by Nikki Castle
Thankfully, Aiden notices my grunts of frustration and asks if I want to grab a drink after class. I nod stiffly. A drink would probably calm me down.
An hour later, Aiden, Max, and I are crowded around a high top at one of Center City's best hole in the wall bars. It's Friday night so there's a decent amount of people around us. Even the music is louder than normal, with several people milling about on the makeshift dance floor.
I take a long sip of the whiskey in my hand, already feeling the tension start to ease from my shoulders. Between being left high and dry two nights ago, and Remy's teasing performance yesterday, I've been unusually wound up for the past few days. I probably just need to get laid so I can chill out again.
I shake the sudden thoughts of Remy from my head. Even if it's just a physical attraction, I definitely need to stop thinking about that girl—nothing good could possibly come of anything happening between us. That is, if she even wants something to happen between us. God knows she seems to hate my guts.
I shake my head again. Surely there's a hot blonde somewhere in here that can ease all my frustration. I turn to scan the bar.
And immediately lock eyes with Remy Fucking Porter.
I scowl. This is now the second time in a month that I've run into her at a bar, and it's starting to piss me off.
The guys spot her at the same time that I do.
"Hey, Remy and Lucy are here," Aiden says from next to me. "Let's go say hi."
He and Max start to head over to where Remy and Lucy are leaning against the bar. I scowl again but follow behind them, realizing that hanging behind would be even more awkward than just acknowledging her.
I scan her from head to toe as I walk closer. Her outfit is simple—ripped skinny jeans with her trademark combat boots and a strappy black top that shows off her small but perfectly shaped tits. Her hair is loosely curled and falling over her shoulders, looking so shiny that I feel the sudden urge to wrap it around my fist. That urge is only slightly beat out by the temptation of her full, pink lips.
She looks fucking delicious.
I growl internally at the memories that flood back of her naked body standing in front of me yesterday. Even just the glimpse of her cleavage now is reminding me how perky and pink her nipples are, how much I'd wanted to fall to my knees so I could lean forward and taste them.
She seems to be remembering the same thing.
Even in the dim lighting of the bar, I can see the pink that now tinges her cheeks. This is the first time we've seen each other since the "shower incident"—as my brain now refers to it—and she definitely looks embarrassed. For how cocksure she seemed strutting out of the bathroom yesterday, she doesn't look nearly as confident right now.
Her unease helps me regain some of my own control. I grin as we reach the bar.
"Hi, ladies," I drawl. "Fancy seeing you here."
She glares at me—per usual. "What are you guys doing here?" she snaps.
Aiden chuckles under his breath and shoots me a knowing look. If he didn't understand my foul mood before, Remy's extra snappy tone probably just connected the dots for him.
"We just wanted to let off some steam after the gym," he answers smoothly. "What about you two? Stressful week?"
If looks could kill…
Remy's eyes burn with her barely-concealed hatred. They hold mine, unrelenting. "You could say that," she growls.
I grin, loving the effect I have on her. I've always thought she’s sexy when she's angry, even before this week. That’s why I always loved to rile her up. "Why don't we buy you two another round?" I offer innocently. I can't help the taunt that slips from my lips. "We'd love to shower you with our attention tonight."
If she wasn't seeing red before, she definitely is now. I notice her knuckles turn white on the glass she's holding, and my grin widens.
"Thanks, but no thanks, asshole," she spits. She grabs Lucy's arm and looks apologetically at the two guys beside me. "Sorry guys, we'd love to stay and chat but if I don't get a bar's worth of distance away from Tristan, I might become responsible for the derailment of your golden boy's career. Have a good night." And without a second's hesitation, she pulls Lucy to the other side of the bar. I vaguely register Lucy grumbling something about "so much sexual tension."
"Damn, dude," Aiden mutters next to me. "What the hell did you do to her?"
I laugh and take another sip of my drink. "If I tell you, she'll definitely derail my career."
