Wingman [Woman]
Page 2
“Another?” he asks.
“Please.”
He turns and rushes off to make it and I sit, staring, pretending I don’t feel Mr. Panty Melter beside me, staring at the side of my face.
“You come here often?”
I roll my eyes. His voice might be sexy as hell, but that line is so . . . lame.
“No,” I say, still not looking at him.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
I turn to face him. Whoosh, there goes my breath again.
“Did you just use the ‘Do you come here often’ line on me?”
He narrows his eyes. Jesus, talk about broody. He looks like he’s about to take me over his knee and spank me. “You got a name?”
“Do you?” I throw back, grinning.
He doesn’t grin back. Well excuse me.
“I asked you first.”
Child.
“My name is Candy.”
A snort from him. “What’s your real name?”
“Jennifer.”
“No, your real one.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and glare at him. “How do you know that’s not my real one?”
“You hesitated,” he says simply.
“I’m drinking.”
He shakes his head. “Everyone knows their name, drunk or not. So I’ll ask you again, what’s your name?”
“Leila.”
He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Have you got a mental condition?”
“What?” I gasp, eyes wide. “No, I do not have a mental condition.”
In a steely voice, he grinds out, “Then tell me, your fuckin’ name.”
“Someone needs to get laid,” I mutter.
“Here’s your drink, miss,” the bartender says, returning.
His eyes nervously go to Reign as I slide him the money for it, then he rushes off again before he can start up the ass-ripping he was giving earlier.
I watch him go, then mutter, “Are you always so mean to your staff?”
“What makes you think I was being mean to him?” he asks, not looking at me. Instead his eyes are fixed on the whiskey in front of him.
“He looked like he was going to cry when you were speaking to him.”
“He was caught fucking on the job.”
My mouth forms an O. “Like, fucking fucking?”
Golden eyes turns to me again. “Like, dick deep-in-pussy, over-my-bar kind of fucking.”
I nod, impressed. “Atta boy.”
Reign glares at me.
“What?” I say, putting my hands up.
“You think it’s okay to fuck on the job?”
“I do not,” I say, sipping my martini. “But in my defense, it sounded hot and it’s been a long time since I’ve had dick-deep-in-pussy, over-the-bar kind of fucking.”
Whoa. Golden Eyes just got lusty.
“Are you always so forward?”
I shrug. “It’s not my best trait.”
“It’s not your worst, either,” he murmurs.
Oh dear.
“So,” he continues, his voice husky and low, “are you going to tell me your name?”
“Tiani,” I manage, taking another sip of my martini.
He doesn’t question if that’s my real name. Damn him.
“How did you know that wasn’t fake?” I say, turning to him and crossing my legs.
His eyes slide down my dress, over my legs and stop at my shoes.
“You didn’t pause,” he says. “Nice shoes.”
Keep cool, Tiani.
“So, what’s a man like you doing sitting here all alone?”
His eyes finally meet mine again. “Same reason as you’re here, I assume.”
“To get fucked?”
Lusty eyes again.
“Precisely,” he grates out.
“Well you’re not doing a very good job trying, are you?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never been good at picking up.”
“Because?” I probe.
“Because I’ve been with a woman for seven years.”
Whoa, Reign’s a committing type. Interesting.
“And now . . .” I say, dragging the sentence out.
“She’s fucking my personal assistant.”
“She’s a lesbian?” I gasp. “Gross. That bitch.”
He snorts. “My personal assistant was a man.”
Ohhhhh.
Poor dude—his wife ran off with his P.A. That’s low.
“Well that sucks. When you say was, you mean . . .” I trail off, staring at him.
“Meaning he got fired, meaning I stripped him of his manhood.”
My eyes widen and I smile wickedly. “Did you cut his penis off?”
His brows go up. “I’m questioning your mental stability again.”
“Well,” I argue, crossing my arms, “how can you strip him of his manhood then?”
“I beat him within an inch of his life, in front of the press.”
Shit, how did I miss that one? I need to watch more television.
“And then I told them all he screwed my fiancée.”
Ouch.
“Burned,” I mutter.
“Something like that.”
“So . . .” I trail off.
“Hmmmm.”
“You know,” I begin, and then I take a deep breath. “I could help you out right now. I could have a woman for you in, say, ten minutes.”
