Chapter 1 Savage #3
But, see, the thing about Laila that makes her so uniquely appealing to me, despite her “cheerleader” packaging, is her exquisite and undeniable “fuck you” charisma.
Thanks to her full lips, which she wears in a perma-pout, and the persistently naughty look in her gorgeous blue eyes that practically screams “I’m a freak in the sheets!
”, Laila comes off like a first-class sex kitten.
A bombshell. A siren. Which means, when it comes to Laila Fitzgerald, the phrase “not my usual type” isn’t in my vocabulary.
As I’m staring at Laila from across the room, admiring every inch of her, she jolts me by glancing over her friend’s shoulder and looking straight at me.
We’re nowhere close to each other in this huge room, so, in theory, she could be looking elsewhere.
But I know she’s not. I know, without a doubt, she’s staring at me with lust in her eyes, the same way I’m staring at her.
When our gazes meet, I feel an instant electricity, coursing all the way down into my balls. And by the look on Laila’s face, she feels something similar on her end.
Ruby blurts, “Reed’s a psychopath! Are you sure you want to throw Savage to the wolf like that?”
But, still, I stare at Laila, biting my lower lip seductively.
Kendrick says, “Are you kidding? It’ll be the best birthday dare, ever.” He slides his arm around my shoulders, forcing me to end my staring contest with Laila. He says, “Are you ready to entertain me for my birthday, brother?”
I clear my throat and shift my weight, trying to ease the pressure on the hard-on that’s started gaining momentum in my pants. “If you’re hell-bent on making me do this, then, yeah, of course, I’m in. Your dare is my command, birthday boy.”
Kendrick is giddy. “Where’s Reed?” He drops his arm and excitedly peers around the party, like a meerkat on a prairie. “We have to make sure he can see everything.” Kendrick gasps. “Whoa! Laila Fitzgerald is here!” He flails his arms. “I call dibs! I hereby call dibs on Laila Fitzgerald!”
No.
I follow Kendrick’s gaze to Laila, just in time to see Reed walking up to her.
Kendrick sighs. “I’ve had the biggest crush on Laila Fitzgerald forever.” He looks at the group. “Do any of you know her? Can you introduce me?”
Please, God, no. This can’t be happening.
Kendrick and I never set our sights on the same woman.
Ever. I’d expect to run into this problem with Titus.
We’re both attracted to women who look like they could commit murder without the slightest crisis of conscience.
But not Kendrick. He likes his women sweet.
He likes women who aren’t fucked up and toxic and crazy.
Unlike me. I mean, yes, I realize Laila is exactly Kendrick’s physical type.
But can’t he sniff the crazy, sassy little freak beneath her girl-next-door exterior? Because I sure can. And I’m digging it.
Everyone around me is saying they’ve never met Laila.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kendrick says, his resolve written all over his face.
“With Reed over there, I can act like I need to talk to him about the tour.” He’s referring to the fact that we just got back from the eight-month-long international leg of our world tour and will be heading back out onto the road in a few weeks for the three-month-long domestic leg.
“Yeah, I don’t think . . .” I begin to say. But I’m saying it to Kendrick’s back. He’s already on the move. Walking directly toward Laila Fitzgerald. “Hey, KC!” I shout. “Wait up, Kendrick!”
But it’s no use. The music is too loud for my best friend to hear me. Or maybe he’s hearing me just fine and doesn’t give a shit. Something tells me it’s Door Number Two—that wild horses couldn’t stop Kendrick from heading over to meet Laila right now.
Shit.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like standing aside when a bandmate has called dibs. For the first time in my life, I feel like running after my friend, tackling him to the ground, and shouting, “I saw her first! I call dibs! She’s mine.”
But since Kendrick’s already halfway there, and it’s not my style to seem overeager, and since it is his birthday, after all, I force myself to stay put.
I tell myself not to panic. Instead, I calmly throw back the rest of my drink and tell myself another gorgeous woman who interests me even more than Laila will cross my path, any minute now.
Her friend, for instance. She’s hot as hell.
The one with the dark skin, lush Afro, and banging body.
But, no. Even as I try to talk myself into not giving a shit, I can feel my sights setting on Laila and nobody else.
A cocktail waitress walks by and I grab another drink.
Ruby has started telling a story, so I try to focus firmly on that and try my damnedest not to obsess about what might be happening across the room.
But it’s no use. I can’t think of anything else but my sincere desire and hope that my best friend in the world, the guy who’d throw himself in front of a bus for me, is, right at this moment, miserably striking out.
Unable to resist any longer, I sneak a peek across the party, just in time to witness Kendrick getting a huge hug from Laila.
Reed is still there, but Aloha and the other woman are gone.
And, damn, it looks like Laila is full-blown fangirling over Kendrick.
Whoa. That’s not a normal introductory greeting!
That’s the sort of hug fans give us during meet and greets.
The kind women give their lovers when greeting them at the airport.
Jesus Christ. Did I imagine that smoldering, come-hither look Laila flashed me a few minutes ago?
Obviously, I did. Was she looking at Kendrick standing next to me the whole time?
I should be happy for my best friend, and I know it. But that’s not what I’m feeling. In fact, what I’m feeling is something quite the opposite of that. Something I never feel. Jealousy.
When Laila finally breaks free of Kendrick, animated conversation between Laila, Reed, and Kendrick ensues.
As the trio talks, Laila’s eyes suddenly shift to me.
And this time, when our eyes lock, when Laila discovers I’m already staring at her, again, she flashes me a wide, beaming smile that simultaneously takes my breath away and kind of pisses me off.
She just hugged the crap out of Kendrick and now she’s trying to knock me onto my ass with that dazzling smile of hers?
For fuck’s sake, Kendrick is standing right there, obviously still flirting his ass off with her, and she’s ignoring him to smile at me?
My brain feels like it’s toggling between primal desire, deep confusion, and downright anger, even as every fiber of my body yearns to return Laila’s beaming smile—to let her know I’m interested.
Ready to go. Let’s do it, baby. Ultimately, however, my primary emotions seem to be protectiveness of Kendrick and annoyance at Laila for flirting with both of us.
And so, ultimately, I do the thing Kendrick would surely do for me, if the situation were reversed: I clench my jaw, press my lips together, and look away, ceding the runway, free and clear, to my best friend. The birthday boy.