautiful. Rook is a bit taller than Mario but not nearly as wide. He’s all long, lean muscle. Unlike his model namesake, Rook has red hair that’s shaved fully on one side and longer everywhere else, haphazardly tossed to the side. The shaved part of his scalp has a tattoo that I’m dying to investigate more closely.
I’ve seen him at the gym shirtless, so I know his tattoos cover his entire chest, arms, and back. They even stretch down to his hands and up to his throat. Every time I see him, I barely stifle the urge to lick every single colorful design.
The first time he and I ever locked eyes, I was almost knocked on my ass by the bright baby blues he has. Even hidden behind his glasses, they still pop. His face is always shaved completely, and his light skin looks so soft. His lips are puffy, pink, and pierced. He has snakebites that are adorned with small diamond studs.
I’m surprised when I find Rook already staring at me, just like Mario. He’s looking at me like he’s fucking starving and my heart gives a panicked squeeze. Rook bites his lip, sucking one of his studs into his mouth, and I almost trip over my heels.
I continue pushing my way through the crowd and tear my eyes away from the tattooed man-candy who is looking at me like he’s going to have me for dinner. I bring my gaze to the last man of the sexiest trio I’ve ever seen.
Zander.
Zander was hard to place. After seeing the men for the first time, I easily determined Rook and Mario’s real-life twins. Zander, however, was more difficult. He has such an interesting look that it took some research to find anyone who embodied him physically. Until I stumbled upon Alessandro Dellisola, bing-fucking-o. In my book, I named his character Zander, from the American translation of Alessandro, Alexander. Hence, Zander.
His skin color is similar to the panty-melting god, Mario. He’s dark golden and beautiful. His hair is dark brown and medium length. He always keeps it pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck, but pieces fall messily around his face. Especially when he’s sweaty at the gym. His face is thinner than Mario’s, but his features are just as sharp.
Zanders’s top lip is smaller than the bottom, which juts out like a soft pink pillow that I want to yank with my teeth. His brows and short beard are chocolate brown, and his eyes are greenish hazel. I know this because we once passed each other outside the restroom at the gym. We locked eyes, he winked, I died.
He’s the smallest out of the group. Probably 5ft11, maybe 165. He’s muscley, just like the other two men, but he’s not as large as them. He has the body of a swimmer. Zander has a few noticeable tattoos, and from the tight tee’s he wears, I know his nipples are pierced.
It’s was a surprising revelation to say the least and I’m not ashamed to say his bedazzled nipples have stared in many of my late night fantasies.
All three of the men are wearing fitted button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Mario’s is white and tucked into his black suit pants. He’s the only one wearing a suit jacket tonight and though I said I was done with stuffy suit-wearing men, I didn’t mean these kind of men. On him, it looks like a fucking gift meant to entice my libido.
Zander’s black shirt is haphazardly untucked from his charcoal grey pants. It’s unbuttoned down to his chest, showing a light sprinkling of hairs, and it looks wrinkled like he’s been rolling around in it. I don’t even care though because it does nothing but add lust to my already overheated body.
Rook is wearing a white shirt as well. It’s looser than Mario’s and looks to be more casual than the other two men. His is loosely hanging over his tight black jeans and he’s wearing black and white converse.
Where Mario wears his outfit like it was made for him; effortless, comfortable, confident. And Zander looks as though he’s used to such attire but has slowly shed his layers throughout his difficult day. Rook…well he looks like he’s trying to physically repel the outfit from his body without removing it. Like he can’t wait for the moment when he can take it all off.
God, I wish I could be there to watch.
I shake myself out of the trance I’ve been in as I finally reach the bar. All three men are watching as though they are spellbound. Me too guys, me too . I smile at them, giving them my best ‘confident sexy bitch’ look, before walking right past them and leaning against the bar a few stools down.
I make sure to push my ass out in a way that says, ‘ this is a beautiful ass that you’d be lucky to touch ’ without saying ‘ I’m a hussy, please come rail me. ’ It’s a delicate balance, really.
The bartender, a cute, tall, blond guy saunters to toward me and leans over the bar, matching my position as he throws me a dimply smile.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?” he purrs .
Is he flirting with me? Hmm..this will work nicely.
I shoot him my most dazzling smile as I toy with my long, purple hair. “Gorgeous, huh? Bet you say that to all the girls,” I say with my most innocent giggle. Fucking giggle, Jesus. I roll my eyes internally. He eats it up though so it’s worth the dent to my soul.
“If women who look like you came in every day, I might, but, lucky for you, they don’t,” he jokes as he throws me a wink and leans in even further.
Eww! How the fuck am I supposed to pretend that doesn’t make me want to break his nose?
Lucky for me? Who does he think he is?
Does he not understand that what’s between my thighs is a fucking majestic, gold-plated treat? I swallow the irritated, bitchy retort sitting on the tip of my tongue and force a bashful smile. I glance down at my lap in an attempt at feigning innocence, but really, I’m trying to hide my growl. I probably look like some naive, doe-eyed girl.
Coy, yes, coy will have to do.
“You fucked up with that line, Steve,” a deep, masculine voice rumbles from beside me, making me jump. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps in response to the sound.
Oh my gosh, it’s happening.
Breathe, Violet.
It’s fucking happening.
You can do this.
I’m finally going to talk to one of them.
Holy shit, this is not a drill!
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