3. Bree
Chapter 3
Bree
T he beat of the music has me jumping like a bean as I sway with the rhythm, shaking my head from side to side as the neon lights paint our skin in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Or it could be the tequila shots.
The club is alive, throbbing with an energy that matches my own—a wild pulse that says tonight is about forgetting and letting go.
To be fair, tequila also helps push that agenda.
“Look at you, Bree! You’re on fire!” Kat yells over the music. She hands me another drink, and I don’t hesitate to take a sip. It’s some fruity concoction that’s more dangerous than it tastes. It’s been this way all evening—drink, dance, drink, repeat—but I’m not complaining.
I might later.
My friends had the right idea. This is precisely what the doctor ordered. I’m not thinking about you knowing who, threesomes, foursomes, or any of my problems from the past week. I’m starting over. And when I tossed back my first shot of the evening, I made a vow—I will never, ever date a hockey player again. Ever.
“Can’t remember the last time I felt this free,” I shout back, twirling under Scarlett’s arm. She grins, her green eyes sparkling with amusement and delight.
We’re all drunk. We’re all having the best time. We’ll be puking our guts out tomorrow, but who cares? All we need now is some sexy-assed bad boys to keep us rocking the rest of the night so I can totally forget about Asshole and those three women I caught him with.
Who does that?
And how do you manage all those hands?
Then, as if summoned, a group of very good-looking men appear amongst us, swaying their bodies—a few not so smoothly, but it’s adorable that they try. They’re all big and tall, with broad shoulders and lean bodies. Mine tenses momentarily, but the alcohol coursing through my veins gives me the courage to ride the wave. So, when one of them nearly collides with me—or maybe it was me with him, it’s all a blur—I put my hand out to steady myself—don’t want to spill the drink.
I’d have to reach up to tap him on the shoulder, so instead I wrap my fingers around his very fine bicep. As the soft pads of my fingers connect with hard muscle, it’s like a jolt of electricity is sent up my arm that’s not entirely from the near miss. Oh no. It’s more like throwing a hunk of meat on a grill and watching it smoke and sizzle.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” I say, my voice a garbled blend of sass and apology. At the same time, I wiggle my fingers to dislodge the mysterious prickling.
First, he just glances over his shoulder, but then he does this slow turn thing, and… Oh, my God. He’s stunning. Not just attractive, but the kind of handsome that makes you want to climb him like a particularly enticing tree. I always did enjoy tree climbing as a kid, mostly to get away from my brothers. He’s got thick, light brown hair that’s a little too long and wavy at the ends—perfect for diving my fingers through—and brooding blue eyes that seem to see right through me. He’s probably wondering why some drunk chick grabbed him. He’s got a short beard and more scruff than not, and I immediately wonder what it might feel like on my inner thighs. Would it leave marks? There’s a familiarity about him, but I’m sure I don’t know him. I’ve probably seen him around the clubs if he’s a local.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low and smooth, rich like I imagine a really expensive whiskey might taste. He has a nice smile, though one of his teeth is chipped.
“Hi.” My heart gallops. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” I actually manage to get the words out without sounding like a booze hound.
He licks his lips, his gaze traveling my body in a slow perusal that sends warm shivers racing up and down my spine. When his eyes land on mine again, there’s definite interest. “It’s no problem. I probably got in your way.”
In this crowded bar where you can’t hear anything unless it’s screamed in your ear, I can hear him clear as a bell on a cold winter’s night. Everyone else has faded into the background, and we’re like the spotlighted couple in the movies.
“Would you like to dance with me?” I ask. It’s a bold and impulsive move. Totally out of character. Kat will be very impressed.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he replies with a half-smile that suggests sin could be on the agenda tonight.
And I’ve had enough to drink that I wouldn’t turn him down.
