Only I don’t want her fucking number.
I want her choking on my cock.
I bring my mouth down to her ear and whisper, “Stick around.” Her cheeks flare with crimson heat, and it’s cute, if you’re into that bullshit.
I’m not.
I can tell Chase lays down his own mortar too because both girls have the same reaction as they snatch up their phones and move to the side a little too optimistically. I’m embarrassedfor them.
I’m a bastard. Wish I could say I cared.
Chase jerks his chin toward our security team, and they know exactly what’s up because the big guy, I think his name is Jarrad, grins and escorts both girls out of the tent and toward the smaller trailer of the two.
After what feels like half an hour, we reach the end of the line, and both Chase and I spin around, heading straight for the matte black trailer with mirrored intentions.
The door to the larger trailer creaks when Chase shoves it open, and we both hike ourselves up the stairs.
Asher has a smug grin on his face, like always. Harms sits beside him, eating what looks like some sort of ice cream, and Tyler has his feet kicked out, smoking a blunt with Cameryn on his lap reverse. She’s shoving her face full of the same shit Harms has got.
And I’m kind of jealous.I want some.
I place both palms on top of the table, peering into Harms’ plastic bowl, and she literally shudders, her emerald eyes popping out of her head like she’s going to eat me instead.
My eyebrows pinch. “What?” I snarl with a chuckle, attempting to snatch up her red plastic spoon, and I think she may have just growled at me.
“Don’t you even think about it.” Her voice is clipped, eyes hard.
Asher snorts, confirmation that he loves watching his girl berate me. She shoves that platinum money piece out of her face, curling it behind her ear before she flicks her spoon toward the sink in the corner. “Go and wash your hands. I can smell your leftovers.”
Asher's mouthful of whiskey becomes a burst cloud of raindrops when they fall over me. He grabs Harms at her waist and pulls her into him with so much pride, laughing, a stomach full of stitches,the fuckhead. Tyler and Chase are both chuckling when Harmony flicks that deathly little spoon toward Chase and demands, “You too.”
Chase throws his hands up beside his head in surrender, the tattoos at his palms on full display when he shoves out of the seat next to Ty. “No worries, Mom.”
Cameryn is still sitting reverse on Ty, smiling around the blunt at her lips before she takes a deep pull and chuckles. She shrugs her shoulders, then murmurs, “She has a point.”Exhaling a stream of smoke through her nose, she winks, her blue eyes grinning at me, full of smartass glee.
“Alright, alright, alright.” I walk to the sink Chase has occupied and wash my hands with some vanilla smelling shit, then I move back to Harmony, attempting to dry them on her pretty face.
She squeals, lifting that spoon of hers and pointing it at me like she’s going to use it as a weapon.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
I grin. “Or what?”
She looks down at her spoon and starts to laugh. “I will–” I cut her off as I poke her stomach, and she cackles roughly again, flying off Asher’s lap and shoving me playfully. I pull her in for a hug, and she wraps her arms around me.
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
I smile wider. “And you, my love, give the nicest fucking compliments.”
Harmony slips out of my hold, falling back down next to Ash.
“Consider yourself lucky. I don’t give them out often,” she states with a grin, snatching up her spoon and finishing what is now a puddle of ice cream.
Taking a seat beside them, I jerk my chin toward the group. “What are our plans for the night?”
Cameryn clears her throat, passing the blunt over to Chase. Her dirty blonde hair sits unbrushed around her face. She’s one of those girls you look at and are blown away by their natural beauty. She very rarely wears makeup, and when she does, you can still see the small scattering of freckles over her slightly upturned nose.
“Do you guys want to come check out one of our friend's clubs?” Ty asks, his dark eyes flicking around the group.
