Over the next two hours, I split my time between finishing an article forThe Dispatchand pausing to watch Arya. When she flips back onto her hands and scissors her legs into a split-leg pose, my mouth goes dry. I want those legs spread wide while I suck on her pussy and then wrapped around me while I pound into her. Exhaling slowly, I shake my head. Eventually, it always circles back to the same thing. There is no escaping how much I want her in my bed.
It’s as though my body considers her the North Star. Once spotted, the ship’s navigation fixes on Arya until I lose sight of her again.
16
ARYA
The Viking sits in a corner booth of The Hideaway, eating a burger while he works on his tablet. Guilt twists through me when a third person suggests we invite him over, and I veto the idea.
We make it through dinner, and some of the group leaves. On her way to the bathroom, Greta Roche, the willowy blonde who took over a year to correct her noodle arms, stops to talk with him. She’s five-eight and Nordic-looking. If they screwed it would practically be incest.
Her laughter causes me to stiffen.
“Go over,” Eden says.
“No,” I say irritably. “Let them do what they want.”
I’m tempted to slip out the door with Eden. I could stay the night at her apartment. She’s got a bodyguard now, too. And her security team is under her command, which is even better.
“Hey, it’s Gel Train,” Eden says, nodding to the band. “I didn’t realize they were back.”
My head swivels. Gel Train is Brayden’s former band. None of the other guys are GU students, so, like Eden, I’m surprised to find them back on campus. Last I’d heard they were doing a regional club tour.
I love Gel Train. Tavi and I joined them on stage a few times. Tavi filled in for the drummer when he was out after a dirt bike accident. And I sang, both with and without Brayden.
“I didn’t know they were back, either.” I take a swig of her whiskey sour. “Maybe I’ll go say hello.”
“Yes, go,” Eden says enthusiastically.
She always wants to hear me sing. Though flattering, I don’t really get why. I’m a decent singer but not world-class. Tonight though, I’ve got an agenda. My gaze cuts again to Sorensen and Nordic Barbie. I can feign greatness. Anyone can do that for a song or two.
When I approach the stage, all the guys turn and smile.
“Can I sit in for a couple?”
“Always,” the bassist says just as Bray steps up.
I freeze. I didn’t see him slither in.
“Hey baby, what a coincidence!” His hand slides down to my ass.
Coincidence? I doubt it, I think bitterly. He probably heard the Lady Knights frequent The Hideaway now.
I stare Bray in the eyes, not smiling.
A slow smile spreads over his face. “Damn, girl.”
“‘Dancing with the Devil’ and then 'The Monster?’” My voice is low, with enough gravel to fill a road.
“Sure, whatever you want,” Bray says, shoving back the floppy dark hair that nearly covers the shaved sides of his head.
I start to move to the middle of the stage, but he catches my arm and draws me back.
“Remember this?” He lifts his shirt, and on his skinny chest, there’s a line written in script.The girl has a name.Arya.
Immortalized in ink. It was flattering… at first. Though, I told him not to get a tattoo referencingGame of Thrones, since I’m not a fan. He unsurprisingly is.
Bray wanted me to reciprocate on the ink by putting his name under my right breast. So glad I never even considered that.
