Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6

by Steiner, Kandi

  I retreated back to my seat, but after Dwayne kept on, talking about how hot Lauren was, Trent looked at me in the rearview mirror. I pretended I had a carton of—what was this? It was huge. I had to really work to get my arms around it, and then what was inside? Popcorn? Hmmm. Delicious. But wait, it needed more butter.

  I was lathering it on when Trent said, “Not funny, Charlie. Your days of being a comedian are over.”

  I held up a kernel of popcorn. “Don’t make me start with my questions again. It’s a problem. They can come back.” I popped that invisible kernel into my mouth and rubbed my stomach. It was delicious.

  “You’re messed up.” But he was trying not to smile.

  Dwayne had stopped his gushing over Lauren to watch the two of us. “You guys are good friends, huh?” He nodded to me. “You missed it, man. She gave a guy his ass on the plane after she took offense at a rib against Forster.” His eyes sparked.

  I pretended there was a platter in front of me. I served it to Trent.

  He just grumbled, “So funny, Charlie.”

  I was throwing the popcorn at him now. “Watch it. I heckle too.”

  He coughed. “So. Forster, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I leaned forward. “Where’d that popcorn go? I might need a vacuum to clean this mess back here.”

  Trent burst out laughing but then cursed, veering into the next lane and hitting the turn signal as he eased onto the exit. “Shit. Sorry, guys. I wasn’t paying attention.” He asked Dwayne, “You’re at the Hilton?”

  “Yeppers. I always stay there.”

  We got off the ramp and pulled into the hotel’s front parking area. Trent got out, talking with Dwayne for a bit longer, and I moved to the front seat. They must’ve mentioned me because I saw Trent motioning to me a couple times before Dwayne nodded. Then they clasped hands and did that chest bump that’s somehow a hug for men.

  Trent climbed back into his seat and sighed. “So. How drunk you want to get tonight?”

  No question. “Wasted.”

  “On it.”

  Chapter 48

  I was dumbfounded, and speechless.

  That rarely happened.

  We were standing outside a nightclub, the entire exterior all in black except one word in neon pink, Whisper. A line of people lingered outside, there were two bouncers at the door, and I gave Trent a look.

  “Really?”

  He laughed, moving ahead. “Come on. You said you wanted to get drunk, and I have an ‘in’ here.”

  Well, okay then. We went to the head of the line and—why was I surprised?—the bouncers knew Trent, nodding and grunting hellos as they opened the door for us. As we entered, a server approached, tray of shots at the ready.

  She offered, but Trent leaned over and yelled over the blaring hip-hop music, “Lauren around?”

  Now this made sense.

  Now I knew why we’d been allowed to skip the line.

  The girl nodded and motioned down a hallway. She gave Trent more instructions, and then we were off.

  As we went, I noticed the inside of the club was a mind fuck. It had been created to look exactly like the outside—the same curb and street, just different cars. And instead of one of the buildings across the road, there was a stage for dancing. The DJ booth was set high up, above a streetlight, which acted as a podium bridge.

  People were dancing and milling around underneath the DJ, and couches lined one end of the room. Boxes with tables lined the wall on the second floor. As we walked past, I saw the doors open on a few of the boxes, and they looked a lot like the building doors that we’d walked past on the way from Trent’s car.

  The “street” wasn’t the dance floor. It was the walkway for everyone to get from place to place.

  Suddenly Trent grabbed my hand and pulled us onto one of the “sidewalks” that led to a seating area. “I see Lauren,” he told me. “Come on.”

  We were weaving around couches when Lauren spotted us. She was dancing on one of the tables in between the couches.

  I was speechless, again.

  Lauren was a go-go dancer. But it made sense. She was gorgeous.

  Wearing silver sequin underwear (for real, that was all) and a black corset, she had coordinating silver streaks in her hair. She squealed as she jumped down from her table, throwing her arms around Trent. There was some heavy petting for ten full seconds. I counted, right after making sure my gaze was anywhere but on them.