“Please.”
He turns and rushes off to make it and I sit, staring, pretending I don’t feel Mr. Panty Melter beside me, staring at the side of my face.
“You come here often?”
I roll my eyes. His voice might be sexy as hell, but that line is so . . . lame.
“No,” I say, still not looking at him.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
I turn to face him. Whoosh, there goes my breath again.
“Did you just use the ‘Do you come here often’ line on me?”
He narrows his eyes. Jesus, talk about broody. He looks like he’s about to take me over his knee and spank me. “You got a name?”
“Do you?” I throw back, grinning.
He doesn’t grin back. Well excuse me.
“I asked you first.”
Child.
“My name is Candy.”
A snort from him. “What’s your real name?”
“Jennifer.”
“No, your real one.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and glare at him. “How do you know that’s not my real one?”
“You hesitated,” he says simply.
“I’m drinking.”
He shakes his head. “Everyone knows their name, drunk or not. So I’ll ask you again, what’s your name?”
“Leila.”
He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Have you got a mental condition?”
“What?” I gasp, eyes wide. “No, I do not have a mental condition.”
In a steely voice, he grinds out, “Then tell me, your fuckin’ name.”
“Someone needs to get laid,” I mutter.
“Here’s your drink, miss,” the bartender says, returning.
His eyes nervously go to Reign as I slide him the money for it, then he rushes off again before he can start up the ass-ripping he was giving earlier.
I watch him go, then mutter, “Are you always so mean to your staff?”
“What makes you think I was being mean to him?” he asks, not looking at me. Instead his eyes are fixed on the whiskey in front of him.
“He looked like he was going to cry when you were speaking to him.”
“He was caught fucking on the job.”
My mouth forms an O. “Like, fucking fucking?”
Golden eyes turns to me again. “Like, dick deep-in-pussy, over-my-bar kind of fucking.”
I nod, impressed. “Atta boy.”
Reign glares at me.
“What?” I say, putting my hands up.
“You think it’s okay to fuck on the job?”
“I do not,” I say, sipping my martini. “But in my defense, it sounded hot and it’s been a long time since I’ve had dick-deep-in-pussy, over-the-bar kind of fucking.”
Whoa. Golden Eyes just got lusty.
“Are you always so forward?”
I shrug. “It’s not my best trait.”
“It’s not your worst, either,” he murmurs.
Oh dear.
“So,” he continues, his voice husky and low, “are you going to tell me your name?”
“Tiani,” I manage, taking another sip of my martini.
He doesn’t question if that’s my real name. Damn him.
“How did you know that wasn’t fake?” I say, turning to him and crossing my legs.
His eyes slide down my dress, over my legs and stop at my shoes.
“You didn’t pause,” he says. “Nice shoes.”
Keep cool, Tiani.
“So, what’s a man like you doing sitting here all alone?”
His eyes finally meet mine again. “Same reason as you’re here, I assume.”
“To get fucked?”
Lusty eyes again.
“Precisely,” he grates out.
“Well you’re not doing a very good job trying, are you?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never been good at picking up.”
“Because?” I probe.
“Because I’ve been with a woman for seven years.”
Whoa, Reign’s a committing type. Interesting.
“And now . . .” I say, dragging the sentence out.
“She’s fucking my personal assistant.”
“She’s a lesbian?” I gasp. “Gross. That bitch.”
He snorts. “My personal assistant was a man.”
Ohhhhh.
Poor dude—his wife ran off with his P.A. That’s low.
“Well that sucks. When you say was, you mean . . .” I trail off, staring at him.
“Meaning he got fired, meaning I stripped him of his manhood.”
My eyes widen and I smile wickedly. “Did you cut his penis off?”
His brows go up. “I’m questioning your mental stability again.”
“Well,” I argue, crossing my arms, “how can you strip him of his manhood then?”
“I beat him within an inch of his life, in front of the press.”
Shit, how did I miss that one? I need to watch more television.
“And then I told them all he screwed my fiancée.”
Ouch.
“Burned,” I mutter.
“Something like that.”
“So . . .” I trail off.
“Hmmmm.”
“You know,” I begin, and then I take a deep breath. “I could help you out right now. I could have a woman for you in, say, ten minutes.”
