Page 1 of One Hot Night
Chapter One
My heart races and beads of sweat gather at my brow. “No. No fucking way!” I shake my head vehemently, sending my locks swishing over each shoulder from where they’re held back in a high ponytail. I don’t care that my shouts draw the attention of almost everyone at this party, I’m fucking riled up, a little drunk, and I won’t let this idiot spew more propaganda. “Rice would beat Edelman in any match-up. Hands. Fucking. Down.”
“How can you even say that?” Cam sputters, holding up his hands as his eyes bug. He’s careful to balance his red Solo so his beer doesn’t slosh over the edge. “The game was slower thirty years ago! It’s not even a fair comparison. Rice would get his ass handed to him. Edelman is a god.”
“Fucking Patriots fans,” I grumble, then have to restrain myself from the urge to spit. It happens whenever I’m talking to a Boston diehard. I don’t even think Cam is from there, which only makes it worse. I don’t get how someone can call Richmond home and cheer for the Pats. “How can you do Jerry so wrong? You should be ashamed. Some football fan you are.”
A chorus of ‘ohhhs’ sounds off around us, bringing a smile to my lips. We’ve gathered quite a crowd to our heated debate. I take extreme satisfaction in knowing his own friends are on my side.
“Say that again. To my face.” He tips his chin in challenge, but there’s a twinkle to his gaze, as though he finds my accusation amusing. Or maybe it’s my unwillingness to back down. We’re almost flirting. Okay, we totally are. Most guys find it entertaining I’m into sports—you know, since I come with a vagina. Sexist motherfuckers. That is, until I show them up with my vast knowledge and prove them wrong. Then my little brain isn’t so cute. But my memory and affinity for sports trivia comes in handy sometimes, especially in a situation like this. It’s my cool party trick.
I lift my brows, holding back a smirk as I prepare to shut him down. I see his cocky swagger, and raise him with one swish of my ponytail. Pushing the black frames of my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I jut out my chest and take a step forward to invade his personal space.
His body sways, almost as if he wants to lean into me and press his chest to mine, or maybe that’s the beer in his system.
“1,549 receptions. 2,895 receiving yards, and 208 touchdowns.” The words fly from my lips, the information easily extracted from my brain like from an index card. But something weird happens to my voice. Even to my own ears I hear the huskiness, and my breath grows shallow. “If your boy Julian tripled his stats today, he’d still come up short.” I suck in an inhalation and my breasts graze his solid chest. A surge of unwelcome lust passes through my veins as I deliver my final blow. “I feel sorry for your fantasy team.”
“Damn, McClain!” someone hoots from behind us. Vivacious laughter assaults my ears, along with a mix of insults and shouts of awe from our spectators as they realize I’m right.
“Chick’s a frickin’ sports Einstein.”
I bristle at the chick comment. Doesn’t matter most of these guys are in their late twenties and early thirties, they’re as sexist as the frat guys from the parties my best friends Alicia and Callie dragged me to when we attended VCU. We graduated this last May, but not much has changed. I’m still being dragged to parties, and men are still insensitive chauvinistic know-it-alls.
The only reason I’ve spent the last few hours guzzling cheap beer and making conversation with strangers is because I agreed to help Callie impress her new boyfriend, Chase, an arrogant peacock of a man. He’s a firefighter. Hell, most of the guys at this party likely share the same profession, and while several are nice to look at, the inherent sexism is almost too much to take. These guys aren’t my type. Even the man I’m having a verbal sparring match with, Chase’s much older brother Cam, is the complete opposite of what I go for.
Only, my body must have missed the memo because I’m experiencing an unfamiliar buzz of attraction. He’s a hulk of a guy, big and muscular, even if we are the same height. But it’s not so much his total hotness that catches my interest as it’s the way words sputter from his mouth. A mouth I have the urge to kiss. One that looks practiced in the ways of delivering pleasure. We’ve been debating sports for almost twenty minutes and I can’t believe I’ve allowed myself to be suckered into this argument, other than it feels a lot like foreplay.
