Page 19 of Grudge Puck
The girl on my right, not to be outdone, moved closer. She whispered in my ear so close, her gin-and-diet-soda breath clouding my space. “Just say the word when you wanna go. Remember: I'm your girl. All night.”
I gave her a polite smile. “Yeah, maybe later.”
I checked my watch. Two hours until curfew.Where the heck was she?
If Hunter had any idea that I hadfourgirls hanging off me, but I was still thinking about the one who wasn't here? He'd bust my balls and come up with all sorts of conspiracy theories about howshe's the one I wanted all along!Or some horseshit.
Thankfully, Hunter was back at the hotel—ever since he got married, he's not really into partying with the boys anymore. Which is probably why he's always telling us younger guys about how great life is once you settle down. Dude's just lonely, that's all. When we're on the road, he has to sit in that hotel room by himself. Highlight of his day is a 10 minute conversation with his wife when they talk about their days. And then they run out of things to say to each other and hang up.
No thanks. Not what I want.
I'll take this instead: four hot girls, whose names I can't even remember. Four hot girls who know they'll never see me again and don't even give a shit. Four hot girls who would happily fight each other just for the chance to—
Camille?
I peeked up just in time to see her. Camille and the other girl from the bakery—Piper, I think. My heart started beating a little faster, and for once, I started feeling more like myself.
She's here.
And damn.Damn.She looked amazing. She'd worn a strapless dress; the sexy little item hugged her hourglass curves and pushed her lovely, perky tits up, daring you to stare. I practically salivated at the sight and tried to lure her over with my eyes.
But Camille and her friend didn't come over to sit with us. Instead, they turned and fled straight to the bar.
Huh? Didn't she see me over here?
She had to have seen me, though. She looked right at me. I know she did.
But then why the hell was she hiding her face like that?
I watched as Camille and her friend went up to some Wall Street looking guys and struck up a conversation. Those girls werewayout of those two greaseballs' league. Why the hell were they even talking to them?
A stifling heat boiled under my shirt collar. I tugged at it and grunted, but no relief came. Suddenly, a heat swallowed me whole. I pushed my shoulders against the girls on my left and right, trying to get a little extra space.
“Hey, what's wrong?” the girl on the left asked.
“I'm hot.”
“Yeahyou are,” she flirted, moving right back.
I pushed her away again. “No, I'm not being cute with you. I'm seriously burning up over here.”
“Sheesh, alright, you don't have to be adick-headabout it,” she snapped. “Fucking asshole.”
“Whatever.”
With a tense knot in my throat, I watched as those Wall Street bastards tried to run their game on the two girls. Just from their body language, I could justseethe horrible conversation going down:
Guys: Hey ladies, what do you do? Great. We're financial analysts. Yeah, here's exactly how our jobs work in painstaking technical detail …
Girls: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
I mean, Camille and Piper lookedsobored. But they finished their drinks and then the guys ordered a round of shots for everyone. And then they took the girls to the dance floor.
Okay. Hell no.
I couldn't sit here and watch this torture anymore.
“Hey, lemme out,” I growled as I climbed over my teammates to get out of the booth.
