Page 10 of The Rebel (Haven Grace Prep 3)

“You mean like you showed her to yours? Oh wait, that’s right—you didn’t. You fucked her, then patted her cheek a couple times and pointed to the door.”

I can practically hear the amused grin spread across his face. “I was tired, but I sure as hell didn’t want her thinking she could stay. She wasn’t good enough in the sack to deserve that luxury.”

Now that manages to pull a laugh out of me. “Whatever you say, Playboy.”

“Maybe that’s what you need,” he suggests, like he’s just solved world hunger. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

“I’m really not in the mood for company.”

Colby grumbles in frustration. “I’m not asking you to go speed-dating, fuckface. I’m saying just go to the nearest club, find a chick, and screw her until you’re a little less wound up.”

It’s not the worst idea, and he may have a point. It’s been at least a few weeks since I brought someone to bed, the last being some girl at party Colby threw. The way she acted when we woke up, however, put me off the idea for a little while. It’s as if sleeping with her meant we were secretly married or some shit. I literally had to change my phone number to get her to stop calling.

Tonight could be different, though. I’m not drunk, nor desperate, and can take my time picking. Really make sure she isn’t completely certifiable before I bring her back to my hotel room.

I ponder it for another few seconds before finally caving. “Yeah, all right.”

“Yes!” my idiotic best friend cheers. “That’s my man!”

“Okay, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just celebrate me agreeing to get laid more than you did winning the last game.”

He snickers. “I appreciate it.”

The two of us get off the phone and I grab a towel before heading for the shower. I guess my plans for tonight have changed.

THE CLUB IS FILLED with a ton of women who make no effort to hide the way they eye-fuck me—at least not until I spot one from across the bar. She’s sitting with a few of her friends, or is that one her sister? They look alike enough to be twins, but still different. Her brown hair flows down over her chest, bringing my direction straight to her cleavage. Her red dress is low cut enough to entice but still leave enough to the imagination.

I take a sip of my whiskey as I watch the way she laughs at something. God, she’s gorgeous. Like she can feel my gaze on her, she looks up and her eyes meet mine. I can see the moment her breath hitches, and she glances down before focusing back on me. She pulls the straw of her drink into her mouth and her cheeks hollow as she sucks in, making my dick twitch inside my pants.

“Hey.” A woman greets me, placing herself unnecessarily close and ripping my attention from the bombshell I was just silently flirting with. “You’re Asher Hawthorne, right?”

Fuck. “No, sorry, I just look like him.”

“Really? I could have sworn you were him.” Her shoulders deflate just slightly.

“Nope. Besides, I hear he’s a major dick.”

She gasps as if I just kicked her damn puppy. “Don’t talk about him like that! I heard he’s a total sweetheart.”

Is that what people are saying about me? Shit. I should really fix that.

“If you say so.” I brush it off, taking another swig of my drink.

I was hoping for this girl to get the hint that I’m not interested, but unfortunately, she’s a bit dense. She comes even closer and places a hand on my arm while bending forward enough to practically shove her tits in my face.

“So, if you’re not Asher Hawthorne, who are you?”

I shrug. “Just a guy having a drink.”

“Oh, mysterious,” she coos. “I like that in a man.”

I’m sure you do, Barbie. I’m sure you do.

The thorn in my side starts blabbering about something I can’t bother to listen to when I find myself once again in a staring contest with the only one in this place to grab my attention. She says something to her friends before biting her lip in a way that makes my cock harden in a matter of seconds. My tongue juts out slightly to moisten my own lips, and she instantly catches the underlying message.

All the girls she was with look confused as she gets up and walks around to me, inserting herself in between me and the blonde who doesn’t know how to shut her mouth. It’s a ballsy move, but doesn’t compare to her next one. She grabs my glass off the bar and downs the rest of it in one fluid motion.

“Tessa Davenport,” she says, returning the now-empty tumbler.

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