“Whatever. I don’t really care. I’ve got a solid G in my possession, and it will be the easiest money I have ever made. That girl repels more than she attracts.”
Rush snorts as he offers up a dead stare my way. “She’s not repelling you. In fact, you can’t seem to stop talking about her. She’smylittle sister, and yet I haven’t mentioned her once.”
“That’s because I’m paid protection. Hey, you haven’t seen her hook up with anyone, have you?”
Holt drops our drinks off, and we thank him.
“Time to get loose.” Rush salutes me. “Question my little sister’s virtue again, and I’ll be forced to kick your ass.”
“Admit you’re into her.” Grant sucks the foam off his beer. “Tell us you want to be the first to land her horizontal, and that you—Lawson Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Kent has finally been pussy-whipped. That’s your vulgar jargon I’m throwing back at you, by the way.”
“I’m not into her.” I shrug because it happens to be the truth. A boulder sits on my chest as if weighing me down, ready to send me sailing toward middle earth with one wrong move. “I’m not pussy-whipped by her or anyone else. I’m still Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Lawson.” I grin over at the two of them.
“Prove it.” Rush pumps a grin.
“Prove it?”
“That’s right.” Rush glances to the mosh pit of girls losing it to the music. “You and I are going to dive into that pool of beautiful female skin and come away with a couple of home runs for the night.”
“Done.” I knock my glass to the table.
“And that’s it?” Grant balks at the propositions. He shakes his head over at me in disbelief. “Ten bucks says this dude will come up with a dozen excuses why he can’t land a girl on his mattress.”
“Ten bucks?” Rush laughs at the mention of the bill that bears Hamilton’s countenance. “Forget that shit. Let’s put some real stakes behind this.”
“I’m in.” I know Rush is loaded. But he can ask for a million, and I’d still take him on because they’re both wrong. I can find a girl. This is easy. I’ll close the deal in less than an hour and leave both their tongues wagging.
Rush nods with a faraway gleam in his eyes as if it’s all coming together. “If we both get lucky tonight—so be it. That’s a prize in and of itself. If one of us strikes out by midnight—the loser gets crowned a prince.”
“A prince?” Grant gives him the side eye as if our eccentric buddy just lost his royal mind.
Rush needles me with that mischievous look he gets just before he vomits up a piss-poor idea. “Prince—as in Prince Albert.”
“Shit.” Grant slaps his hand over the table at the thought of the penile piercing.
Prince Fucking Albert. My lips stretch tight like a rubber band as I force a smile. “It’s on.”
Last summer, a very inebriated frat brother educated us on exactly what a Prince Albert actually was. It’s a piercing—straight through the tip of your dick. Most dudes put a ring on it. Holy hell. There is no way I’m putting a ring on it—not on my dick, not on any woman’s finger in the near or far future.
I scan the bar for the prospects of the evening. Half of The Row is here, minus Ava, Lucky, or Harper, and I’m glad about their absence.
“This will be a breeze.” I knock back my drink, lubing myself with the liquid courage I really don’t need. “Watch and weep. I’m about to show you how it’s done.”
I head over to a group of girls, and Rush dives in headfirst right along with me. I spot him starting a conversation with Jenna Marshall, a leader over at Kappa G. A clear slam dunk, and now I’m kicking myself for not scoping her out first.
Sharon Ridgefield floats by, another slam dunk, but something about bedding Lucky’s sorority leader rubs me the wrong way. Instead, I try to make small talk with a few of the coeds nursing their fruity colored drinks while swinging their hips to the 12 Deadly Sins as the band hacks away at a cover song. I like the Sins. They’re pretty good. The best part of the Sins is that they bring the girls out in droves, making my goal for the night that much easier to accomplish.
I meet up with a trio of brunettes—all of which have Lucky’s long dark hair. I end up pawing one of them, petting her luscious locks as if she were a Golden Retriever.
“Soft.” I nod as she continues her conversation on the benefits of taking macroeconomics. “Do you know Lucky Madden? I swear, she’s got hair just like this.”
“What?” The girl inches back like I’m some freak and moves on.
No problem. Wasn’t meant to be. I move myself on to a blonde with huge tits and a painted-on smile that rivals any clown. She drones on and on about her ex, and I don’t even give a shit. If he’s the catalyst that lands this chick and her airbags in my bed tonight, I might pen him a thank-you letter. It takes a full five minutes, but I finally notice her eyes.
“You’ve got lavender eyes.” I can hardly believe it.
“They’re contacts!” she shouts up over the music. “I need them for reading, but I thought why not? Purple is like myfavoritecolor! You know?”
