Page 33 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
now with age and more experience, I realize how naive we really were. I think of how one night with Haddie blew the fifty-odd times with Deena out of the water.
“Maybe Dee’s learned more since college too.”
“Quite possibly.” I mull over thoughts of her and young love, but none of them sticks in my mind. It was all fumbling hands and false fronts of confidence as we explored and experimented. Then I think back to a few days ago when Deena showed up out of the blue, just passing through town. I was more than down with rekindling things for one night … and then we ran into Haddie.
Fucking Haddie. With her doe-shaped eyes and quivering chin asking me questions without any words. So stubborn she refuses to admit she needs someone when she’s hurting. And then she called me and unloaded on me about friends and strings and hell if I was going to sit there and take her shit without saying something in return.
Until she made that one little sound. That hiccup that told me everything. How much she feared and needed and wanted and didn’t want to be alone.
“Dude, like I said … you want to hit it, it seems like she’s quite the flirtatious one.”
It takes everything I have not to snap back at him. How dare he judge her when she’s out there doing her job? And I realize that’s exactly what he wants. He wants me to react, to call me to the table so that he knows where I stand, and hell if I’m going to walk right into that open fucking door.
“First off, Walker, it’s a wonder Aubrey doesn’t kick you out to the curb with that mind-set. Secondly, don’t you know sometimes slow and steady wins the race? I sit back, bide my time, and reel her in, and then once I have her hooked, I can figure out just what it is that she wants.”
“This ain’t the tortoise and the hare, bro.” He shakes his head at me as if he’s ashamed and takes a sip of his beer.
“True.” I nod and motion for another round to the waitress as she walks by. My mind vaguely recalls Haddie’s words to me the night we first met in Vegas, something similar to what I just said about slow and steady wins the race, and I think how well she pegged me way back then. “But at least the tortoise stays hard and has one hell of a shelf life.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! You really need to work on not being so goddamn dorky if you think you’re going to catch the likes of that hotter-than-hell woman.”
Little does he know I already have. Little does he know the woman owns more than just my thoughts right now.
The drinks come more slowly, the night wears on, but I can see Haddie getting a little less stable on her feet. Fuck. I know she needs tonight to go well. This is event two of three for her, and if she wants this client in the bag, then she needs to be on top of her game. Is she still upset so she’s drinking to bury it and put on a brave face?
It bugs me that I care so much. It pisses me off that Walker is watching me like a goddamn hawk, trying to figure out why I’m so wrapped up in a possible piece of ass that he doesn’t even know I’ve had yet.
Thank God she hasn’t ventured to our side of the club—doesn’t even know that we are here—because for some reason I think that if she did, she might be drinking more. Her need not to need me would fuel that desire of hers to escape by downing another shot.
And speaking of shots, I watch her toss back another and cringe. Yeah, she’s stretched them out, but hell if they’re not taking their toll and beginning to cloud her judgment. Fuck. Why do I care? I run a hand through my hair to shake off my own displeasure with myself. I mean, seriously … why am I here? Why the hell did I drag Walker out here to watch Haddie work the floor like some overprotective brother?
Or some lovesick idiot?
Shit. Maybe I should call Deena. Maybe I should revisit those thighs to remind me why Haddie is just too much goddamn work right now since her head’s all over the place.
And then I see him. The asshole to her right—slick-backed hair, one too many drinks under his belt and his hand placed perfectly on her ass. I’m out of my chair in a flash, but before I can even take five damn steps, her hand is fisted in his shirt, and something is said before she shoves him backward.
“Well, there’s that,” I mutter under my breath, more than pleased to see that Haddie can take care of herself. And for some reason that little show of hers makes me want her that much more. It shows me that despite being perfectly capable of handling assholes like him, she still has that vulnerable side to her that I get to see, that needs me.
And hell if I don’t like that an awful lot. The mixture of feisty and vulnerable is a total turn-on. When I turn around and sit back down, Walker’s studying my every movement, ready to pounce on me with a comment about what a little bitch I’m being, watching some chick—letting her drag me around by the balls.
But hell, he has no clue about the power of Haddie’s voodoo pussy.
I choke on my drink. Did I really just call Haddie my voodoo? Oh my fucking God. I’m turning into Colton. My heart races momentarily as I recall his explanation for why he fell so hard and fast for Rylee. Then I consider the fact that the term just rolled into my thoughts and correlated with her name without a second thought.
There’s no fucking way. She can’t—I can’t—I mean, shit, we had sex one time. A lot of sex in that one time, but hell if I’m going to let a woman grab me by the balls and own me after one night of sex.
Incredible, mind-blowing, ball-tightening, toe-curling sex, but sex nonetheless.
Damn.
I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. Blame it on the alcohol. Immediately I order a round of shots for Walker and me. I need something to clear my head—or numb it—of the ludicrous thoughts that keep circling. Of voodoo pussies that most definitely have no right as of yet to lay any kind of claim on me.
The shots come, the music drums out an annoying electronic vibe—who the hell can dance to this techno crap, anyway?—and my brother keeps me entertained as he starts a rating system of the women who approach us.
“C’mon, she was a left nutter,” he says as I simply sigh and down the rest of my drink.
I stand, needing to stretch some. “Walk, I agree that the one before was most definitely fugly, but I’m sure she had some kind of awesome bedroom skills that would knock your socks off….” I look toward where she disappeared and then back to him. “But that last one? I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be giving my left nut to sleep with her. Too much empty space up top,” I tell him, as my thoughts shift back to the one woman I would give both of my nuts to have beneath me right now.
