Page 34 of Chasing Lynda

9.

Deal Or No Deal?

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Bennett

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I HAVEN’T MADE THIS much of a fucking effort with my appearance in a very long time, I think as I run my hands through my hair to mess it up just enough that it looks good.

I smile at my own reflection in the mirror, excited about a party for the first time in forever.

“Yo, motherfucker!” Carter chuckles as I step into the living room area of our penthouse suite at the hotel. “Want a pre-game drink?”

I accept the tumbler of bourbon he’s offering and lower myself into one of the leather couches, right next to Dodge.

The excitement in the room is palpable and I have a sneaky suspicion that I know why. After all, it isn’t like we haven’t been to a zillion parties in our high school and college years.

I know the guys like the back of my own hand and I saw the way they were looking at Lynda, our Miss Wet T-shirt.

“Monroe should be done soon with the photos for the website. I think we can go up to the club. I got a text that it’s already packed with paying guests,” Dodge says, swirling his glass and making the ice cubes in his drink clink against the edges.

I meet his gaze and smile. He hasn’t smiled like this in months. Not since he fucked up his shoulder during a playoff game.

I’m glad he isn’t scowling, looking at something in the distance and grinding his jaw like he’s been lately; I can’t resist the urge to rib him. “You look excited, bro.” I smile.

Dodge shrugs his good shoulder, taking a sip of his drink. “Have you seen how much money we’ve already made today? I was pissed when Monroe changed our plans but you gotta admit that at this rate, we’ll make enough to stay open and to help my dad cover up the hole in the city budget, at least in the immediate future.”

Yeah, right. I can’t hide my smirk. “Huh-uh. That’s very true but I don’t think this is why you look so pumped about tonight, dude.”

I’ve known Dodge since we were in diapers and even his tan can’t hide the fact that he’s blushing. “Bingo!” I laugh, clinking my glass to his. “I don’t fucking blame you, she’s hot AF. No surprise our vote for Miss Wet T-shirt was unanimous.”

My best friend pretends he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “What the fuck are you trying to say, Ben? I’m not—”

He has the decency to shut up when I tilt my head in a silent question. “So you’re telling me that you haven’t been eye-fucking Lynda all afternoon?”

He opens his mouth to say something but he closes it again, taking a large gulp of his drink.

I set my glass down on the tempered glass of the coffee table. “I seriously don’t blame you. She looks like an angel. An angel with the hottest pair of tits I’ve seen in a long time. I bet they look even better without the wet, white t-shirt.”

Zane snaps at me. “Don’t be crass, Bennett! I’m not fucking sure this kind of tacky shit is the way to do business. Crazy church people aside, it’s in poor taste.”

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