For the next hour, we mingle around the bar, talking to friends that we run into and chatting up a few girls. Both Aiden and Max are clearly athletes that radiate single vibes, so girls tend to gravitate toward us. At one point we manage to capture the attention of a very drunk, very horny, bachelorette party.
I politely chat with the bride herself, trying my best to ignore the blatant bedroom eyes she's throwing my way. I'm not a fan of the cliché pre-wedding infidelity in general but I'm also just not interested in the pretty blonde. She's so obviously throwing herself at me that it's actually a turn-off. I find myself wishing she would at least give me the illusion of a chase, maybe push back with a joke or a snarky comment.
My eyes scan the room, landing on Remy sitting at the bar. She's sitting sideways on the barstool, laughing loudly at something Lucy just said. There's no trace of the anger or resentment that she wears when she talks to me. She actually looks… happy.
I glance down at the glass in her hand and notice she's drinking a clear liquid on the rocks. I vaguely remember Jax telling me she's not really a drinker but that when she does, she goes for tequila. Which immediately makes her very, very happy.
I'm barely aware of the bride droning on about some crazy college experience that she had, completely clueless to the fact that I'm not listening. Instead, I study Remy's body language. Her shoulders are loose, her smile happy. She's animatedly telling Lucy a story about something, her hands gesturing wildly to emphasize whatever it is she's talking about. And when she hears a certain song come on, she gasps and grabs Lucy's arm. She pulls her friend onto the dance floor and they start dancing to the upbeat tune.
If any part of me was paying attention to the bride in front of me, it definitely isn't now.
I can't take my eyes off of Remy. I've never seen her dance before.
It's fucking mesmerizing.
Her hips move from side to side, her movements fluid and comfortable. She’s always been graceful at the gym—light on her feet and in total control of her body—so it makes sense that she's the same on the dance floor. She raises her hands above her head as she continues to roll her hips.
I probably would've been lost in her trance for hours if I didn't notice the guy slide in behind her.
Without any word or introduction, he slides his arms around her waist and pulls her tight to his body. His jerky hip movements are cringe-worthy.
All happiness drops from Remy's face. She scowls, her brows furrowing more than they ever have with even me, and she tries to push his hands off. But the asshole isn't loosening his grip.
It looks like she says something to him because he grins, the smile stretching across his face in what seems like victory. He lets her turn in his arms to face him.
She points a finger threateningly at him. When he doesn't respond, she puts her hands on his chest and tries to shove him away again.
The whole thing seems to happen in an instant. It takes me a second to register what's happening, and a few more seconds to stride across the bar.
I shove the guy away from Remy, fury boiling in my veins.
"She said, back off," I bark. I hold my ground between Remy and the asshole.
"Yo, man, we were just talking," he snaps at me. "Get lost, this doesn’t concern you."
I step closer—almost close enough for our noses to touch—and let loose a low growl. "Unless you want me to make your nose splinter into your skull, I suggest you turn around and get the fuck out of this bar," I snarl. "Now."
If my tone wasn't enough to co
nvey my message, I straighten up to impose my height over the five-foot-something prick. That coupled with the fact that he looks like Remy can lift more than he does, and the decision should be an easy one.
The asshole glances away nervously and takes a step back. "Fine," he eventually mutters. "Fuck you both." Then he turns around and shrinks out of the bar.
As soon as he's out of sight, I turn back to Remy.
She shoves me, a scowl on her face. "I didn't need you to save me," she snaps. "I could've gotten rid of him on my own!"
I ignore her comment. I still feel the anger lingering in my chest, so I send some of it her way. "You shouldn't be dancing by yourself," I bark at her.
At some point in the past few minutes Lucy must've left Remy to get them another drink at the bar, which is why she seemed vulnerable enough for the guy to come onto her. "At least keep Lucy with you, otherwise guys are never going to stop coming onto you like that." My eyes drop to her exposed midriff and heaving chest. "Especially if you're wearing that."
