Page 6 of One Wild Ride

THREE

Aria

“I’m rich now,” I said as I slammed a fifty down.

Morgana reached over the wobbly booth table and gave me a high five.

“Despite all the money you got from the sale of your paintings, I’ll still pay for my own drinks, Dixon.” Evaleen lifted the glass tumbler of gin and tonic to her lips.

“That’s very kind of you, Aria, but I wouldn’t feel right taking your money like that.” Tiffany Blackburn, the last to join our group of friends less than a month ago, reached over to pat me on my back. As she did so, her chestnut hair appeared to fly into both Evaleen and Morgana’s faces. That woman had some thick hair.

“This is what? Our two-month anniversary of SWIM Meet. We should be celebrating. The last payment from Mr. Hawthorne deposited into my account today so I am in a partying mood.” I lifted my whiskey up and spilled a little on the table. Just as I was about to lick the drops from my arm, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned to find Evaleen staring at something across the room. “Dixon, doesn’t that hoodie look familiar?”

Large black leather booths with round blond tables dominated the bar. A few tall tables with stools were in the center but most of the seating was along the walls with a large wooden bar lining the back.

Glancing toward the back of the darkened room to a booth on the other side tucked in the corner, a familiar and heart tumbling pair of gray eyes stared at me.

I pursed my lips. “Yes, that hoodie looks very familiar.”

Once Evaleen and Morgana saved me from Alexander Hawthorne’s grip two weeks ago, at least that’s how they worded it, I haven’t seen him since. His money, on the other hand, I have seen lots of. Which, technically, is my money now.

I stood from the booth but Evaleen’s hand stopped me. “I wouldn’t go over there, Dixon. What if he tries to strong-arm you again?”

She released my arm as I shook my head. “I told you, Evaleen, we were only discussing Picasso. He didn’t do anything to me.”

Except almost caused me to orgasm by talking about a line in a drawing.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Both night and day. Many times, these past two weeks, I have woken during the night and had to use my vibrator to finish what he started in my head.

“Besides, I got my kick-ass SWIM Meet ladies here,” I point to everyone in our booth but hesitate when I get to Morgana, “at least Evaleen and Tiff—”

I bite my lip when I mention Tiffany. I didn’t know her as well as the others and with her having a twelve-year-old boy to take care of who’s in and out of the hospital, I didn’t want to put her at risk.

“I have Evaleen. You’ll keep me safe,” I said as I nodded toward her.

“Of course.” She winked.

Strolling toward Alexander, I heard Tiffany say she forgot what SWIM stood for. Morgana mentioned, “It’s an acronym for Smart Women with Idiot Men.”

The closer I got to Alexander the more he straightened, his eyes fixed on me.

“If it isn’t the most sought-after bachelor in the country,” I said thick with sarcasm.

While all the single ladies within a thousand-mile radius wanted him, or at least wanted to know what he looked like so they could track him down and date him, I did not.

Sure, I wanted to rip all his clothes off and find out what it’s like to ride a billionaire but that was just hormones and chemistry. His asshole attitude was the cold shower I needed to walk far away from him.

I learned long ago that when it came to men to never keep them in my life for too long. One-night stands were best but anything more and feelings started to spoil the fun. But with Alexander, as much as my body wanted that sex-filled night with him, the conversation I had at his place caused that slow burn to cool off quickly.

Except when he talked about Picasso.

Despite our mutual lust over art, Alexander tricked me and not just that, he hurt my feelings too. Maybe it was because I expected A. Hawthorne to be a weirdo with overly long fingernails and stringy hair; instead, I was shocked to find out he was tall, had thick muscles, and looked like he won genetic bingo a thousand times.

He’s wealthy, handsome, and had a home I could die in. Then he insulted my talent.

“If it isn’t the bartender.” Alex’s words cut deeper than I wanted them too. But I didn’t let it show.

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