Chapter 3
Will
Drunk from dinner, Clarke jumped up on the bar at Coyote Ugly, which shocked everyone. I knew a party girl was hidden inside her, and she was in full force and ready to play.
I should have talked her into getting down from the bar, especially after she garnered a small fanbase. The bar was hosting an amateur dance contest. One Clarke wanted to win.
She was so fucking wasted I doubted she had any idea she was half-naked in front of dozens of drunk guys. So I stood beneath her with a fistful of twenties and a drink in the other. I kept the assholes away from her, shoving another twenty down her shirt as she bent down and shook her big tits.
I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my hotel room like a caveman.
From the moment she got on the plane in Philadelphia, I thought about fucking her senseless.
I hated that I’d missed her after her move to Washington, D.C.
Loathed how much I craved the feisty brunette.
She was the only woman with a stronghold over me.
Clarke dropped lower on the bar, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet. She smashed her tits together for me to stuff more money down her shirt. This was not the Clarke I knew. But I liked this side of her. She was wild and uninhibited and making my cock rock hard.
My hands lingered as I stuffed another bill between her perky tits. “Get down,” I yelled with my hand extended.
She shook her head. “Not until the song ends.”
“You want to win a stupid contest? Dance for me. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I was joking, but not really. Because I would have given any amount of money for Clarke to ride me the way she was grinding her body against the bar pole. Other girls were dancing on the bar with her, but none of them turned me into an animal.
My heart slammed into my chest with each shake of her hips. Clarke didn’t keep her promise. She continued to dance, one song after another, driving me fucking insane with her delicious curves.
I pounded beers like they were water. Occasionally, Clarke swiped a drink from the bar and downed the contents. I ordered her rounds of melon ball shots to keep her happy.
A few drinks later, my head spun from the alcohol, a nice buzz that would carry me to the next phase of our night.
We were going to the strip club. I’d arranged for us to have a private room to ourselves, and it cost a pretty fucking penny.
I didn’t care if I had to drag Clarke from the bar and bring her with us.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder. Hand balled into a fist, I turned to face them, relieved to see Liam West. “You ready to bounce? This place is beat.”
“Yeah. Help me get Clarke off the bar. She won’t listen to me. Maybe you can sweet talk her into leaving.”
He flashed a devious grin, then glanced up at Clarke. “This one has claws.”
I followed his line of sight. “Don’t I know it?”
He approached the bar with caution and beckoned Clarke with his index finger. She bent down to speak to him. They talked for a few seconds before Clarke laughed. She looked so damn sexy when she stripped away her resting bitch face and smiled.
Liam could charm the panties off a nun. He was the typical college star turned NHL star, who also looked like he was Leonardo DiCaprio’s younger, more athletic brother.
Girls flocked to him even faster than me.
But he still wasn’t over his ex-fiancée, who he found fucking the best man in a coat closet in the church before his wedding.
For the past few months, he’d been on the warpath to destroy his life.
Fast cars, close encounters with the police, and even binge drinking after games almost got his ass kicked off the Flyers.
But I was no better because I was right there with him.
Our team manager was ready to trade both of us to another team.
Ethan tapped me on the shoulder. “Mia’s tired and wants to go back to the room. Is Clarke coming with us?”
I scanned the crowd. “Did Mia leave already?”
“No.” Ethan pointed his finger toward the back of the bar. “She’s right there, waiting for the verdict.”
“I doubt Clarke wants to go to bed,” I shouted over the rock song blaring through the speakers. “Look at her, bro. Even Liam can’t talk her sweet ass down from that bar.”
I raised my hand and waved Mia over. She gave me a reluctant smile and walked through the crowded bar.
Mia pressed her lips together, shaking her head.
“Don’t give me that look, baby sis. I didn’t do this.”
“Yes, you did,” she shot back. “Whatever shit you two are going through, you need to sort out before my wedding. Understood?”
I laughed at her feistiness. “You got it, boss.”
“I mean it, Will. Figure it out. She’s been drunk since she saw you. Clarke isn’t much of a drinker when you’re not around.”
I hooked my arm around her. “Ethan said you want to go to bed. It’s your bachelorette party. Come with us.”