Her jaw drops in shock. But she composes herself quickly, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at me. "So, it's my fault that guy is a piece of shit that can't keep his hands to himself?!" she yells in disbelief.
I wince and look away. "No, of course not," I grumble.
Obviously, everything that just happened is one hundred percent that douchebag's fault. But I'm flustered from not being able to control my anger—flustered from the appearance of it at all. Even though I can hear myself being a dick, I can't stop myself from snapping, "We should just go home. I have an early day tomorrow and Jax would kill me if he knew I left you here after what just happened."
Remy is back to looking shocked again. "I'm not leaving," she says, disbelief and anger still warring in her eyes. "I don't need you to look out for me. If you want to go, then go. But you can't just order me around, Tristan." She hisses the last part, and it takes everything in me not to just grab her and throw her over my shoulder.
"Fine," I snarl. I turn around and stride back to the high top where I had been standing with the guys, the bridal party nowhere in sight. I barely register that Aiden and Max are a step behind me, having appeared as silent backup during the altercation. I remind myself to thank them once I'm calmer.
When Remy realizes I'm not leaving, she turns back to the bar in a huff. Every few minutes she glances my way, then scowls when she sees I'm still there, still watching her.
But I meant what I said. Jax would be pissed if I left her here so I'm not leaving. I just need to wait until she finishes her temper tantrum and realizes that if it weren't for my comment, she would've left already anyway.
She gets angrier with every glance my way.
Suddenly, she turns to the guy next to her. He's been sneaking glances at her for the past few minutes, but she’s had her back to him—until now.
He eagerly starts a conversation with her. She laughs easily, touching his arm when she does, and leans in too close. She angles her head so he can talk into her ear, over the music. Every movement, every touch, is intimate.
I would've bought her little performance if she didn't lock eyes with me the next time he whispered in her ear. I force a wide grin on my face and wink at her, signaling that I know exactly what she's doing.
She scowls and tugs the guy a little closer.
It's the moment I finally give up.
I turn to Max and Aiden and notice with surprise that they're talking to two cute girls. I've apparently been oblivious the entire night. "Sorry to interrupt, ladies," I drawl, "but I'm going to head out. I'll see you at the gym tomorrow. Have a good rest of your night." I give the guys a fist bump and flash a quick smile at the girls.
I was willing to wait around while she hung out with Lucy, but I'm not third wheeling if she wants to bring a guy home. Even Jax's wrath isn't worth that ego hit. She's a grown ass woman that can make her own stupid decisions.
I don't even glance in Remy's direction as I leave the bar.
7
Remy
I watch Tristan leave the bar, surprised to feel a pang of guilt in my chest.
I hate leading on the guy next to me—Chris, I eventually figured out—but I'm furious at Tristan for trying to order me around. Who the fuck does he think he is? I don't need his protection. I fight guys for fun, for God's sake. I’m not the kind of girl that needs to be coddled.
Still, I can't shake the twinge of guilt I feel for driving Tristan away because of my stupid game. I hate playing games. I should've just ignored him and left when I wanted to leave. But he made me so angry that I couldn't stop myself from trying to piss him off further. I don’t know if he thinks I'll sleep with this guy, but I seem to have convinced him enough to get him to abandon his alpha male efforts.
So now I'm left with a hopeful, clueless guy at the bar and an angry Tristan waiting for me at home. Fuck.
I briefly contemplate following Tristan home and giving up on my game entirely. But then I remember his face when he all but ordered me to go home with him, and I quickly wave that idea away.
Instead, I spend another twenty minutes politely chatting with Chris, making sure not to touch him anymore. Maybe if I wait long enough, Tristan will be asleep by the time I get home. Eventually, I turn to Lucy with pleading eyes. She hides her smile, knowing exactly what I'm silently begging her for.
"Remy, we should get going," she says, shooting Chris an apologetic glance. A slight frown crosses his face. "We have an early session at the gym tomorrow and it's getting kind of late."
