“Six-four.”
“Big motherfucker.” He grins as he slides off the stool. “I’m gonna go check on the girls.”
My head’s a fucking mess as he leaves. It feels like everyone has such clarity around what they want, what they feel. And I’ve always known what I wanted: first was to not be hungry. Second was to never again live in a trailer park for as long as I lived. And those things happened the second I left home for college and started playing football for The University of Alabama. But it turns out that getting everything you want only goes so far.
Darcy chooses that precise moment to saunter back up to the bar. “How’s it going, Mr. Hall?”
I stare at her. She’s fucking beautiful. Thank God people are used to me being a prick, because it lets me take my fill of her without having to apologize for it.
She goes onto her tiptoes and leans her forearms on the bar, tilting towards me and giving me an unobstructed view down her button-up. I catch a hint of black lace and immediately have to fight the urge to toss her over my shoulder and take her upstairs to have my way with her.
She is a child, Anthony. Remember, she is a child.
When I force my gaze up to hers, her smile is nothing short of mischief. As if she knew exactly what she was doing when she positioned herself like that, and I fell right into her trap.
Brat.
“You want a drink?”
She blinks slowly, her feral grin growing as she lets her eyes roam the rows of bottles behind me. I don’t bother hiding that I’m staring at her. She wants me to, and I want to. It’s dangerous as hell, and I should absolutely stop, but I absolutely willnotstop.
“Yes.”
I hold back an amused laugh, because of course she wants another one. This entire interaction was never about the drink, and we both know it.
I pull the cocktail together, well aware that she wants a ton of cherries in it again, and well aware that she’s the only one I’d do this for. When I finally turn around, nerves frayed beyond comprehension, she jerks her eyes back up to mine. She was absolutely looking at my ass.
“You played for Alabama, right?” she asks as I slide the drink over to her and take her card in return.
I give a quick jerk of my head and a grunt in the affirmative.
“Position?”
You over my knee while I spank you.“O-line.” I slide the card back to her.
“O-line?”
I have no business saying what I’m about to say. Leaning closer and lowering my voice, I answer. “O-line. Offensive line. My job was to take down anyone and everyone and put them on their back, by any means necessary. Lots of crouching. Lots of lunging and pushing. It’s very physical. With all the crouching, and lunging. You might even call it a thrust sometimes, the way I had to move.” Her eyes are blown, pupils dilated and hazy, and I know I have her exactly where I want her.
Which is why I need to stop.
I snap to my full height, and as she blinks those doe eyes of hers, they come alive with mischievous delight.
“I see,” she answers. “Very interesting. Maybe I should pay more attention to the sport.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I tap her card to pull her attention off me. I never ran it. “Drink’s on the house. Your money’s no good here.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because you’re working for me.”
She slides the card into the tiny clutch she carries and gives me a pleased grin. “Maybe I’ll have another, then.”
I shake my head. “You have a job to do in the morning.”
She hums and twirls around, walking slower than she needs to, plush hips swaying.
That girl is trouble.