He takes my drink and steps away to set it on an empty table, then he’s back, and he steps into my space. He’s several inches taller than me, and I can smell his fresh scent, like he showered not long ago. We move together as though we’ve been dancing for years, our bodies occasionally bumping when other people push us closer to one another. When he slips an arm around my waist, securing me, I’m lost in the moment as the heat between us rivals the pulsing club lights. His other hand finds my hip, and I let myself be pulled into his chest. Everywhere our bodies connect, there’s a burst of awareness, and I’m sure my nipples are letting him know I’m in a happy place right now. I never experienced such intense attraction with what’s his name. Or any other name.
“Who are you?” I murmur as we sway together, though I’m not sure I want the answer. Names lead to realities, and realities have a way of ruining perfect moments. “Never mind, don’t tell me,” I rush to add before he can tell me.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear when he leans down, his cheek next to mine.
“Yes. Not tonight.” And for once, I’m content with not knowing, just being here, now, with him, in the moment. Feeling. Experiencing. Not thinking. Not wondering. Just enjoying.
The bass thumps a seductive rhythm beneath my feet as we dance. I’m spinning and laughing, lost in the music, when I catch sight of Kat, her body curved against one of the other guys as she moves with effortless grace.
Scarlett is there too, her laughter tinkling above the din as she’s twirled around by another tall figure. I can’t make out the guys’ faces in the darkened room, but everyone seems to be having a good time. I don’t spot Chloe anywhere close, but I’m sure she’s not far.
Then I tip my head back and look at my partner’s face. He reminds me of Mike because he’s big and broad-shouldered, with an intensity radiating from every pore. The beard darkening his jaw gives him a rugged appeal that sets my pulse racing. I’ve always gone for the clean-shaven types, but damn, it works for him in a way that’s making me reconsider all my past choices.
When the DJ transitions to a slower beat, the atmosphere in the bar shifts, and couples instinctively gravitate toward each other, their bodies melding together as they move to the more sensual notes of the music.
Mr. Tall and Broody extends his hand, and I slip my fingers between his without hesitation. His grip is firm and secure, and he draws me into his embrace again with an ease that suggests he’s done this many times before. But instead of feeling like just another girl in his arms, I feel unique, like maybe I’m meant to be here. He tucks me close, and momentarily, I forget about the world beyond his arms.
“Better?” he asks, head bent, eyes locked on mine as I peer up at him. It’s like a dome of silence has been dropped over our heads.
“Much,” I breathe out, allowing myself to melt into his strong body.
We move together, my cheek to his chest, thigh to thigh. His one hand rests low on my back, heavy but a warm and welcomed weight, while the other holds mine like he’s afraid to let go. If I didn’t think it would sound too corny, I’d tell him not to worry, I’m not rushing off anywhere.
Kat catches my eye—how did we drift so far away from her—and winks. I can’t hold back the smile. There’s encouragement in that wink, a silent cheerleading that tells me to go for it.
He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “I’m?—”
“Shh.” I press my finger to his lips, the warmth of his mouth sending a thrill through me. “Let’s not do names.” Now that we’ve started this game of anonymity and the freedom it promises, I don’t want to ruin it. This is my chance to let go and do something I’ve never considered—a one-night stand—if he’s on the same page.
His eyes sparkle with mischief, and he nods, a grin spreading across his handsome face. “I like your style.”
“Good.” My heart does a somersault, and I rest my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes as we rock slowly from side to side.
When the music changes back to a faster beat, he pulls away and looks down. “Want to find somewhere quieter?”
I nod.
We weave through the crowd, his large hand engulfing mine until we reach a secluded booth in the back corner. The dim lighting casts shadows across his strong features, adding an edge of mystery I’m eager to explore.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks.
“Um, I’ll take a tequila, and a water please.”
He flags down a waitress to give her our order, and soon we’re licking salt from our fists, tossing back shots, and sucking on lemons. And we’re laughing. The alcohol warms my veins, loosening my tongue and melting away my normal inhibitions.
Above the bar, there’s a television screen, but with the music and the crowd, there’s no hope of even the bartender hearing it. I notice my surprise date glancing at the hockey game that’s playing. I know it’s not the High Rollers, because it’s an off night for them. Not that I’m still keeping track for anything. Chloe must have mentioned her brother was in town.
