Page 17 of Bitter Beats

Her hands plant on my pecs, slide up and around my neck, toying with the back of my hair. “Wanna get out of here?” she murmurs against my mouth.

I’m hard for her, for what she’s promising. The thoughts that circle my head, encouraging me to pull back, to go home, piss me off. I don’t do this shit. I don’t act indecisive or hung up on a girl. Especially not Mckenna fucking Byrne.

“Let’s go,” I agree.

She takes my hand, and I follow along. As we slip down a darkened corridor, I weigh my options.

I could take her home. Push her presence in Mckenna’s face the same way I did this afternoon.

But fuck, I don’t want to. Shame fills my mouth at the thought, tasting bitter.

And worse, what if Mckenna was telling the truth? What if she’s not even home, and I’m stuck with Kelly all night?

I sigh. I could suggest we go to Kelly’s place but… I squint at a closed door. Tugging Kelly’s hand, I pull her into a private seating area Levi’s used to hook up in the past. I kick the door closed behind me. We’re plunged into darkness for a handful of seconds before a strip of lighting surrounding the floor’s perimeter kicks on.

Levi was right; this is the perfect solution.

Gripping the woman’s hips, I pull her flush against my body and devour her mouth. I kiss her hard, wanting to pour all my fucked-up thoughts down her throat so she can swallow them. Take them away from me.

We hook up, and it’s transactional. We don’t exchange more than our names. Besides our heavy breathing and some of hermoans, we’re quiet, caught up in the act. And yeah, it gets the job done.

But it’s one more casual lay in what is becoming an endless string. Faceless, nameless, commitment-less. This is what I like.

Mckenna’s face appears in my mind, and I nearly groan.

Why is she invading my life? Why is she everywhere? Why the hell am I comparing her scent—citrus—to the hot brunette I just fucked? Why do I wonder about Mckenna’s reactions, her day, and what she’s doing right now?

Anger beads in my bloodstream, zips through my body, jumps in tune with my pulse. “I gotta go.” I clean up quickly and pull up my pants.

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” the woman—Krissy? Kelly?—says. She fixes her dress. “Um, thanks, Mav.”

Jesus. I scrub a hand over my face, feeling like complete shit. “Yeah. Sure. Thank you, babe. You want me to call you a cab?” It’s the best thing I can offer at the moment, and to be honest, it’s a hell of a lot more than I usually provide since I usually offer jack shit.

“Nah, I’m good.” Her voice is soft. Demure. “My friends are waiting for me.” She gives me that same little wave as earlier tonight and slips through the door. Her frame is a mosaic of shadows; then, she’s gone.

“Fuck.” I sit down on the chaise lounge I just fucked her on and drop my head into my hand. What the hell am I doing?

Jameson would be appalled if he saw me now. My brother, currently pussy-whipped with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Amelia, would never treat a woman as callously as I did. Hell, the one time Jameson started to move on from Amelia—and we all rejoiced—he dated a model, Marisa Mella, and treated her like gold. But then again, Jameson doesn’t know about Dad. Jameson doesn’t know shit.

Heaving out a sigh, I pull my shit together. I need to get out of here. I need to sort out whatever the hell is going on with Mckenna before I unravel. How long is she even staying?

I slip out the club’s back door, grateful when I see my driver and security waiting for me. Drew blends in better than any bodyguard I’ve ever had, and he knows when to step up and when to fall back. “You good?” he asks as I approach the Escalade.

My driver, Alfred, is already behind the wheel.

“Fine,” I bite out.

Drew nods once and opens the door for me. He’s former Army and knows the city, the clubs, as well as I do since he’s also from here. In fact, his family still lives in Boston, and his sister is married to one of the Boston Hawks Hockey players. The captain, if my memory serves me.

“They win tonight?” I ask, referencing the hockey team.

“Three-one,” he confirms from the front passenger seat.

Alfred pulls out of the parking lot and points the SUV toward the brownstone.

“Nice,” I mutter.

“You have a good night?”

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