Dirty Obsession Page 30

  But a surfer doesn’t know how to do anything else. He doesn’t know how to live a different life. I know his comment about wanting to move somewhere else to keep his girlfriend away from me was just as much about him. If he stays here and decides he can’t surf anymore, he is going to have to face his decision every day for the rest of his life. If he moves where there isn’t an ocean staring back at him everywhere he goes, then maybe he can move on.

  I get it. I just don’t know how he could ever give this life up, no matter how dangerous it is. Life isn’t worth living if you aren’t doing what you love.

  “Ready to go?” I ask.

  Luca nods and turns toward me, and then he laughs. “Why did you even bother changing if you were just going to put trunks back on?”

  I shrug. “At least they are clean.”

  “It’s no wonder that you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  I grin. He’s right about that. I don’t have a girlfriend or a fiancée or a wife. I never have and never will. The swim trunks help ensure that. I’m a fling that women think they can fall in love with, but when they realize they can’t change me, they move on and deal with the heartbreak they caused when they left the men who actually loved them. While I get freedom. And that’s how I like it.

  “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with the way you eat, man,” Luca says, staring down in disbelief, as I scarf down my second double cheeseburger.

  I shrug and then shove a couple of fries into my mouth. “At least I’ll go out doing what I love and not eating that healthy crap you eat.”

  “It’s called fish and vegetables. You should try it sometime. You might actually find that you like it, and you will feel better when you’re working out and surfing.”

  “Nah, I’m good.” I drink down my beer. “So, when do you think you and that girlfriend of yours are going to be moving to the mainland? I need to know when I need to get a new wingman.”

  “I’m not talking about her. I already told you that.”

  I sigh. I’m frustrated and bored. And it’s been weeks since the last woman. Tara was it? Sara? Cara? I can’t remember.

  “Fine, then help me pick out my next prey,” I say.

  Luca laughs. “Not going to happen, bro.”

  I frown. “You used to help me.”

  “That was when I was evil and didn’t have a heart, like you. I’ve since grown up.”

  I shake my head. “You haven’t grown up one bit. Just help me find someone who is an actual challenge this time. Sara wasn’t enough of a challenge. I was able to get her to sleep with me and break up with her fiancé in less than a week. It was pathetic really.”

  “First of all, her name was Nicole, not Sara. And, second, you really need to stop. If you don’t, you are going to fuck up someone’s life so bad that it is going to rebound and hurt you, too.”

  I laugh. “Not likely.”

  Luca shakes his head as he drinks his beer. He reclines in his chair, lifting the front two legs off the ground. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s going to happen. One of these times, a woman is going to hurt you as bad as you hurt them, and I’m going to be there, laughing in your face while eating popcorn. It’s going to happen, bro. It’s called Karma.”

  I take a swig of my beer and then grin. “I would love for a woman to try and hurt me as badly as I hurt them. I would love to see one try because it’s impossible. I don’t have a heart for them to destroy. Remember? I’m the devil.”

  “You’ve got that right. But even devils can get hurt. And I can’t wait for it to happen to you.”

  “Whatever. It’s not going to happen.”

  “Because you’ve been so right about everything before.” Luca snickers.

  I frown. “I’m right about this,” I say sternly, challenging Luca to question me again.

  He doesn’t. Instead, a slow smile forms on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say that I’m completely wrong about this even though I know I’m not. He doesn’t say I’m as wrong about this as I was about encouraging him to go surfing with me the day of the accident that almost killed him. He should rub that shit in my face forever. Blame me for his accident. He doesn’t though. He doesn’t blame me. He has always said that it was just an accident. Completely unpreventable. That it was fate. I don’t believe in fate. I believe in taking the world into your own hands and making yourself happy because no one else is ever going to.

  “Look, a bachelorette party. Isn’t that right up your alley?” Luca says.

  I grin and turn in the direction that Luca is looking. About ten women are all scantily dressed in skirts and tight dresses. Glitter and stickers cover most of their bodies along with sashes saying what their role in the wedding is, like Bride’s Main Bitch or Bride’s Bitch. They don’t understand how easy they make it for a guy like me.

  I scan the group of women until I lock in on my target. The bride. She’s easy to spot because she is the only one wearing white. She has a sash that says Sexiest Bride-to-Be and a crown that has a veil coming off of it.

  She’s a blonde, which makes me feel torn. I haven’t had a blonde in a while, but then again, they are often the easiest to steal. But I’m ready for a challenge, not an easy lay. To my surprise though, she seems like a local girl. You can always tell by the tan or lack thereof or sunburn. She is nicely tanned, obviously used to the strong summer sun here. At least half of her bridesmaids are a weird shade of orange from the tanner they have been using. The other half are burned to a crisp.

  The bride though is gorgeous. Her white dress shows the perfect amount of cleavage and is short enough to make her legs look long and toned. Legs that I desperately want wrapped around my body. And, if I play my cards right, that could happen by the end of the night. She doesn’t look that in love. She looks like she is desperate for a way out of the situation she is in.

  I watch as the group makes their way over to a corner of the bar where the bartender pulls together three couches for them to all sit on around a couple of low tables. The bride-to-be, of course, is given a couch all to herself since this is her special day, when it’s supposed to be all about her.

