The stranger swirled his alcohol in his glass and placed his cig on the glass ashtray in the middle of the table. “Moose? Interesting. I’m going to assume it’s a nickname.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “You’re not gettin’ my real one.”
He paused and stared at me for a long moment, eyes bright and interested. I still couldn’t see the color in this light. “Moose will do. I’m Zayn.”
Even his name sounded fancy. I chugged my beer and burped, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist. “I don’t like talkin’. I’m only here to get laid. I like to get fucked.”
“Really?” He blinked a few times, reminding me of a startled owl.
“Yeah, so?” I shot him a glare. Which part surprised him? That I didn’t bullshit or that I was a bottom? Who the fuck cared? If he wasn’t interested, he could fuck off like the rest of them.
If I wasn’t going to get banged tonight, maybe fighting was the next best idea. Mom always hated it when I went to Uhlig’snuthouse, but the extra money helped pay the bills. Then, there was the pain that came with the fights. There was something delicious in feeling my skin bruise under a pair of knuckles. The burn meant I was alive. Breathing.
“Listen, it was nice talkin’ to you....” It wasn’t. “But I gotta go.” I raised the beer in thanks and chugged it down until there was nothing left. “See you around.”
I shoved out of the booth but didn’t get far. He grabbed my elbow, and I froze, a chill sliding down my spine and settling at the base of my back. My skin prickled with an uncomfortable feeling and my fingers squeezed into a fist. The heaviness of the beer in my stomach raged. I hated being touched by strangers. Grabbing me like that was asking for trouble. He was lucky I didn’t turn around and knock his lights out.
Straightening to my full height, I spun toward him and glanced down at his hand. Glaring, I clenched my teeth as I breathed deeply through my nose. “You have five seconds to get your hand off me before I break your wrist, man.”
Zayn smiled, not the least bit worried about my threat. Instead, the idiot tightened his grip on me as he stood and stepped in closer. “Where are you going?”
“To kick some poor dude’s ass.” I raised my eyebrows, expecting him to back off, but his grin widened. As much as I wanted to be annoyed, curiosity pricked at my brain instead.
“Tell me more.” He gave my elbow a teasing squeeze.
I cocked my head, not quite sure where this guy came from or what he wanted from me. Now that he was standing and I had more light, I noticed the fancy ass shirt he was in—blue button-up and fucking shiny—with pants that probably cost more than my mom’s shit car.
“You lost or somethin’?” I stepped in closer, ignoring the spot where his hand radiated heat against my skin. “You want a ride on the wild side? ’Cause, man, I gotta tell you, I’m not thedude you do that with, all right?” I rubbed my chin, wishing I hadn’t shaved my beard to look better tonight. I was scarier with some hair on my jaw.
Zayn’s mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile wider. Was he mocking me? This dude was asking for a beating. He was only a little shorter than me and not as muscular, but he wasn’t small, either. His broad shoulders filled out the fancy shirt and his biceps strained the material.
“Perhaps I’m attracted to you and want to have some fun.” He stepped in closer, his earthy cologne weaving its magic on my nose. I fucking loved when a guy smelled good. It was one of my weaknesses, damn it. “Whose ass are you going to kick? I’m intrigued.”
I didn’t think he was. Most guys, especially fancy ones like him, couldn’t stand it when things got rough. Smirking, I tilted my head toward him. “ThinkFightClub, man. I go and knock someone’s lights out. Blood everywhere. I win some cash. Everyone’s happy. Well, I am.”
He lit up, and I blinked, surprised at how excited he seemed. “Then, let’s go. Do you have a car? We could take mine.”
I snorted. “Let me guess. You got a BMW? Maybe some shitty personalized license plate like the one I saw yesterday that saysenvyme? You seem like that kinda guy.”
“Maserati, actually.” His eyes danced in delight as my stomach cramped. Damn, he was rich. “A GranTurismo.” He waved his hand toward the door of the cigar lounge. “Shall we?”
I wasn’t sure how rolling up in a Maserati would be received, but fuck it. I’d never driven in anything nearly as pretty and I was a sucker for a nice car. I raised my chin and didn’t answer him, choosing to rip my elbow from his hold and stalk out of the club instead. He was right behind me.
The air was humid tonight, the end of summer sending a last blast of heat, and I liked that it wasn’t cold. I slept better whenit wasn’t hot as balls and I wasn’t melting into my couch-slash-bed, but winter brought different shit. We didn’t have the cash to keep the trailer warm.
“This way.” He pointed to the left, and we walked a short way to the spot where the valet brought the cars for rich fucks. I’d taken an Uber here because I didn’t have a car of my own. We had one, but Mom took it to work, and it was a junker. It wasn’t surprising that he could pay for prime parking. If he had a Maserati, he’d want to keep it safe.
The valet pulled a sparkling green beauty next to us. She was slim and sleek, all gorgeous lines that glittered under the streetlight. Dark windows. Shiny silver rims. Lime green brake calipers. Fuck, I nearly got hard at the sight of her.
The valet accepted a wad of cash and scurried away.
“Fuck me,” I breathed out in a rush.
“I’d be happy to oblige,” Zayn replied smoothly.
“Is this how you get all the dudes?” I rubbed the back of my neck, an excitement churning low in my gut. I was tempted to ask him if I could drive it, but only a crazy asshole would let a stranger get behind the wheel of this beauty.
As though he could read my mind, Zayn quirked an eyebrow. “You know where to go to your fight club. Get us there.”