  “Sorry.”

  I felt a soft touch on my arm. I turned back.

  Lauren flashed me an apologetic smile, leaning in close. “I found out about the party a few days ago, so when I mentioned it to Trent, he thought it’d be a good chance for you.” She moved back, inclining her head. “I reserved a table just for you guys. You’ll be close when they arrive.”

  Dread lined my insides.

  No time for jokes here. This was serious, and I locked eyes with Trent, raising one eyebrow, all villain-in-a-movie like.

  Okay. Who was I kidding? Jokes made the world go round. There was always room for at least one.

  He flushed, giving me a closed-mouth smile, and there he was: his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping like a self-conscious little schoolboy. Not today, Stan.

  Lauren led the way.

  Trent started to follow, but I grabbed his arm. My grip was cement. He didn’t even look at me. He took my hand, lifting it from his arm like it was cotton candy.

  He spoke, even as his eyes continued to follow his girlfriend. “Just hear me out when we get to our table. Okay?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. The asshat took off, knowing I had two choices: follow so I could get all the information, or leave, having only a gut feeling about what was going on here.

  I followed. There was a little Veronica Mars in me.

  As I wound through the couches behind them, I knew there could be only one reason Trent would lie to me—or I should say one person. One person who I knew was already in Chicago with us, and who I’d originally come to see anyway. But that was different—my timetable.

  And anyway, this person was someone who wouldn’t go out the night before a game, who was the epitome of professional because pro athletes had to be.

  So there had to be another reason Trent had brought me here. Right?

  Lauren was weaving around, taking us down a back hallway with the same decor as the main area of the club. It looked like an alley. Murals on the walls had been painted to give us a 3D image of the fire escape stairs that hung off the sides of apartment buildings. When we went past a door, a cityscape was painted on it as if we were passing a street.

  Lauren opened the one with a San Diego cityscape.

  We had our own box. A large booth in black leather lined the back wall, and a small table sat in the middle, with champagne already waiting for us. There was a large chandelier hanging above, and it was a little quieter here.

  Lauren went straight for the champagne, picking it up and opening it. “You guys ready for a fun night?”

  I harrumphed. Why, I had no idea. I just felt it.

  Trent threw me a look, turning to face me. “I don’t get why you’re mad. You came to Chicago to talk to Reese. I figure instead of waiting an entire night where you’re going to feel nervous—and I know you, you’d be trying to talk yourself out of seeing him—what does it hurt to catch him when he’s not guarded?”

  Because he didn’t know Reese.

  But really, did I?

  I did.

  The realization flared strong in me, growing firm. I did know Reese. I might not know all his idiosyncrasies, but I knew his favorite color. I knew what his brother was like. I knew he slept on the left side of the bed.

  I knew he was kind, and loving, and sensual, and could fuck amazingly.

  I knew he had never yelled at me, not once. He’d growled once or twice, but that was in the beginning and at the end. The latter had been deserved.

  I knew he took the time to answer my questions, no ma
tter how many I sent him.

  I knew he answered my call after he was already in bed, in a hotel with a roommate, and when he probably needed his sleep. He took the time to leave the room, go down an elevator with strangers, and seek out a place to talk to me because I was tipsy and wanted to chat.

  I knew he cared enough to tell me to have fun, but then worried whether I was going to be alone or not.

  I knew he cared enough to be nice to my camp friends, to speak on my behalf to the board, to help get my nemesis fired.

  I knew he didn’t want me to take a job just because I was up against a wall. He wanted to help so I only took a job if I truly wanted it.

  He’d asked me not only to come to Seattle for him, but also to New York.

  I knew I wasn’t a one-use girl to him. Or I hadn’t been.

  And I knew even though he hated what his brother did, he actually did care, and he’d help his brother if the circumstances were right.

  But one thing I didn’t know was his stance on second chances. Would he give me one?

  “But why would he come here tonight? He has a game tomorrow.”