  She doesn’t know how lucky she is. Today isn’t going to be her special day. Today is going to be her lucky day.

  “Definitely. I knew you’d still make a good wingman even if you gave up your old ways. You’ll always be a monster to me.”

  Luca frowns. “Just don’t forget to leave cash to pay for your half of the bill. I’m not paying for all the shit you ordered. I’m unemployed, remember?”

  I roll my eyes. “Stop being dramatic. You weren’t going to do another competition for another month anyway. You have exactly the same amount of money you would have had whether you had the accident or not. But”—I pull out my wallet and throw enough money down to cover both of our meals—“since you pointed out my next target and are going to help me convince them that we are cool guys and to not have us thrown out on our asses, I’ll pay your bill.”

  “Not going to happen, bro.”

  I grin. “Are you sticking around to watch or going home?”

  “I’ll stick around until you start taking your shirt off, and then I’m out of here. But I’m still betting those women are going to get you thrown out of here.”

  I roll my eyes. “Always the pessimist.” I pick up my beer and head over to the women, putting Luca out of my head.

  “Hello, ladies. You all look beautiful tonight. Can I—”

  “No, you can’t join us,” the bride-to-be says.

  “Even if I buy you all a round or two of drinks and find the hottest guy in town to strip for you?”

  I grin slyly and watch everyone’s eyes soaking me in. Even if the bride doesn’t want me to stay, her bridesmaids do. They need me to stay. Because, unlike the bride, they don’t feel special tonight. And they all think I’m the guy who will make tonight a little easier by making them forget that they aren’t the ones getting married and most likely aren’t even
close to getting married.

  “Yes!” one of the bridesmaids sitting next to the bride says, taking her life in her own hands instead of waiting for the bride-to-be to answer.

  She just doesn’t know that I’m not here to have a one-night stand with one of the hot bridesmaids. Although I might regret that because several of the bridesmaids are easily in the top ten hottest women I have ever seen. One is wearing such a short dress that I can already glimpse her perfectly shaved and pierced pussy from where I’m standing.

  I force my eyes to turn away from the piercing that I desperately want to see in action. I’m not really sure how it could make sex any better, but I’m sure that it could.

  When I look back to the bride-to-be, she is glaring at me.

  “So, when’s the wedding?” I ask the bride-to-be.

  “Sloane is getting married next month,” the same loudmouthed bridesmaid from earlier answers.

  I grin. It’s a perfect timetable. I don’t have a competition for about five weeks. I can seduce this woman, make her fall for me, and get it out of my system before I have to get serious when competition season starts next month.

  “What can I get y’all to drink?” Paige asks. She’s the bar’s new waitress from Georgia, and she has that Southern accent to go with her adorably naive smile.

  The women start shouting out drink and shot orders. But I’m not really interested in what any of them are ordering. I’m interested in what Sloane wants to order.

  Paige looks to Sloane, and Sloane leans back in her chair.

  “I’ll have a whiskey.” She pulls something out of her purse. “Do you mind if I smoke this in here?”

  I know the bar has a no-smoking policy, just like every other bar in the city.

  “I won’t tell,” Paige says, winking.

  I raise one eyebrow at Paige. I’m surprised by both women—Paige, for having the guts to say that Sloane can smoke in here when she can’t, and Sloane, for holding a cigar in her hand.

  Paige leaves to go get everyone’s drinks while I take a seat next to Sloane.

  “Have you ever smoked a cigar before?” I ask.

  I doubt that she has. Someone must have bought her a cigar to celebrate her engagement. That’s all this is.

  Sloane laughs. “Why? Are you going to show me how to smoke a cigar?” Her voice teases me, but her eyes travel up and down my body, drinking me in.

  She might be laughing now, but I’ll have the last laugh.

  “No. I’m just don’t want you spending your night coughing and sick after one inhale. I don’t want you to miss the show I’m going to put on later,” I say with a wink.

  She lights the cigar, takes one puff, and then slowly releases the smoke from her mouth. My eyes fixate on her mouth because it is the goddamn sexiest thing I have ever seen.

  “First of all, you don’t inhale a cigar. You would know that if you had ever smoked a cigar before. And, two, thinking that I have never smoked a cigar because I’m a woman is the most sexist thing I’ve heard in a while. And I run my own company, so I hear sexist things all the time. And, three, I would rather spend my evening in the restroom, puking my guts out, than watch whatever show you will be putting on.”

  I grin the whole time as I stare intently at Sloane’s mouth, waiting for more of the sexy smoke to escape her lips. I love how fierce and take-no-crap she is. Women like this are always the hardest to crack, always the hardest challenge. But it will only be a challenge if she is really in love with her fiancé. If she just sees her arrangement with him as a business deal, which I imagine is how she looks at much of life, then it won’t be that difficult to get her to cheat on her fiancé. It won’t be that difficult to convince her that she could fall in love with me.

  “So, did your fiancé get you into smoking cigars?”

  She frowns and then puffs on the cigar again before slowly letting the smoke out. “No, I got him into it.”

