Page 31 of The Playboy

“I got a rum floater.”

I laughed. “Are you going to wear that paper umbrella behind your ear and dance the hula for us tonight?”

He shot me his middle finger and tossed the tiny umbrella in my direction. “Are you going to finally tell me what went down in the party bus last night?”

A subject change.

That motherfucker thought he was slick.

I had known when I departed the VIP lounge that Cooper would tell the guys that I was off to get the girl. I also knew that after I sent him that text, he’d tell them I’d taken her into the bus. Once she’d left me naked, by the time I returned to the group, they had been so drunk that they forgot I had even been gone.

But from each of them, during breakfast and our short time at the beach, I’d gotten random mentions of it and questions.

Now, it was Camden’s turn.

I returned the umbrella to the top of his drink and rested my arms behind my head, crossing my feet. “You know what went down. But the details about it? Nah, I’m keeping that to myself.”

“Hold on a second.” He sat up on his lounger and turned toward me, his toes sinking into the sand. “You’re going to refrain from giving me details about this one? But all the others, you share every fucking detail the minute we’re on the phone or when I see you.” He pulled down his glasses, eyeing me from over the rims. “Why the secrecy?”

I didn’t like that he’d picked up on that.

I didn’t really like this conversation at all.

I faced the dudes in the water again. “No reason.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“There’s nothing to believe,” I snapped. The patience from last night was long gone. “I saw a woman at the club. She was hot as fuck. We talked. We left. I returned to the VIP lounge, where we all partied like hell. End of story.”

“Maybe that’s the end, but you’re leaving out a shit ton from the middle. Like … are you going to see her again?”

That question had haunted me since she’d walked out.

Without getting her fucking phone number.

Without any way for me to reach her.

Without even knowing her damn name.

I ground my jaw. “No.”

“For some reason, it doesn’t sound like you’re happy about that.”

I wasn’t.

I was fucking pissed.

Because from the second she’d taken off, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

I couldn’t stop wondering who she was, where she lived, what I would call her when I whispered in her ear.

How she’d tasted.

How she felt beneath my hands.

How her body was meant for my domination, how her pussy had been built for my cock.

“Why don’t you just call her?” he pushed.

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