  Lauren handed me a glass of champagne. “It’s a birthday party. One of the trainers, Aaron or something?”

  “Aiden?”

  “Yeah. Aiden. It’s his birthday, and the reservation came through that they’re only using the private suite above for a little bit tonight. They should be arriving soon, and we have another party holding it at midnight. They’ll be gone by then. It’s like a quick dip, in and out.”

  It was almost nine. That made sense.

  But knowing didn’t help, because a whole new fresh batch of nerves pounced on me. Good Lord. I contemplated my champagne—down it like the princess trucker I could be or shove it aside and head for the toilet? Both reactions assaulted me at the same time.

  Eyeing me, Lauren leaned close again. “You going to be okay?”

  “That’s a loaded question.”

  She moved back and shrugged. “Okay, but they’re here.” She nodded behind my shoulder, and I turned.

  They were like gods.

  There was no other way to describe it.

  Coming in, one by one and in pairs, they were heads over the rest of us. All eyes in the club went to them. A few mouths dropped. Some frowned, confused. Others scrambled for their phones and a frenzy began as they walked underneath the DJ booth bridge and toward us.

  Lauren nudged me, her head dipping toward what seemed like a throne room looking out over the entire club. It was like a huge black box sticking out from the wall, with one side open and stairs leading up to it. I couldn’t see all the way in, but I knew similar black leather couches likely lined the inside of it.

  A team of servers, clad in the same clothing as Lauren, led the way. Three of them carried bottles with sparklers coming out of them. A few others brought up the rear with more alcohol. It was all a show, but damn, it worked.

  I named the guys as they filed past us, walking up the stairs and taking their deserved seats over the club. Terry Bartlonguesen. Matthew Crusky. Beau Michems. Carzoni.

  I recognized Aiden. Lestroy had his arm around him, and Aiden was laughing.

  Some wore sharp business suits. Others were just dressed up, with pants to impress and custom-tailored shirts.

  One by one they came. Almost the entire team was here.

  I waited, the lump in my throat doubling as each player went past, not sparing us a look. We were within eyesight, but not in their way. Our booth was set back against the wall, whereas theirs was front and center, meant to be noticed, meant to be worshiped.

  A few more trailed in.

  Then, I felt a new frenzy begin on the nightclub pathway. People were migrating over from the dance floor, and I knew.

  More people came running back, their phones raised, so at first I didn’t see them. The lights were blinding against the dark and neon colors inside the club. Then a small clearing opened, and I could see both Juan and Reese…and Stan?

  Fucking Stan.

  I started growling. He was another Keith the Boss to me, but the effect was momentary because once I saw Reese, I couldn’t look away.

  Tingles shot through me.

  A buzz started low, simmering and building the closer he got. And at the same time, the lump in my throat moved down, choking me until I pushed it down to fall with a thud to the bottom of my stomach.

  My mouth dried.

  He looked so good.

  Faded jeans, a black shirt, the silver-tinted sunglasses, and a Thunder ball cap pulled low over his head, I’d never seen Reese more a celebrity than just now. His head was down, and there was a girl on his arm. I almost fell back when I saw her.

  God.

  Her little hands clung to his arm. She was hurrying to keep up.

  Juan and Stan were talking, moving at a more sedate pace toward the private box. Reese edged ahead of them, an urgency in his gait, as if he just wanted to get away. The girl teetered behind on her heels. It was like he’d forgotten she was there.

  She wore a bikini top with a ripped jeans miniskirt that barely covered her ass. As she stretched to catch up with Reese, I caught a glimpse of something lacy underneath. Her hair was blown out and her makeup was heavy.

  Skank.

  Okay. In fairness to her, she might not have been one. You never knew—but then she stuck her hand in one of Reese’s back pockets. She was definitely a skank.

  Pretty sure I was showing my front teeth as I growled. It was savage. I was scaring even myself.

  “Down, girl.” Trent pulled me to sit. He laughed in my ear, sitting next to me. “The girl’s not with him. He doesn’t even really know she’s there.”

