Lyle seems nice enough, but I don’t get the same feeling as I do with Quin. His lips don’t bring me happiness or comfort and the thought of Lyle’s lips on mine almost repulses me. He is attractive and obviously intelligent, well-dressed, and charming, but none of that means a thing because he isn’t Quin.
“Hi, I’m Travis,” another man sits down. He’s a bit shorter and stockier than Quin and has a bright red beard.
Yet again, a handsome man falls into my lap and I can’t even bring myself to care about him at all. My thoughts are still on Quin.
I’m starting to feel like I’m on that Ferris wheel, but one made of men. We are going to be whirling round and round, and by the end of the night, I’m afraid it’s going to come crashing down.
And it’s going to be me that ends up getting hurt.
When I get to that table, her ass is fucking mine.
I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, but I may or may not have tracked her phone. The address was too familiar, and I remembered it from the pink flier.
I didn’t come here for another woman. I came for her.
And I’ll fight every man in this room if it means I get to walk out of here with her on my arm. I’ll start with that fucking guy who kissed her hand. No other man will be kissing her anywhere. Every part of her is mine. Every inch of her skin, every sound that leaves her lips, every blink of her eyes, everything… it’s mine.
And it’s time I start acting like it. It’s time for me to get my shit together.
She wants to know me?
She’ll know me by the end of this stupid thing.
“And I was like… oh my god, Trisha. You can’t just be doing a line of coke off some guy’s cock. He might have like… you know, an STD. Like… ew, imagine sniffing herpes up your nose? Yuck.”
Stay patient.
Stay calm.
Breathe in and out.
This lovely woman in front of me is… I’m trying to find a kind word.
Annoying.
There. I did it.
“So like, is the patch a fashion statement or what?” She sips on her martini while giving me a look that promises a good time later.
And if I wasn’t in love with someone else, I’d have no problem fucking her over this table just to have a wet hole, but no way in hell is this woman long term. She has a lot of growing up to do.
Her name is Destiny and I have a hunch that isn’t even her real name. She’s gorgeous. She could have anyone she wants. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, fake breasts, and big lips with filler. She’s not my type in the slightest, but I see the appeal for some men.
Not me. I like my women redheaded, with porcelain skin, a dash of freckles, round natural tits, and an attitude that burns hotter than the devil himself.
“Next!”
“It was nice meeting you. See you around,” I say as nicely as I can. I don’t even think I told her my name. I sat down and she started going on and on about herself. I didn’t get one word in except to say goodbye.
I sit down at another table and a slightly older woman is sitting there, maybe in her forties. She’s out of my age range, but she’s still gorgeous. She has black hair with two white stripes framing her face, her hazel eyes popping against the lack of color. The effect is striking. She’s wearing a long, elegant blue gown and heels to match. Honestly, I’m wondering what the hell this woman doing in a place like this. She looks like she should be running some high-powered fashion magazine in New York or Paris.
“I’m Zoe,” she introduces herself with a slight accent I can’t place. Definitely European.
“One-Eye.” I don’t want to give my real name. I only want one woman to call me Quin.
She leans back and stretches her arm over her chair, lifting her brow in curiosity. “One-Eye? Interesting name. I’m assuming it speaks for itself. Unlike the girl you just came from, I’m going to say it is not a fashion statement.”
A deep chuckle escapes me. “Sorry, not fashion. Just a guy with one eye.” I take a swig of my beer.
“You’re a biker. I know the type. You probably got it doing something for the club. My son, Isaac, is a biker. In Russia.”
“A few of my buddies are actually headed out that way. I bet they are going to see Isaac.”
“Da. Are you a Ruthless King?”
“I am. Since I was a teenager.”
“What are you doing here? Bikers have whores, no?”
“You aren’t wrong, but my club isn’t like that. I’ve had my fair share of whores. I’m done with them.”
“Ah, it’s why you don’t like blonde with big boobs, da?” she cackles. Somehow even her laugh has an accent.
I don’t know how, but it’s loud, and a few people turn their heads at the noise.
“Ah, I have someone in mind. I just need to convince her to be with me.”
“You’re too young for me. You are my son’s age. I’d feel like your mother.” She winks to reassure me she’s kidding. “Who is she? Is she here?”
I nod. “I came for her.”
Zoe looks around, narrowing her eyes at each table before she lands on one. “The redhead. Eight o’clock. Her body is angled towards you, and she keeps glancing at us.”
She looks back at me for reassurance, and I nod. “That’s the one.”
“She is gorgeous,” Zoe says. “You want to give her a show, man with one eye?” She smirks, downing her drink in one gulp.
I bet it was straight vodka and she did it without flinching.
She’s more of a man than I am.
“Next!” calls the host.
“Good talking to you, Zoe. Tell your son hello for me.”
“Da. I’ll tell him I met a man with one eye and he lost it in a catfight. The pussycat won.”
“What a terrible rumor to start about me. I thought we had a good thing going.”
She laughs again, her eyes glinting with good-natured humor.
“Not a chance in hell, man with one eye. You aren’t my type. I like my men… taller.”
It’s hard not to take offense to that since I’m 6’3.
“I climb my men like I climb the trees in Russia,” she adds.
I chuckle as I move to the next table. “I hope you find the tree you’re looking for.”
“And begin!” the host shouts.
I give the woman in front of me my full attention, away from the funny Russian woman. “Hi, I’m Amy,” she grins, her hair a light strawberry blonde and her eyes a shade of crystal blue. She’s pretty.
“Hi, Amy. I’m One-Eye.”
“Really?” She taps her finger to her chin. “For some reason, I don’t buy that.”
“That so?” I lean forward then point my finger to my eye. “Doesn’t this give it away?”
“Sure. How do I know this isn’t some pathetic attempt to be a pirate or something?” She tries to smile around her straw, telling me she’s teasing.
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to be a pirate if it means I can have both my eyes.”
“Show me.”
I sit back and rub my hands down my thighs. Not a lot makes me uncomfortable, but this conversation is. “I don’t know you well enough for that, sorry.”