Page 73 of Choices

“Wait”—she holds up a finger—“I think Callan mentioned the Carnells before too.”

“Yeah, the club does business with them.” Not that he’d talk to her about club business…would he?

Her phone buzzes in her purse, making her smile. “If that’s my brother sending cock pics, tell him I said ‘ew.’”

“We’re not that bad.” She bites her lip then unlocks the screen and frowns, turning the phone away so I can’t see the message, but I already saw who it was from: Monster.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Her throat bobs.

“Is it Callan?” My heart kicks over, waiting to see if she’ll lie.

“No.” She smiles, stuffing it back into her purse. “Come on, let’s dance.”

Blowing out a breath, I nod my head. Good enough.

Taking my hand, she guides me through the bodies, avoiding the table where we left Claire. The dancefloor glows like abeacon. Swinging her hips, she encourages me to move with her, and I allow the beat of the music to move through my body like a second pulse. Limbs loosen and stress flees until all I am is rhythm, a slave to the music.

A sheen of sweat coats our skin as we move through song after song. “I need a drink,” I eventually call out over the noise when my throat dries out and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Okay. I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

Slipping through the crowd, I pass the table of men who were eye-fucking Rogue and me earlier, stopping when one grabs my ass. “Hey, baby, you wanna party with us?”

Baby?Gag. Sidling up to him, I stroke my finger down his clean-shaven cheek and slip my other hand into his pocket “Only if I get to top.”

Wide brown eyes almost bug out of his face. “You can go on top for sure, beautiful.” The white tan line from where his wedding ring usually sits glares up at me from his hand.

“Not ride on top, baby—top, as in, I fuck you.” I pull my phone from inside my boot and open the photos, scrolling to the picture of me holding Monster’s dildo from a night Rogue and I were messing around.

Flipping the phone around to show him, he balks, releasing me. “What the fuck?”

“I think you’d easily be able to take half.”

“You’re a freak.” Pouting, I shrug and walk away, looking down at my hand that now holds his wallet.

“Two beers,” I call out to the bartender, sliding one of the fucker’s credit cards toward her. “Drinks are on me,” I call down the line of customers. “Explain that bill to your wife, asshole.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice a tall figure inching toward me. Turning to face his direction, a smile plays on my lips. He’s handsome, with neatly groomed brown hair and animpeccable jawline, and he’s wearing a designer suit that’s so tight around the crotch, I see the perfect outline of his package. Nice.

Staring directly into my eyes with an intoxicating smirk on his face, he maneuveres through the crowd until he’s right next to me. I know exactly who he is before he extends his hand toward me. “Michael Carnell.”

I don’t take it. “I know who you are.” My teeth rake over my bottom lip.

Green eyes dance with humor. “And I know who you are.”

“Is that so?” Hiking a brow, I casually drop my gaze down the length of his body.

“Your brother is a friend of mine.” He tips his head to study me from a new angle. I don’t miss the swipe of his tongue across his thick bottom lip.

“My brother doesn’t have friends.” It’s not a lie. He has brothers, and anyone outside the club is an acquaintance.

Holding a hand to his chest as if wounded, he nods to the bartender who rushes to serve him.

“Sir.”

“A bottle of Cristal and two glasses.” I bite my tongue to stop from laughing at his show of wealth. Lame.

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