  Yeah.

  He was up the stairs, looking for a seat.

  Trent was right.

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  Reese looked like he really didn’t know she was there, and then he sat down on the far end of the box, facing our direction—and she climbed right onto his lap.

  I started to surge to my feet.

  Trent clamped a hand on my arm, holding me in place. “Stop. Stop. She doesn’t mean anything.”

  I knew that. She was a fucking one-use girl, but that didn’t matter.

  Reese was mine.

  I leaned back against the seat. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and watch him get mauled.”

  “Well…” Trent kept his hand on my arm. “I don’t think you can get to him right now, so you’re going to have to. Try not to watch?”

  A gurgling laugh erupted from me. Yeah, right.

  He patted my arm. “Or focus on what you want to say? You’re here now. He’s here. Lauren’s done working for the night, so she’s hanging out with us. We’ll keep an eye out for you. If he goes to the bathroom, you can move in.”

  Lauren leaned over Trent, her boobs almost coming out of her corset top. “Completely. A few of my girls here know about the situation, and they’re all in to help set this up. Knowing someone who’s dating Reese Forster is a story no one wants to miss out on—what we can tell the grandbabies one day when Reese is in the hall of fame.” She raised her glass in the air. “And if anything, it’s an adventure.”

  An adventure. Right. It was my goddamn heart.

  But they were right. I had no other options here. I mean, I could send him a text…

  Fuuuck.

  I was doing it before I even fully comprehended I’d made the decision to do it.

  Me: What should I wear if I were going to go to a nightclub?

  Me: A fucking bikini top? Maybe just a bra around my crotch? Or only a thong?

  It was go-time now. I unleashed it all.

  I was typing the next as I watched him pull out his phone. He frowned at it, reading.

  Me: Or maybe just sunglasses? The silver kind.

  His mouth pressed down in a firm line, but he edged the girl off his lap, waving her away. One of the other guys snapped her up, and she went happily to his lap. Juan a
nd Stan were settled in the box by now. Both gave Reese a look, but when he leaned forward and started to type, they moved to the other side of the booth where the others were. Reese remained sitting off on his own.

  A part of me was glad to see that. Good. Stay like that, because you’re all mine.

  Oh, yes. My inner crazy stalker fangirl was back, but now she was possessive. I was all sorts of possessive.

  I wasn’t walking this time.

  A bitter taste soured my mouth as I kicked myself.

  Me: I never should’ve walked. I’m sorry. But…

  Me: What are your thoughts on second chances? Providing it’s not to an alcoholic brother who uses your name for stuff he doesn’t deserve?

  My phone buzzed back.

  Reese: Where are you?

  I grinned, slinking down in our box. He wasn’t even looking around the club.

  Reese: Are you in Chicago?

  Me: What about ex fucking? Positions on that? Pun intended.

  Reese: Where the fuck are you?

  Me: Pun intended?

  Me: I’m just saying yes for you. Good one.

  Me: Answer my questions.

  My body had heated up. A throb started between my legs, and I moved in my seat. I didn’t know what the end result would be, but I knew the chances of meeting up and having a quick fuck were extremely high. Whether he’d still want to talk to me afterwards was another matter.

  I held off, watching him stare at the phone. He wasn’t responding, but he wasn’t putting the phone away.

  Me: Answer me and I’ll answer you.

  He shook his head, but returned to typing.

  Reese: Fuck. You.

  Ouch.

  Still.

  Me: So you’re saying there’s a chance?

  A slight grin from him. He typed again.

  Reese: Where are you? I’ll come to you.

  Me: So you can ‘fuck. me.’??

  Reese: Yes.

  A whole burst of shivers moved down my spine, setting every cell on vibrate. I groaned, biting my lip.

  Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who was so messed up she could barely look at herself in the mirror?

  Me: Who hated herself so much because she was leaving behind someone who could no longer be next to her because a disease was eating him away, slowly, every goddamn day? What are your thoughts on that girl?