Page 11 of Release Me

6.Ronan

“And then she said ‘No way! You first!’ and I said ‘No way, you first!’ and none of us went at all!” Sherrie and Georgia throw their heads back and cackle with boisterous laughter.

I gulp my drink, long since needing to move on to the hard stuff.

“Another round?” Connor’s eyes twinkle. Sherrie’s hands have been glued to his chest since we walked through the club doors. It’s only a matter of time before they make their way south to his lap. He knows he’s getting laid tonight and he’s as happy as an alley cat in a tuna factory.

Georgia hasn’t been as forward, but I’m guessing that’s more on account of me being … me. I’m not outgoing and flirtatious like Connor. That’s not to say I don’t know the right words or that I even need to say anything to attract women. But I’ve had plenty of them tell me that I’m intimidating—my green eyes are broody, my hard jaw is unyielding to easy smiles, my tattoos and buzz cut give me a dangerous edge. Whether they find all that attractive or they’re attracted to the idea of taming me, I can’t be sure. Either way, women throw themselves at me without me having to lift a finger.

It drove Tasha crazy. She’d get so jealous, accuse me of cheating on her. No one seems to believe that I never touched another woman while I was with her, but I didn’t.

I have since she dumped me. Twice, back in Indy. Both were girls I picked up at a club. I ended up at their places. Neither were anything to think twice about. Pretty, but without personalities. Decent lays, but nothing mind-bending. I was relieved to be walking out their doors, tossing their phone numbers as soon as I rounded the corner.

Maybe that’s why I’m not making too much of an effort tonight. I’d be just as happy to go home alone and sleep. Banging strangers from bars isn’t for me. I like to know the woman I’m sliding my dick into.

“I think I want to switch to something less sugary. What are you drinking, Ronan?” Georgia sidles closer to me. That’s what it’s been all night—her nudging my thigh here and there, grazing her fingers over my biceps occasionally. She’s batted her lashes plenty. Subtle moves to let me know she’s interested but unsure how aggressive to be. But with each drink, the leash that holds her self-control back slackens.

“Jack and Coke.”

“Is it any good?” She smiles sweetly at me. She really is as stunning as that picture I saw, though a lot of it is makeup.

I hold out the drink to her.

She leans over, parting her lips for the tip of the straw. She makes a point of looking up at me through those soulful milk-chocolate eyes as she sucks. “Mmm … Yes. I definitely want this.” She finishes it off with a swipe of her tongue along her bottom lip.

Yeah, I’m definitely getting laid tonight, if I want it.

“All right, this waitress of ours is never coming back. We’ll go to the bar and grab a round.” Connor tilts his head, signaling for me to follow. “Don’t let anyone take our spots.”

“Never.” Georgia giggles as I climb out of my seat in the shadowy alcove at the back of Sin. We’re in the nightclub’sVIP section, and apparently, it’s impossible to get a table back here, but Sherrie is best friends with one of the managers.

I’m not gonna lie: I’ll take a VIP booth in the dark over the crowds of sweaty bodies.

But that’s where we’re heading now, as I follow Connor toward the closest bar, hordes of people surrounding it, the music pulsing louder with each step.

I’ve never seen so many scantily clad, beautiful women in my life. The per capita of hot bodies in Miami is off the charts. I guess there’s something about beach life—when you live in a place where you own almost as many bikinis as you do other outfits, you tend to go the extra mile to look good in them. And damn, these women look good.

I spot our cocktail waitress approaching. Full gold, orange, and black paint from head to toe, and she’s wearing nothing but heels, a G-string, and pasties to cover her nipples. It’s one helluva uniform for a nightclub. All the servers are dressed and painted like various animals. Ours is a lion. Or a lioness, to be exact.

“I was coming over to you guys,” she purrs, not an ounce of shyness over her revealing outfit or my appraisal of it as she steps closer to me. There’s maybe an inch between my chest and her double-D tits. They’re obviously fake but beautiful, nonetheless. “I’m so sorry. We’re short-staffed tonight.”

It could be the Jack, but damn, this costume is sexy. So is her confidence. If I had her in the VIP area instead of Georgia, I’d be more eager. “It’s okay. We needed to stretch our legs.”

“What’s your name?” Her lips graze my earlobe.

“Ronan.”

“Hi, Ronan. So, is the brunette at your table your girlfriend?”

“Just for tonight.”

She grins. “My name’s Becca.”

“Hey, Becca. Does that paint rub off on hands?”My gaze drops to her breasts, my palms itching to feel the weight of them.

“It will if they’re wet. And my boss wouldn’t be too happy about smudges this early in the night.”

“That’s too bad.”

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