She’s got on a short, ripped-up top with a cut so deep at the front that you can’t help but stare at the red lace holding up two impressive, creamy breasts. The black shorts she’s got on barely covers her ass, but I think that’s intentional, so everyone can appreciate the red and black phoenix tattooed on her thick thigh.
All of her is too much. Too loud, and definitely too in your face. She’s nothing like the thin-twig debutant girls I’ve grown accustomed to. Not in the slightest. She’s all luscious curves, huge tits, and an even bigger ass. It’s like she was force-fed southern-fried cooking all her life while listening to Metallica—big, loud, and mean. Yep, that is the perfect description of Stone Bennett.
Even though she’s probably around five-foot-five, compared to my six-foot-four, she looks like she’d be able to swallow me in and spit me out with a fucking smile on her face. She’s not some wallflower that blossomed in the Southside dirt. She’s a force of nature who made that roughneck of the woods her bitch.
I’m so fucking screwed.
“She’s cute,” Easton has the audacity to say after taking stock of all of her features.
“You have got to be shitting me?” I bark out, outraged.
“What? She is. Actually, she’s more than cute. She’s fucking hot.” He smirks, going for another once-over of all her tempting curves.
I’m tempted to smack him upside the head for his constant staring at her thick thighs and small waist, but I play the indifference card instead.
“If I were looking for Marilyn Manson’s bride to be, then yeah, I’m sure she’d fit the bill.”
Easton stops his flagrant ogling of Stone, snapping his head toward me, his annoyed frown taking center stage on his face.
“Stop being such a prejudiced douche, Finn. Even you can appreciate her level of hotness.”
“I’m not being judgmental or anything. I just don’t like being with a girl who looks like she might cut my balls off rather than suck them,” I grumble, tapping my foot repeatedly on the floor to show my disgruntlement.
“Well, make sure her tongue doesn’t have any sharp objects then,” he teases me, cocking a brow and waving the girl in question over to our table. “However, you should be so lucky to have that mouth anywhere near your junk, you dick,” he hushes beneath his breath, all the while smiling over at Stone as she heads in our direction.
I stew in my own misery when she waltzes over with that same bored expression married to her lips, but not to her stunning, emerald eyes. As she comes closer, I can’t help the unnerving feeling that I like the color of her eyes way too much. They are the only light thing about her. Soft, green meadows that resemble cool, spring days. The ones we hardly ever enjoy down south, unique and invigorating.
Tattoos, thick thighs, and pretty eyes.
A lethal combination that ensures I’m fucked.
“Are you boys lost?” she asks right off the bat, not even taking those stellar eyes off her notepad to look at us.
“Excuse me?” I grunt.
“I said, are you lost? Your kind usually don’t show up around these parts,” she spews, this time making direct eye contact with me, not one bit intimidated by the pissed-off glower I’m giving her.
“Our kind?” I cross my arms over my chest. “And what exactly would our kind be?” I challenge.
She huffs out, looking even more bored with this conversation than before. She taps her pencil on the notepad, taking me in from head to toe as if making an inventory of all my flaws. I try to keep as rigidly still as I can, even though her scrutinizing glare is making me anxious.
Being the captain of the Richfield football team, I’m used to getting attention from the opposite sex. Having girls look you up and down like you’re either their next meal or their ticket out of here seems to be part of the job description. But Stone’s piercing emeralds don’t have that flicker of lust in her eyes, nor greed. Quite the contrary. They look like I’m just as nasty as the cockroaches running around in this bar.
“Cat got your tongue?” I provoke. “Just what did you mean about our kind, little girl?”
She lets out a scoff and bites the tip of her pencil, throwing a flash of silver inside her mouth, confirming my suspicion the girl has more hardware on her.
“Oh, you know. Spoiled, rich, pretty boys who think ‘fun’ is throwing a ball and getting beat up by sweaty guys twice their size,” she mocks, directing her offensive remark at me, seeing as Easton is not the athletic type. The only sport he’s into is fucking, so that doesn’t count.
“Twice my size?! Take a good, hard look at me. I doubt you’ve met many men as big as me,” I defend with a snarl.
“Or with the same inflated ego, I’m sure. So, what do you want? I got better shit to do than spend my time here talking to you, quarterback.”
Before I have time to come up with a proper comeback, Easton steals my limelight and orders two beers. She wiggles her brow at me once again before turning around, shaking that damn fine ass in my face as she sashays over to the bar.
“How the fuck am I going to befriend that?” I belt out, making sure the bane of my existence is out of earshot.
“There are plenty of ways you could do it. You don’t need to be her BFF, Finn. All you have to do is be on her radar long enough to do whatever The Society wants. And from the looks of it, it won’t be too hard either.” He snickers.
“Oh, no? And how do you propose I do that, Einstein?”
He leans back on his chair, his eyes following Stone behind the bar counter as she fetches our order.
“Easy. Seduce her.”
“You have got to be kidding.” I choke, my eyes bugging out of my head at his proposal.
“Nope. You want easy, right? Then use your Walker charm, if you can find it, to get into her bed. And make sure to stay there long enough to get your next order from The Society. Shouldn’t be too hard for ya, right champ?” he jokes, patting me on the back to antagonize me further.
“I hate you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” He laughs. “But jokes aside, all I’m saying is, if you want to get close to Stone, then you have to do it in a way she sees coming. She already thinks you’re a cocky asshole, so live up to the hype and take what you want.”
“And you really think a girl like that will believe I want in her pants?” I rebuke back bitterly.
“Fuck, yes. Every last fucker in here does, so why would she suspect you to be any different?” he replies nonchalantly.
I look around the place and see that, in fact, every guy here is either blatantly checking her out or doing it discreetly enough that their dates don’t catch on. But let’s be real here. If a guy brings you to a shithole like this on date night, do you really expect him to be a charmer?
As much as I hate to admit it, Easton is right. Stone is probably used to guys hitting on her all the time. Even the redhead at the end of the bar—who is now on her knees giving head to the guy who had been sucking on her tit a few minutes ago—isn’t getting the same attention Stone is just by walking around the bar doing her damn job. She really is a fucking knockout under all that ink and attitude. Maybe even because of it.