Page 6 of Let Me
“You’ve got how many millions from investors?” He arches a dark brow, his hazel eyes glittering in the candlelight suspended from the ceiling overhead. I told him that was a safety hazard. He told me to fuck off.
I finish my drink, slam it down on the table with a celebratorythud. “One hundred, but that’s not really the point. The point is, I don’t want to be in the club scene.” I lock eyes with him, so he knows I’m serious. I wouldn’t mind going into business with Benji. We’ve known each since grade school, been best friends basically since we met. But I won’t go into business on this. Eventually, I won’t want this, and I know that.
Benji might always want it.
His eyes slide past me, and a dark smile curls up on his face. “You might want to rethink that.”
I turn to see what he’s looking at and watch as a leggy brunette in a red skirt and crop top, tits nearly bursting from it, comes stalking my way. I recognize her as a girl from one of my mock trial courses.
She comes to stand at the edge of our booth, dark eyes on me. “Wanna dance?” she asks coyly, fluttering long, fake lashes.
My eyes trail down over her tan chest, her tight stomach, ample hips. My fingers are curled around the edges of my empty glass, and I tap them a few times against it, making her wait. Her bravado starts to a falter, her shoulders drooping.
Benji chuckles under his breath. He knows my games.
When I see a faint blush on her smooth skin, I finally nod. “I’m warning you,” I whisper as I slide out of the booth, looking down at her red lips. “I bite.”
She giggles, like she thinks I’m joking. Then she pulls my hand and threads me through the mass of people on the dance floor. Immediately, she turns around, pushing her ass into my cock. I trail my hands down her neck, over her shoulders, then down to her bare stomach, my fingers digging in.
My cock swells as she grinds harder into me, and I hope to God Benji can’t see me because he won’t let this Shade ownership thing go if he does.
But it’s Friday night. I deserve some fun, too.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl in her ear. I never spoke to her before. If I did, I don’t remember it.
She spins around to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. She frowns, and I think wemusthave spoken before. Oh well. “Savannah,” she says finally, forcing her frown into a tight smile.
Someone bumps into me from behind, and I brush it off. It’s nearly impossible not to on this dance floor. Shade is expansive, but it probably should be remodeled for less booths and more dance space. I make a mental note to tell Benji that, even as Savannah is sliding her hands down my shoulders, all the way to my cock.
She palms me, looking up at me through her long lashes.
But then I still as someone bumps me again and I get jostled over, changing my view behind Savannah’s head from the DJ’s booth to the tables by the entrance of the club.
My brother.
He’s got his hands up, and I can tell, even from this distance, that he’s yelling. He’s standing at the edge of a crowded table with kids I don’t recognize, but the person he’s yelling at, I recognize her.
Riley.
“What’s wrong, baby? See an ex?” Savannah asks me in a husky voice, moving her hand up and down my cock, through my pants. “Wanna make her jealous?”
Jack slams his fist on the table, and Riley jerks back, as if she’s nervous. Scared.
I push Savannah off of me, and without a word, fight my way through the crowd, headed straight for my brother.
My shoulder knocks into a kid with a drink in his hand, and both the kid and the drink go flying. He yells something after me, but I don’t look back. At 6’3”, I’ve never really had to deal too much with people picking fights they’d never be able to win. Even in wrestling back in high school, I had more people take a forfeit than risk it.
As I get closer to the long, black tables, I can hear Jack going off. And now that I’m closer, I see the guys at his table are his teammates, and their girlfriends. They’re all looking down at their food, trying not to get involved.
Fucking cowards.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jack is asking, his hands now curled around the edge of the table. I see a vein throbbing in his neck. He’s wearing his fucking basketball jersey, like all of his fuckhead friends are, because they think it means something cool.
It doesn’t.
“Did you fuck him?” I hear him yell, and at this, one of his friends looks up from his French fries, but he still doesn’t say anything. I’m only a few feet away now. And then I see him take Riley’s shirt in his hands, twist it in his fist. “Did. You.Fuck. Him?” he growls again, in her face, pulling her off her feet.
I almost want to see Riley backhand him, because she will. But I don’t wait.
