Page 103 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
Hot friend, my ass. Haddie Montgomery’s more like molten fucking lava.
I sweep my eyes across the crowded dance floor and try to move past her, but it’s no goddamn use. Don’t kid yourself, Daniels. You’ve been looking at her all night. I toss back the rest of my drink, but my damn eyes remain fixed as she throws her arms up in the air and swivels her hips. Those long, shapely legs move to the beat, and hell if I can’t get the thought of them and those sexy-as-fuck heels wrapped around me somehow, someway, out of my damn head.
I avert my gaze, try to distract myself with one of the many easy targets in the club, but no one else calls to every part of me like Haddie does. And of course my eyes shift back to the floor just in time to see her dress sneak up some. Every toned inch of those thighs is on display as she grinds her hips to the beat. I groan. And I don’t even care that I do, because hell if a sane, red-blooded American male would look away from that perfection.
“Hey,” I hear to my right as Colton’s hand, which is holding my fresh drink, bumps against my arm.
“Thanks,” I say, forcing myself to pull my eyes from the sight of her and focus on the man who’s like a second brother to me. But when I meet his eyes, they’re studying me, amusement mixed with confusion. Here we go again. I hate when Colton gets this damn look. “What? What the fuck is that look for?”
“Seriously? You have the two-point-five look on your face, dude,” he says, taking a sip of his beer and shaking his head as if he’s ashamed.
“Two point five?” I sputter, completely shocked that he of all people would say that after the revelation he dropped on me earlier. The one where he admitted that he, the man who’s the king of condoms, is sliding skin on skin with his girlfriend, Rylee. Taking that giant leap of trust for the first time ever to bareback with a woman. The confession still staggers me even after more than a few cocktails.
And he’s accusing me of the two-point-five look? I don’t think he has any room to throw stones in the fucking glass house he built. “Two point five?” I repeat. “This coming from the barebacking cowboy himself? Whatever. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Have another.”
“Which one is she?” he asks, slinging an arm over my shoulder and pointing toward the dance floor.
“No one,” I say, trying to deflect him. “Just a whole lot of flesh on display, and fuck if it’s not something to look at while I get nice and drunk. I’ve got an asshole for a boss, so this buzz,” I say with a laugh when he tightens his arm around my neck in a headlock for my dig at him, “and that woman over there are—”
“Hot damn!” he says, catching my slip of the tongue. And hell if I wouldn’t want to be slipping my tongue into her, but shit if I didn’t just give ammunition to the king of antagonization to start making his own digs in retaliation. He slaps my back harder than necessary. “I knew just by the sappy-ass look on your face you were looking at some woman on the floor, imagining wedded bliss, and the two-point-five kids you’re going to have with her.”
“Shut up, dude. You are so far from—”
“So which one is she?” he goads, and I know he’s only just getting started. He’ll keep at it until I give him something to be smug about.
I look back out to the floor with him scrutinizing my every damn move—trying to figure out which woman has caught the eye of a picky son of a bitch like me. And when I look, a part of me is relieved that Haddie and her best friend, Colton’s date, Rylee, are no longer on the dance floor … and then another part of me is pissed because I sure as hell was enjoying the show.
“Hot blonde, red dress, two o’clock?” Colton asks, drawing my eyes to the woman on the floor, shaking her shit like she should be on a pole. She’s definitely hot, all the right curves in all the right places, but nah, not my thing. Owning your sexuality is one thing, but putting it on display? I’ll pass.
I look over at Colton and roll my eyes. “Seriously?”
“With those moves?” he says, eyes flicking back out to her. “Damn.”
“Dude, I’m all for moves like that in bed,” I say, causing him to snort out that laugh of his that makes me smile, regardless of the mood I’m in, “but if I want to screw a mannequin, I’ll go to Macy’s. Besides, isn’t eating out of plastic hazardous to your health? BPA or some shit like that?”
He throws his head back and laughs while I take a long drink of my Merit Rum and Coke. And of course I feel bad for talking shit about the unsuspecting woman.
“BPA sounds like an STD to me, but fuck, dude, live on the wild side.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “One taste won’t kill you.”
“This coming from Mr. Discriminating himself? I assure you, it most definitely is not all the same.”
“Yeah, you got me there.” He shivers in mock disgust, and I can’t help but laugh. He looks back out toward the dance area and nods his chin toward where Red Dress is still bumping and grinding. “Not even just for the night?”
“Nah, you know me. Not my thing.”
I hear their laughter float over the music before I see them, grateful for the interruption. I lean my elbow on the railing and turn to watch them walk up, pretending not to care. Colton turns too when he hears Rylee, so I’m able to watch their approach without him noticing. I take in Haddie’s more than handful-sized tits, which bounce a bit with that walk of hers. The combination of blond hair against her tanned skin begs me to run my eyes down the length of her svelte figure. When my gaze makes its way back up, her mouth is spread wide in a grin, and fuck if I don’t want something else spread wide on her with me in between them. I get lost in the thought, and when I refocus, she is staring right back at me, lips pursed, eyes curious.
“Yes?” Those chocolate-colored eyes of hers hold mine. Tempt me. Dare me. Question me.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, a sheepish smile in place. “I was just thinking.” Smooth, Becks. Brilliant response to why you were staring at her like you want to eat her for dinner. Shit, might as well be breakfast since I’m sure it’d be an all-night affair, with her body sure as hell being the main course.
“Thinking?” She asks as she reaches out and takes my drink from my hand and tips it up to me, silently asking if it’s okay. I nod my head, and she lifts it to her lips, taking a sip before handing it back to me. “Thanks. Don’t you know, Country, that you’re in a club, in Vegas of all places, so thinking’s not allowed?” She sidles up next to me, her body brushing against mine and snapping my every nerve to attention.
“Country?” Where the hell did that nickname come from?
“Yeah,” she says with a smirk before shaking her head to get her hair out of her face. “Laid-back. Polite. Good guy. Slow and steady wins the race.” She raises her eyebrows, challenging me to argue with her assessment.
And fuck if she’s not right, so why am I sensing that Country is a bad thing for her? And why the hell do I care? “Nothing’s wrong with slow and steady,” I tell her, enjoying how she angles her head to the side and just watches me. “A man shouldn’t be faulted for drawing things out just to make sure the endgame is that much sweeter.”
