Page 2 of Mr. Wicked

“That’s funny. Someone else I know always says the same thing. Anyway”—she shook her head—“can I get you anything else?” Although she was addressing the three of us, her eyes were on me.

They hadn’t left.

They were burrowing.

All the way down to my fucking cock.

I leaned my forearms onto the table, crossing my fingers. “Since you asked ... how about your number.”

Her cheeks flushed as she laughed again.

Red.

Now that was a color I really liked on her.

A color that would look incredible if it were in lace undergarments that I could tear off her with my teeth.

“My number,” she repeated. “That’s something you’re going to have to work for.” Before I could say another word, she added, “I’ll be back with your drinks,” and left the table.

Spunky.

Playful.

The opposite of me.

Easton put his hand up to his mouth, like he was about to cough, but chuckled instead. “Dude, seriously?”

“What?” I eyed him down, his dark hair spiked in the front, realizing we wore it the same way. “Don’t even tell me you’re about to give me shit. Before you started dating Drake, you were even worse than me. You were looking for chicks everywhere. Hell, you used to bang them in the restrooms of bars because you couldn’t wait to get them home.”

And since Easton had shacked up with our director of app development and engineering at Hooked, the dating app Easton, Holden, and I had founded, he and Drake were practically inseparable.

But Holden and I weren’t in the same situation.

We were single as fuck.

And fishing, a term we’d assigned to the courting of women we wanted to sleep with, was still a very heavy part of my life. The daunting step-by-step of small talk and drink buying and setting the agenda—all requirements for one-night stands.

“I was a dog, there’s no question about that,” Easton said. “But as for you, I’m surprised you want to shit where you eat—you know, since we come to this bar all the time, you’re going to have to see her more than once a week, and I know that’s something you won’t like.”

He was right. I wouldn’t like that.

But I would make an exception if I got to lick that body every time I came in for a drink.

Now that was something I could definitely get behind.

Holden nodded at Easton. “Everything you just said.” He glanced in the direction of the hottie as she waited on another table. “Jovana must be a new hire. I’ve never seen her here before.”

“Who’s Jovana?”

As Holden looked at me, he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. His hair constantly needed to be cut—golden, semi-curly strands that barely moved since they were already so windblown. Since becoming a single dad to Belle, the guy looked like the aftereffects of a permanently circulating tornado.

Not that it mattered, because women loved his messiness.

Where he was cuddly and approachable, I fucking roared like a lion.

“The woman whose number you asked for,” Holden replied.

I’d been so distracted by her presence and that beautiful face and achingly seductive body, I’d forgotten to look at her name tag.

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