"You're probably right," I agree. I turn toward Chris with a smile, trying to hide my guilt at leading him on as best I can. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks a lot for the drink." I stand up off the barstool.
Chris blocks my path, his body angled in front of me, and one arm braced on the bar. I'm not completely blocked in but he's definitely too close for comfort. My eyes widen in surprise.
"I'd love to see you again sometime," he says, pulling me in by my wrist. "Can I get your number?"
I lean back, trying to recapture some of my personal space. I'm shocked that Chris is bold enough to try something like this, since he was too nervous even to say anything to me before I initiated the conversation. This must be his Hail Mary.
Unfortunately, all it succeeds in doing is pissing me off.
"Sorry, no," I say firmly. "I don't think that's a good idea. But again, thank you for the drink." Without waiting for a response, I grab Lucy's hand and pull her out the door.
We stumble out to the street. "Jesus, you've got everyone fawning over you tonight," Lucy laughs. "Two strangers at the bar and now you've got Tristan waiting at home to spank you." Her grin is downright evil.
"Lucy!" I yell in horror. "Tristan is not interested in me! What would possess you to say something like that? Did you not see how much of an ass he was tonight?"
"Girl, all I saw was a very protective, very angry Tristan who did not want any guys anywhere near you tonight. That translates to being interested."
"He's just being protective because he knows Jax would kick his ass," I mumble.
Lucy chuckles and shakes her head. "You tell yourself whatever lie makes you feel better."
I glare at her as I wave down a taxi but give her a hug anyway. "Thanks for tonight," I say. "I'll see you at the gym in the morning."
"Yup, see you then. Have a good night." She aims one last mischievous grin my way before the taxi pulls away from the curb. I flash a less-than-ladylike gesture at the retreating car.
It takes me a minute to flag down my own taxi and less than ten minutes to pull up in front of the house. I gulp nervously as I get out of the car. It's been a while since Tristan left the bar so I'm really hoping he's already asleep.
He's not.
He's sitting on the couch flipping through the TV channels. He's wearing sweatpants and nothing else.
As in, he's shirtless.
I almost fall over my feet as I walk into the house. I've seen him s
hirtless plenty of times at the gym—it’s undeniably sexy there, too—but there's something so much more erotic about seeing him lounging shirtless in the comfort of his own home. He's so fit from fighting that he doesn't even have to try for the eight pack, or for the V on his hips that drags my attention down...
"Look who decided to finally make the walk of shame," he taunts without looking away from the TV, effectively interrupting my very inappropriate and unhelpful train of thought.
I scowl and cross my arms. "Not that it's any of your business, but I did not fuck that guy.”
He chuckles. "Yeah, Remy, I know you. You're too much of a prude for a quick fuck in a bar bathroom."
Any guilt I feel for tricking Tristan tonight flies straight out the window. My control snaps.
"I'm not really sure why you think you know anything about my sexual proclivities—and frankly it's a bit creepy how much you think you know—but I assure you, Tristan, your sources are sadly mistaken. Maybe I would've gone home with him if he hadn't—if he—never mind…" my voice trails off because I realize I don't want to admit how my interaction with Chris had ended.
In an instant, Tristan is on his feet. Before I even realize he's moved, he's standing only a few inches away from me and holding my wrist in an iron grip. His other hand grasps my chin and lifts my gaze to meet his. His eyes are burning with the same fury that I saw in them earlier tonight, except now it looks like there's a sort of panic mixed in them, too. "What happened?" he demands. "Did he touch you?"
"N-no, of course not," I stammer. "Nothing happened—"
His fingers tighten on my chin. "Don't lie to me, Remy,” he growls.
The accusation snaps me from my nervous haze. "I said nothing happened," I snap, tearing my face from his grasp. "And anyway, how is this any different from what that guy did to me tonight? You're just as much in my space as he was."
I ignore the part of my brain that's screaming this feels nothing like the other encounters.
