“What the hell, man?” Jack’s voice cut through my daze. “You didn’t tell me my sister would be here. This isn’t cool. She doesn’t like to see me drink.”
Chance glanced down at my pants and shook his head. “Katharine works fast.”
Yes, my dick was at full attention. I said Sydney was a bitch, not hideous.
Ignoring Chance, I wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Be cool, Jack. Does your sister tell you what to do?” I entered motivational speaker mode. “You’re a man, Jack. You work hard. You deserve to have fun. Get drunk for once. Come on.”
I sent Chance and Fernando a pointed stare, pressing them for backup.
“Yeah, Jack,” they said in unison. Then Chance added, “We all deserve to blow off a little steam. Get a drink. Get laid.”
I watched Jack scan the room full of vulnerable wannabe Greeks.
“She’s hot.” I pointed at Blondie standing next to Sydney.
“Yeah, that brunette’s smoking,” Chance said, following my finger.
“Chance, that’s my sister,” Jack snapped, sending him a death glare. Little tyke had bite when his sister was involved.
“Not her.” I guided Jack’s shoulders to face Blondie. “That one. She looks like she needs to be loved on tonight.”
Jack peered at me with a somewhat disgusted look. Even I was disgusted, but this was part of the game, and Jack was my pawn.
I’d spent the last few nights perusing the infamous Sunday Lane’s recorded podcasts. She was dangerously close to being exposed, but I needed to play my cards close to my vest. Sydney was the type of girl that if you said her dick was hanging out, she’d helicopter it just to spite you. She was crafty, and skill must be fought with skill.
As if Sydney Porter were reading my mind, and not in a good way, the blonde waltzed up to us with eyes locked on Jack.
She stopped in front of him, delivering a sexy smile. “Hi there. You’re cute.” With her finger, she touched the tip of his nose like he was kitten.
Right on cue, Jack melted under her azure eyes. “Hi,” he said nervously, wearing a smile so enormous it almost spilt his face in two. “I’m Jack Porter.”
Then he reached his hand out. She giggled and took it. Instead of kissing the back of it, a tried and true pick-up move, Jack gave her a hardy handshake.
From behind me, I heard Fernando and Chance chuckling.
“Duh.” She threw back her head and laughed. “I know who you are. Everyone does. You’re the hottest player on the team. I’m Allison.”
I shook my head, shooting Sydney an annoyed look.
Allison honed in on Jack like a cruise missile. “Honey, you look thirsty.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he went from nervous to close to pissing his slacks. “Let’s go get a drink.”
Squeaking out a nearly inaudible noise, Jack disappeared with Allison into the crowd. She slid her hand down to grab his, and he actually skipped—the boy skipped across the floor.
Chance pointed to Sydney. “If that’s Jack’s sister, I’m about become best friends with Porter.” He started in her direction, and I held him back.
“No. You’re not. She’s mine.” I gave him a cool stare, adding to the threat in my tone. “I mean, she’s mine to fuck with.” I corrected myself. “Take all the rest.”
“Okay.” Chance nodded, but it was a weird, slow nod, like he was piecing together a puzzle.
When Jack and Allison approached the DJ booth, Sydney gave Jack a hug and he wrapped his arms around her. It was almost touching—almost.
Then she put the earphones on Jack, placed Allison’s hand on the mixer, pointed to a couple of buttons, and charged toward us like a rhino. She brushed past me, smacking me hard in the arm, and stopped in front of Fernando.
“Fernando, right?”
He nodded, eyes drifting to the side to avoid her Medusa gaze.
Poking a finger into his thick chest, she said, “I better have my tires back by midnight or I’m calling the police. SpaceRoom has you on tape.” She glanced between me and the now scared shitless Fernando. “And you better fucking believe I’ll do it.”
Chapter Nine
Dumbasses. All of them.
When I saw that oh-I’m-fucked look on Fernando’s face, I knew he was as good as guilty. He looked between Peters and me and about shit his pants.
After locating the closest bathroom, I hovered over the toilet to pee. God knows what kinds of diseases these girls harbored. Their vaginas were just ships passing in the night, stopping to pick up every dirty sailor. As a steady stream hit the water, I thought about Jack. No, I don’t normally think about my brother when I pee. Tonight was the exception to the sibling-pissing-thinking rule.
I’d offered Allison half the money back if she entertained Jack all night and only fed him non-alcoholic beer. Actually, they would make a cute couple under the right circumstances. However, their stars would not align tonight. Not with an emaciated Katharine breathing down Allison’s neck.
After washing my hands, I checked my stage makeup. Pretty good still. Then I whipped open the bathroom door, only to be shoved back inside.
“What the fuck?”
“What the fuck is right.” Peters slammed the door shut behind him.
A curling iron was left on sink counter, unfortunately not heated, but it would do the trick. Swiping it off, I threw it at Peters. He scoffed as it bounced against his muscular chest.
Okay, wasn’t going to work, but his eyes widened when I dug into my bra and pulled out my Mace. “Back off, Peters.”
He took a step back. “You wouldn’t seriously use that on me.”
“Really?” I faked a trigger pull, and he winced. “You just pushed a helpless girl into a bathroom. Who’d believe you?”
“Helpless? You’re far from helpless, Sinister.” He said my call name like it was a big, fat joke.
I wanted desperately to spray him, but we were in a confined space and I’d be hit too.
“Someone must have seen you come in here. Get out of my way before I scream.” I moved to walk past him, and he grabbed my arm, pulling me to his chest. I could feel his heart racing like a thoroughbred. His sweat-drenched shirt stuck to my dress, mixing the fabrics into one sticky sheet.
“If someone hears you scream, they’ll think I’m screwing you nice and slow against the edge of this granite counter.” He knocked his knuckles on the countertop. “Or I could go fast. I seem to remember you liked that.” Gentling his grip, he stroked his fingers over my piano tattoo.
My other hand shot up, slapping him in the face. Peters cupped his cheek, released my arm, and laughed. I took this opportunity to knee him in the balls, and he shrank down to the floor, grabbing his crotch.
“Don’t flatter yourself, micro-dick. We both know any screaming coming from this room will be your own.” I kicked him in the side and moved for the door.
“Wait.” His hand latched onto my ankle, tripping me backward and onto the ground in one deafening blow. “Fernando’s out there freaking out. You really have a tape? I didn’t think that dive had a camera system.”
It didn’t. I was just messing with him, and it paid off.
“You asshole, you just knocked me into a pile of pubic hair,” I shrieked, ripping my leg from his grip. Sitting up, I edged away from a noxious fuzz ball looming in the shadows.
Peters lay flat on the floor and let out a hardy laugh. Peeking over at me, his eyes landed between my legs, and I slammed my knees together.
“And what if I’d hit my head on the porcelain toilet, Peters? Picture the headlines: Low-ranking NFL Hopeful Murders Beautiful Woman in Sorority Bathroom, with a quote from Head Coach Samuels: ‘Peters never had a chance. He thought he was good, but really, his daddy slipped me some stock share, so I let him haul the Gatorades around the field. You know, made the kid feel useful.’”