  I smile because I don’t believe her. There is no way a beautiful woman like her would take up such a nasty habit without a man convincing her to try it. At least, I’ve never met a woman yet that would smoke a cigar because she wanted to and not to impress a man.

  “So, when did you start smoking cigars?” I ask as I casually put my arm around the back of the couch and behind her back. I’m not touching her, but I can tell it makes her uncomfortable because she leans slightly forward.

  “College.”

  I smile. “What brand did you smoke that first time?”

  She frowns. “Why do you care what brand I smoked?”

  I shrug. “Maybe I want to take it up, and I want to know what brand I should start with.”

  “Alec Bradley Prensado.”

  “Who were you with when you smoked?”

  “Jessie, Wes, Kirsty…”

  I turn to the loudmouthed bridesmaid who has been eavesdropping on our conversation. “Who is the lucky guy that is marrying our Sloane here?”

  “Wes Finnigan.”

  I smile. “So, Wes was there the night you smoked your first cigar, but he wasn’t the one who convinced you to try your first cigar?”

  Sloane’s cheeks turn a nice shade of pink, but I don’t think her cheeks are pink due to embarrassment. No, it seems like anger is the cause.

  “Fine, Wes was the one who got me started smoking cigars. You happy now?”

  “Not particularly.” I lean in so that I can whisper into her ear without her nosy bridesmaids hearing me. “I won’t be happy until I have you in my bed. And it’s going to happen, Sloane. Whether that’s tonight or a month from now. You need to have one last fling before you marry the wrong guy or preferably kick him to the curb and replace him with me.”

  I stand up before she can get a slap or punch in. I’ve said a very similar line to too many women before. Sloane is the kind of women who will slap first and ask questions later. She’s tough, strong. And probably too uptight for her own good. But I’m not sure how in love with Wes she really is. I’ll have to wait and see if this is going to be too easy or one of the hardest steals of my life.

  Paige is back with the drinks, and I help her pass them out before letting her know to put all the drinks on my tab. When I hand Sloane her whiskey, she is fuming so much that I’m afraid she is going to throw the drink in my face.

  She doesn’t, but I can tell that it crosses her mind.

  “So, who’s ready to see the hottest man on this island strip for you?” I ask.

  I am answered by an array of hoots and hollers.

  I grin and then pull out my phone to start up some music. I start dancing to the music in the center of the group of sofas and tables that all the women are sitting around. Immediately, the women start digging into their purses to start pulling out dollar bills, twenties, or anything to tuck it into the waistband of my swim trunks.

  I know my end target is Sloane. But, first, I give everyone else my attention. Sloane needs to see how the rest of her friends feel about me. She needs to see how desperate they are to just touch me, how they scream when I remove my shirt and reveal my rock-hard abs and strong chest. She needs to see what she would be missing if she said no instead of yes.

  I strip down until I’m in nothing but my compression shorts that I wear under my swim trunks. All of the women’s eyes in the room are filled with lust and desire. Including Paige, who has been coming and checking on everyone’s drinks way more often than she should be. But she does nothing to stop me from stripping in a bar. I think because it has increased the number of drinks the rest of the women in the bar are ordering as they try to sneakily take a picture of me.

  I have been ignoring Sloane the entire time I have been stripping. She thinks I’m doing this to hook up with a bridesmaid of my choosing. That, after this show, I will have my pick. She thinks she’s safe. She is anything but safe.

  “And, now, a special dance for the bride-to-be,” I say.

  Everyone hoots and hollers their agreement, and as I turn my attention to Sloane, it takes her
a minute to realize that I’m talking about her. But, despite how she tries to hide it beneath a glare, I can see the lust and sin in her eyes. I can see the hint of temptation to do something that she knows she shouldn’t do, that she would never forgive herself for. Still, it’s there.

  I grab Sloane’s hand and drag her to the center of the circle. I have her take a seat on the edge of the low table in the center and then continue to dance around her and up against her. I give her an up close and personal view of my body, letting her get used to my body being close to her. When the music changes, I step it up a notch. I dance closer to her and eventually push her until she is lying on her back on the table.

  I climb on top of the table and pretend to hump her without touching her, and when I hear the screams of the women around us, I know that I’m giving a good show.

  I can see Sloane’s anger growing right along with the lust. But I’m slightly disappointed in her. She’s making this too easy for me. I want her to be in love with Wes. I want her to imagine herself with only him. When she falls in love with me and realizes that I can never love her in return, I want to know that it will ruin her. I want her to feel the kind of pain and devastation that she will never be able to return from. If I don’t get that, then going after her now isn’t going to be enough for me. Because I live for the devastation that I cause.

  So, I up the ante when the music stops. I go in for a kiss because, if she isn’t that in love with Wes anyway, she isn’t going to be the woman I steal, and I might as well leave with a kiss.

  But my lips barely brush hers before I feel the sting of a slap across my cheek, followed by a hard kick to the nuts. I roll off the table and crumple to the floor in unbearable pain as Sloane frowns over me along with all of her friends. Every one of their faces has turned from drunk happiness to anger. A few still have the lingering lust in their eyes, but most long pushed that thought out of their heads as soon as I went into the kiss.