“So, you like hockey?” I venture, keeping things light and skirting around anything too personal. Vegas is becoming quite the sports town. They now house home teams for hockey, football, women’s basketball with baseball coming. The hockey team has had a particularly impressive start as a young team. I may not be planning to take a personal interest in the team again, but I can appreciate their success. And it’s exciting for the city.
“Occasionally,” he replies, his lips twitching with amusement. “You?”
“Depends on the game and team.” I take a sip of water, watching him over the rim of my glass.
“Fair enough.” He raises his drink in a silent toast, and I clink my glass against his.
“Are you into any other sports?”
“I like speed, agility... a good chase.” His gaze holds mine, intense and playful all at once, and our knees brush under the table, a spark of electricity shooting straight to my core. “Life’s too short for slow and boring,” he quips, leaning closer.
“Couldn’t agree more.” And at this moment, I’m thankful I let my friends drag me out tonight.
We talk about nothing in particular, nothing personal, and have a couple more drinks. Before I know it, I’m on the other side of the table next to him, and we’re making out like horny teenagers at a drive-in. The heat of his body radiates through the thin fabric of my dress as I lean into him. His rich scent mingles with the mix of warm bodies and alcohol. I can taste the earthy sweetness of the tequila as his lips devour mine. My head spins, a dizzying combination of loud music, swirling lights, and too many drinks. Without thinking, I close the gap, pressing my mouth to his in a clumsy, no-holds-barred kiss.
“Damn,” he murmurs against my mouth, his hands coming up to cradle my face. He kisses me back, slow, and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second.
The rest of the world disappears. A small voice nags at me, reminding me that I should at least know his name. I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a mistake that I’ll regret later. I’m acting like a puck bunny, something I promised myself I would never do. But that thought is fleeting, drowned out by the rush of his tongue swirling around mine, the gentle tug of his fingers in my sweaty hair, and the way my body ignites into a burning flame with every touch.
“Fuck it,” I think, or maybe I say it out loud—I can’t tell anymore. I must be drunk if I’m swearing, even if it is in my mind. His taste intoxicates me more than any liquor could. I suck on his tongue, inviting him deeper, and he obliges, his stroking mine in a sensual dance. My brain immediately wonders if he fucks like he kisses. And there I go again, using bad words I try to avoid. I’m not sure if it’s the booze or him that’s loosening my tongue, my thoughts, my body.
But I like it. And I want more.
“God, you taste good,” he groans, and I can hear the raw need in his voice, reflecting my own desires. His hand slides down my back, tugging me closer until there’s no space between us. I’m practically in his lap, and I’m lost in the sensation of his chest pressed against mine, the way his kiss demands and gives in equal measure. We’re reckless, messy, a tangle of limbs, hungry mouths, and clashing teeth, but it’s perfect.
“More,” I whisper, allowing myself the pleasure of running my hands over his broad shoulders, down his arms, and across his stomach, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. It’s all I can focus on—the desire to melt into him completely.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” he breathes out, his response sending shivers down my spine.
“Okay.” I probably said that too quickly, but I don’t care. I desperately want to not care for one night.
“What about your friends?” he asks between nipping the corners of my mouth.
I still and blink. It’s like the air has been yanked out of the club. Is he serious? “You want them to come with us?” Is this what all the guys want? One woman isn’t enough anymore, they need to have two or three to find satisfaction.
He rears back and gives me a strange look, his face all scrunched up like he smells something bad. “What? No. Of course not. But do you want to check in with them before we get out of here?”
Relief is real but sweet as it rushes through my blood. In my head, I’d jumped back to finding Mike with the other women. “Oh, right, yes. I’ll tell them we’re leaving.” Hopefully, I can convince them I’ll be okay and not to worry about me. They’re the ones who encouraged me to let loose tonight, after all.
And right now, in this moment, all I want is to be with this man. I’ve never indulged in a one-night stand before. I’ve never had sex on the first date. But Mike’s actions burned. And no matter what other people might say, my ego is bruised. I wasn’t enough for him. I want to be good enough for somebody, even if only for one night.