Ready, I grab the small purse, also from the date from hell, and with nerves fizzing in my stomach, I close the door of the house.
Heels click-clacking loudly in the night, I hurry across the open space, aware of how vulnerable I am, and head toward the thumping bass of the clubhouse.
“Hey there.” A man steps out of the shadows, and I almost scream, but it’s Ace, thank God.
“Where are you going?” he asks, eying me warily.
“To the clubhouse.”
“Whoa, Camile, no.”
“Sorry, but you’re not my dad, and I’m going.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “You’re asking for trouble dressed like that.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Seems to me women get in trouble no matter what they’re wearing.”
He doesn’t have a comeback for that.
We get closer to the clubhouse, and he gives me one more look before shrugging and walking in the opposite direction.
“You’re not going?” I call after him, surprised, and experiencing a tiny dip of disappointment.
He stops and turns back to me. “With you dressed like that?” He stares at me, his gaze flicking up and down my body. “God, no. I value my balls too much. Anyway, I’ve got a visit with the nurse.”
He turns his head to the side, and I flinch. Crimson streaks of blood drip from the bottom of his ear and onto his neck.
“Oh, God, what happened?”
“Snapping turtle.”
“What?”
“Turns out they’re not very grateful. I rescued one, and she bit me. There I was, leaning in to clear up a cut on her, and she launched herself at my face. Luckily, I’ve got the reflexes of a god, and I managed to avoid whatcould have been a mauling of this pretty face. She still snapped the bottom of my ear, though.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. “I guess the name is a warning.”
He gives me a soft, sexy grin and tilts his head. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Do you want me to wait with you while the nurse sews it up?” A part of me—a big part—hopes he’ll accept my offer, so I won’t have to go through with attending the party at the clubhouse. For a moment, with the way his eyes brighten, I think he’s going to say yes, but he glances at the clubhouse, as if Jack is in there watching us through the walls with x-ray vision.
“Nah, I’m good.” He looks like he’s about to walk off again but pauses, clearly wanting to say something. “Camile, you’re a sweet girl. Truly. You’re gorgeous, but you’re nice, and… just be careful in there, okay?”
Then he strolls off, whistling a song I don’t recognize.
His words jar through me like an insult.Sweet.Nice.Ugh. I don’t want to be those things. It’s so fucking passive and bland. I want to be thought of as sexy and confident and powerful. All the things I believed he thought I was when he had his head buried between my thighs. Now it’s as though our time together in the hayloft never happened, all because Jack laid down the law, and I can’t help being hurt at that. I know Jack is the president, but why am I not enough for men to want to fight for the way I’ve seen my friends’ men fight for them?
I desperately want to shrug off my good girl image, but all the men around me seem determined to keep me in that box.
Well, tonight I’m going to be different.
I reach the clubhouse and, gathering my courage, push through the doors. A wall of heat, perfume, and noise hits me.
The place smells like sin, and it sounds like hell. Screams of laughter, loud, deep shouts, and the heavy bass of the kind of music I definitely don’t like shakes the floor.
Perfume and aftershave mix with the scent of light sweat and smoke.
A woman walks by and glances at me. I don’t get the usual, almost hostile stares I’ve been receiving from the women. Instead, she gives me a smile.
