Page 13 of Playing With Fire
Rolling his eyes over how uninteresting this night is going to be for him—Phoenix loves to watch me crash and burn—he calls Wendy down to our end of the bar.
“Wendy, love, Hudson here, dragged me away from the pay-per-view fight I’d already paid for under the impression he was going to try and get laid—which as you know, usually results in raucous laughter before he’s successful. Now, he’s telling me he chose this fine establishment simply to request the honor of your company for the night. So, could youpleasethrow a drink in his face or otherwise cause a scene to make my time worth it?” Phoenix asks Wendy, resting his chin on his laced fingers with his elbows propped on the bar.
Wendy looks at me and winks, ignoring Phoenix entirely—another reason I think so highly of her. “You know I’d love to, Hud. That whole backwards hat thing really works for you and hell, I still swear you’re the only guy who can find a clit, but I can’t tonight.”
I don’t expect any details about what else she has going on and she doesn’t offer any, but the sting of disappointment strikes deeply.
“Damn,” I mutter, guzzling the rest of my drink.
“Another?” Wendy asks, swiping the empty glass in front of me.
I huff out a sigh. “No thanks.”
I pull out my card to close the tab and pay for our drinks when Phoenix looks at me wide-eyed. “That’s it? One drink and you’re calling it a night? That wasn’t even worth putting pants on for!” he cries indignantly.
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I’ve sort of lost the desire.”
“You’ve lost the desire for pussy? Is that even a thing?”
I haven’t lost the desire forthat.But I seem to be lacking in desire for everything that goes along with it. Tonight, I just really wanted someone familiar. I need to get this ache out of my balls that has been present ever since my last interaction with Shannon.
Because that is adefiniteno-fly zone—no matter how many different fantasies play out in my head.
Not only do I have solid morals, I’ve never once acted on an attraction to a married woman and I don’t intend to start now.
Behind us, a group of three women, who all look slightly younger than Phoe and I, grab a high-top table. They pre-gamed pretty hard or are doing a bar crawl because the redheaddoesn’t eventryto be discreet when she says, “Godday-um.Have you bitches ever seen perfection like that?”
Fucking great, here we go.
Phoenix spins his chair around, feet braced on the bottom of his barstool as he leans back, planting his elbows on the bar now behind him, already knowing they’re talking about him.
“Perfection, you say?”
A fit of giggles comes from the table. Shaking my head, I flag Wendy down. “Looks like I’m going to need that second drink after all.”
Phoenix stands behind me and claps his hands down on my shoulders, roughly massaging for a second. “Looks like you can have your pick,” he whispers directly into my ear before turning back to the girls and dragging his chair four feet to their table.
Wendy laughs and slides my fresh drink to me. “For a second, I thought he was kissing your ear.”
I snort, realizing if hewasdoing that, I’d probably let him for how fucking desperate I am for relief.Which really isn’t good.
Eventually, I let myself be convinced to join their table, but am not surprised when twenty minutes later, Phoe has one girl standing between his legs, one girl draped over his shoulder, and one girl holding his hand across the tabletop.
Three fucking girls and one dude has them all. It’s like I’m not even here. They can’t resist his southern twang or his tight-ass, white t-shirts. I swear to God, Phoenix is like the love child of Glen Powell and Chris Hemsworth, and it’s annoying as fuck.
This is why I wanted to call Jake in the first place.
I drain my drink and walk over to the bar, handing the empty glass back to Wendy.
“Another?”
I shoot my eyes toward the table. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”
She gives me a sad smile that makes me feel like shit before I turn back to the table to see Phoenix’s free hand on the back of the thigh of the girl between his legs.
“Hey, Phoe, I’m gonna head out,” I call.
“What? No, come on. Stay. It’s not even nine yet,” he argues.
