LOGAN
Women have been throwingthemselves at me all night. Some with coy looks, some with flirty touches, and still others with blatant offers to suck my cock in a dark corner. Yet, until I heard the beautiful, mouthy woman muttering about dicks before chicks at the bar, I’d been utterly bored.
It was a new sensation. One I don’t particularly like. Pretty women are my escape. They have been since I hit puberty and my lanky frame filled out with muscle. I was starting to worry there was something wrong with me, but then my dick perked right up at the sight of her.
Rich skin the color of warm sand, big brown eyes, long eyelashes that brush high cheekbones when she blinks, and full, pouty lips I want wrapped around me. She’s tall for a woman. Lithe but toned, with generous cleavage, a nipped-in waist, and an ass I want to dig my fingers into. Warm brown curls with highlights skim across her shoulders. Every impulse inside me screams to tangle my fingers in those curls, but I manage to keep my hands to myself—for now.
Or until I make sure she said what I think she just said.
“You want to get out of here?”
She arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Don’t you? We could go up to the VIP lounge and hang out with your buddies for fifteen minutes, then make our excuses. Or we could get a hotel room now and cut out the bullshit.”
Fuck. Straight to the point. No nonsense. My kind of woman.
“All right, then, beautiful. I’ve actually got a hotel room a few blocks away.” It’s why we picked this club. The hotel concierge said the drinks were strong and the vibes were great. Plus, we could all walk our drunk asses back to our rooms without having to call a bunch of cabs. The preseason hasn’t started yet, and we’re just here for some promotional events, so the coaching staff doesn’t care if we party and blow off some steam.
I expect Blair to ask me what I’m doing in town, that I already have a hotel, but she doesn’t.
“Lead the way, then.”
So, I do. With her slender hand in mine, I make a path through the pulsing crowd and head for the doors. I breathe easier once we’re out of the club and walking down the sidewalk. Her long legs keep up with mine easily, but I slow my strides, drop her hand, and wrap an arm around her waist as we walk instead.
“So,” I say, running my hand along her hip. “What do you do for a living?”
Amusement dances in those deep brown eyes, and Blair’s pouty lips quirk in a smile that makes my pants feel too tight. “It’s okay, Logan. You don’t have to pretend to care about me or my life. In fact, I’d prefer it if we didn’t exchange biographies. Or even last names.”
My brow rises at that, and she laughs.
“We both know what this is and isn’t. I don’t want to play games.”
A woman after my own heart. So why do I find myself curious to hear her answer? I shake my head, dislodging the errant thought. Nope. It doesn’t matter what Blair does for a living. It doesn’t matter if she’s rich or poor or single or married. It only matters that she’s willing.
“Oh yeah? And what is this?”
She rolls her eyes and pins me with a sultry look. “Scratching an itch, Viking. That’s what this is.”
Viking?I don’t hate it.
Grinning at the beautiful vixen, I make her the same promise I make to all my partners. “Oh, I’ll scratch more than one itch for you, Blair. I don’t consider the night a success unless I’ve scratched at least three itches.”
“Big talk,” she says teasingly. But I see the heat and interest flaring brightly in her expressive eyes. She’s playing it cool, but she’s not unaffected.
I shoot a quick text to Sebastian Navarro, my friend and our goalie, asking him to have a spare key to his room set aside at the front desk for me. Because I don’t spend the whole night with a woman. Ever. And since I’m taking her back to my room, I’ll have to sleep on a couch when I cut and run after she falls asleep. It’s a good thing we’re here for promotional stuff and not a game. It won’t matter if I’m a little tired tomorrow.
It sounds like a dick move, and I know it, but I’m always upfront with the women I take to bed. I promise them a good time and multiple orgasms, a good cuddle afterward, but that’s as far as I ever go. I don’t do feelings.
Love is just another four-letter word. A thing people say to get what they want. It doesn’t last, and it doesn’t lead to anything but disappointment.
“Oh, it’s not just talk. I’ll make tonight good for you. But you should know before we go any further that I don’t do relationships, or second dates, or even breakfast in the morning.I can give you one magical night, but there won’t be any repeats.” Every once in a while, this is where a woman will cut and run. Or get that glint in their eyes that tells me they think they can be the one to tame me. To get me to change my mind. But not Blair.
She chuckles, the sound low and slightly raspy. It makes my dick twitch. “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”
I… don’t know how to answer that.
“Like I said, Viking, I don’t even want to exchange last names. What makes you think I’m looking for anything other than a good fuck?”
An older couple walking by on the sidewalk gives us a scandalized look. This is LA. Shouldn’t they be used to this kind of thing? When I glance at Blair, I don’t see the scheming glint of a wife wannabe. She means what she said. This is just sex, and I’m relieved I should be able to let loose and enjoy myself without worrying about the potential fallout.
