Page 33 of Claiming Atlas

Chapter Fourteen

Atlas

I watch her leave, wondering who the hell she is and why the hell she avoided me even though it was obvious as fuck that she wants me. Her breath picked up speed when I touched her. Goosebumps broke out over the skin of her waist. When she licked her lips—

“Crazy, man.” Johnny stands beside me, leaning back against my booth and nudging me with his shoulder. “Did I just see what I think I saw? Atlas Reynolds getting turned down by some random chick.” He chuckles. “Twice in one night?”

I turn slowly and stare at him until he starts to squirm beneath my gaze. Little fucker. I should squash him like a bug. “That was no random chick.”

“For real?” he asks. “That tall one?”

I nod.

“Who is she? I didn’t recognize her from the club scene.” He looks off in the direction she left a few minutes ago.

“I’m telling you, Johnny. She was someone.” It was clear in her confidence, in the way she carries herself. She’s almost as accustomed to the spotlight as I am... but why? Who is she?

Hands circle my waist just a split second before the sugary-sweet stench of her perfume alerts me to the blonde chick with the tongue ring. I look down at her and smile as nicely as I can. There’s still lipstick on her teeth. Don’t chicks check that shit in the mirror?

It’s time to ditch herandthis club.

“Did you guys see who that was?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Who?” I tense as she pushes up to press a kiss to my cheek. We made out. It was fun. But it didn’t do the job I was hoping for because it didn’t make that brunette jealous enough to climb into my booth and piss on my damn leg.

“That gorgeous brown-haired chick. You know, the one with the”—she motions to the top of her head and swirls her hand around a bit—“up-do?” She looks up at me with her best come-hither gaze. “You were talking to her about something when you were waiting for me to come out of the bathroom. That was so sweet of you to wait for me.” She pushes up to kiss me, but I turn my head and she gets my jawline.

I push out of her grip and busy my hands by pouring a drink so she can’t try to latch onto me again. “So, who was she?” I knew she was somebody, and now it’s like Christmas fucking Eve, and waiting for this chick to tell me the answer is like waiting for the fat man to slide down my chimney.

Torture.

Blondie steps past me back into my booth and sits down, completely at home, milking it now that she definitely has my interest as well as my attention. She reaches to pour herself another drink from my bottle of Belvedere.Help yourself.When she’s satisfied with her drink, she looks back up at me. Her legs part, spreading her tiny black dress, and I get a clear view between her legs. No panties.

Huh. Maybe I’ll let her ride my dick after all. I love a girl who’s not afraid to go commando.

Looking back into her eyes, I smile and ask again. “Who was she?”

“Kincaid Summers.” She takes a long pull of her drink. “I mean, I’ve only ever seen her in full costume, and that chick had like no makeup on and really boring hair, plus, did you see those shoes?” She scrunches her nose. “No one wears leopard anymore.”

I loved those fucking shoes.

I love even more the fact that I was just that close to Las Vegas’ finest—if that had been her.

But there’s no way that was Kincaid Summers. Her face—and then some—is plastered all over my favorite titty bar. I’d have recognized her. She’s one of the top paid and in demand strippers in Vegas and I’ve somehowalwaysmanaged to come here on the weekends she’s guest spotting somewhere else in the country or off that night.

But not this time.

I look at blondie. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “Oh, yeah. Like, ninety-nine percent sure. My friend Carly works with her at...”

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