“Dude, she’s fucking awesome!” Another of Cam’s friends slaps him on the back.
“You.” Cam’s golden brown eyes dance with humor, as if he’s just won when everyone in the room feels otherwise. That is, unless he’s some kind of a mind reader and knows I’m considering shoving him down the hall and shutting his stupid mouth with a heavy make out session.Fuck me.Did someone turn on the heat? “Making me look bad in front of my crew.”
Standing close enough to notice the sprinkle of white hairs hidden in the scruff of his beard and his generous laugh lines, I resist the urge to press my mouth to his. He’s even older than I thought. Still, he’s really handsome in a rugged, manly, knows-how-to-use-his-hands kind of way.Jesus.I shake my head to clear the naughty thoughts racing through my mind.What is my deal?
“Crew?” I furrow my brow in mock confusion before releasing a bright smile. “Oh, right. You play with fire, too?”
“Sometimes.” He’s confident. The man has swagger. “But usually we stick to putting them out.” His lips lift with the hint of a smile, as if he’s holding back a secret. One he might let me in on if I hand over my panties.
My sex clenches. My nipples tighten and if this bra didn’t have a good half cup’s worth of padding they’d be saluting him right through the cotton fabric of my dress. My traitorous body sets women’s rights back at least a decade, and I hate myself a little for allowing him the power. Not that he knows it. Or maybe he does.
Fuck that.
Two of us can play this game.
“Oh? Do they let you hold the hose?”
His lips twitch as if he wants to laugh, but doesn’t. “Sometimes. Though usually it’s easier if someone else does.” He adjusts the front of his jeans. It’s either a subliminal move to get me to look at his junk, or a calculated one. It almost works, but I hold strong.
“Fuck.” He rubs his temple and his chuckle strokes the building desire in my core. “I need another beer.”
As he struts away, my victory should feel more like a win. Only without someone to argue with, I’m suddenly out of my element. Restless. Unsatisfied. The crowd we gathered goes back to their individual conversations. Some people begin to dance. Others meander toward the television to watch the next round of fights.
I lean back against my place on the wall and lift my beer to my lips, studying the party-goers in the standard apartment living room. There’s a fuck ton of people in here and it’s way past ten o’clock. The bass beat of the blaring music rattles my chest. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t complained. I could never get away with this in my apartment. Then again, most of my neighbors are one step from a retirement home. I’m sure this place attracts a younger crowd what with it being so close to the university.
Alicia dances in the center of the room, making it her personal stage. Her hips swivel provocatively so her skirt lifts indecently high on her thigh. She’s such a fucking tease, and I’d probably hate her if she wasn’t one of my most loyal friends. She’s a little broken—aren’t we all—but she doesn’t try to hide her imperfections. I love that. She lives with an unapologetic freedom I admire. Like right now, she draws the gaze of every guy within ten feet just because she can.
Okay, almost every guy. Not Callie’s new man, which is kinda a relief. I’d all but pegged Chase for a selfish player, but he’s been completely into her tonight. No mixed signals. No playing it cool. Like now, the two are sickeningly sweet as she sits on his lap, his hand wrapped possessively around her hip as he talks shit with his buddies. She’s the perfect doting girlfriend, laughing, and offering her lips willingly when he steals kisses. I’m happy for her, even if their PDA makes me want to gag.
Or maybe that’s the warm beer churning in my belly from our earlier game of flip cup.Which I helped win. Who says college doesn’t teach real world skills? I was supposed to be DD tonight—that was the plan, but Callie wanted to impress her fire captain boyfriend with our flip cup skills. When we helped him beat Cam’s team, he all but jizzed himself. My friends and I were reigning flip cups champs at VCU, and apparently drinking games are like bicycles; doesn’t matter if it’s been six months or four years, I can still chug and flip like a champ.