“To a strip club? Do you remember the last time I went to one?”
I snorted. “Yeah. You looked like you wanted to crawl out of your skin.”
“And burn it off,” she quipped. “Nah, I think I’ll pass. I’m tired from the flight, and we’re three hours ahead of Vegas time. It’s late back home.”
“What’s a little jet lag when you’re having fun?”
“I’m good, Will.”
“Clarke’s coming with us. You cool with that?”
“As long as you don’t lose her or do anything stupid, yeah, I’m good with it.”
My sister was a bit of a pushover, the nice girl who bent to everyone’s will. That was why I thought Ethan was taking advantage of her when I found him naked in my sister’s bed.
Yeah, that was fun. Not.
That was the last way I wanted to find out my best friend and sister were hooking up behind my back.
It was the ultimate betrayal of my trust. But I’d gotten over it once he admitted his love for Mia.
And now, we were days away from their wedding.
After years of fucking debauchery with Ethan, I never thought he would settle down.
I was one of the few Flyers not married with children.
And with each new engagement or birth, Mia reminded me I can’t be Romeo forever.
But I can try.
Liam, Ethan, and Shane convinced Clarke to leave the bar with us. She clung to Liam’s side like another appendage. I hated the feeling stirring in my chest.
Was it jealousy?
Fuck, no.
Liam knew better than to fuck with my girl.
But Clarke would never be my girl.
I could never keep her for more than a night or two without some dramatic shit tearing us apart.
Unlike me, Clarke was the jealous type. Whenever she saw me in the papers with women, she had a fucking fit.
Like I could stop fans from approaching me.
I would never turn them away just because they were the opposite sex.
But Clarke had always thought the worst of me.
Romeo. That nickname was the fucking death of me. Everyone thought I was a player off the ice, and they were not entirely wrong. Until I’d met Clarke, I never hooked up with a woman more than a few times.
She was the exception.
And a giant pain in my dick.
On our way through the New York-New York Hotel, Clarke slipped from Liam’s grasp and found her way to me.
She bumped her shoulder into my arm and looked up, waiting for me to throw my arm around her.
I held her drunk ass in complete silence, enjoying her body against mine.
She still had the money stuffed in her cleavage, so I had to mess with her.
I grabbed one of the twenty-dollar bills, intentionally copping a feel as I took the money.
She swatted at my hand and laughed. “I was going to give that back,” she slurred.
“Nah, it’s yours.”
I slid the twenty into her bra and winked as my fingers grazed her nipple. We were in public, but not like me touching her tits in front of people was even a noticeable offense in Vegas. My sister had her back to us. Liam was the only one paying attention to us.
Not like it mattered what we were doing.
There were strippers and hookers and nightlife freaks roaming about the city.
People stood on the strip handing out posters with naked women on them.
They openly advertised sex and welcomed it in every way.
I could have fucked Clarke against the wall in the casino, and most people probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.
She surprised me by moaning and gripping my wrist, so I had to keep touching her.
“Fuck, baby,” I groaned. “Don’t torture me.”
She licked her lips as I lowered my hand to my side. “You want me, Will?”
“Does a hooker suck cock?”
Clarke laughed. “You’re so cute when you’re being… you.”
“Now I know you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Nope,” she muttered. “I’m not even buzzed.”
When she swayed to the right, I slipped my fingers between hers and pulled her closer. “Yeah, you look really fucking sober, doll.”
“No pet names, Will.”
“Right. How could I forget?”
She rolled her eyes at me, and that was the end of our conversation. We left the casino, still holding hands, and climbed into the back of our limousine.
I came to Vegas for my twenty-first birthday.
We had an epic time. But back then, I was broke as shit and had to stay off the strip.
I lived in the dorms at Strickland University, only able to attend the prestigious school because of my full-ride scholarship for hockey.
I ate ramen noodles and beef jerky for six months to afford the plane ticket and the shitty hotel room.
But it was worth it.
We dropped Mia off at the Bellagio before we headed to the strip club. With my sister out of the picture, Clarke’s guard lowered. She rubbed my thigh with her palm, her fingers dangerously close to my cock. She was such a bad girl when she drank. It was as if her alter ego came out to play.