Running Game(132)

Goddammit, I want him.

I want him BAD.

And the worst part is…he knows it.

As my throat grew tight and my cheeks reddened, I became suddenly aware that I was still dressed for work… Barely. My shirt was torn half open by the bikers, exposing the pink bra beneath. The miniskirt had hiked itself up my thighs as I patched Trent up. Now I was sitting in bed beside the hottest hunk of man flesh I’d ever laid my eyes on.

And the very same man had an infuriating, damning look plastered on his face. I could feel it, burning down in his gaze as he looked at me.

That smug look that just screamed victory.

Fuck me.





7





Trent





This bartender chick was putty in my hands, gazing at me with widened eyes and heaving breasts. Her lips subtly formed that slight little ‘O’ that I like so much, and I couldn’t help but smile deeper.

She only seemed more aroused.

But I wasn’t going to overplay the charm.

My knuckles brushed lightly against her cheek, pushing a few strands of hair aside. She quivered beneath my touch, her eyes locked onto mine.

“Thank you for cleaning me up,” I whispered.

“Mhmm,” she nodded softly.

“How could I possibly repay you?”

“You’ll…think of something.”

“I think I already have.”

I leaned down towards her.

Down towards my prize…

And suddenly, the distant clang of a door.

She leapt up from the bed, from me, and hesitantly wandered to the doorway. With a hand against the wall, she carefully peered out.

A voice called out, distantly.

“Angel… Angel?”

It was the sound of an old man, older and raspier than the bikers. Sounded like it was probably an old bag of bones, at least from first impression.

At his calling, she immediately left.

So, THAT’S her name, I thought to myself. It was fitting…

It was only then that I realized that I’d never learned it. Any immediate shame got dismissed with a quick shrug. Hell, half the groupies I’d fucked never had a name to their faces.

And the ones that did…well, I usually forgot those names by the morning.

I let a few moments idly saunter past, waiting for her to come back and tell me that everything was fine. As the seconds dragged on to minutes, I realized that this was a little more serious…

I couldn’t make any out any of the conversation from back here, but it sounded like the intruder and my improvised medic were having quiet the emotional chat.

Grumbling, I slowly rose from the bed.

She had been right here.

She was going to be mine.

My muscles ached, and I ignored how they snarled in pain. Steadying myself against the wall, I took a few injured steps, finally making it to the doorway.

Fuck. I’m in worse shape than I thought.

Entering the hallway in a slight hunch, I was able to limber up a little with each consecutive step. By the time I rounded the corner, crossed a storage room, and came to where they were, I could move far easier.

It was the bar.

The bar?

“I thought you said we were at your place,” I complained to Angel, who was speaking to some old, grumpy looking bastard of a man. They both immediately turned to me with mutual shock, their conversation temporarily forgotten.

The old geezer looked indignant.

What is he, her grandfather?

“This…is my place,” Angel replied, her eyes full of surprise and embarrassment. “This is where I work, and where I live… home sweet home! And what the hell are you doing up?”

“Angel,” the decrepit old man addressed her, his withering gaze locked disdainfully onto me. “Would you care to explain why a shirtless man is back there with you, in my bar, after hours?”

“I was telling you that someone saved me,” she answered. The look on her face told me that she was furious that I’d revealed myself.

Tough shit.

She continued, waving her hand in my direction. “Well, this is that someone.”

“I…see.” He turned to her, a disappointed look plastered across those old wrinkles. “So, in exchange for rescuing you, you just thought that you’d throw this stranger a little pity fuck?”

Angel was visibly stunned.

“Hey,” I told him. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but don’t you dare talk to her like that.”

The man chuckled. “Got a mouth on you, too. I’ll have you know that Angel lives here, rent-free, under a few conditions. Rule number one, no boys.”

“I’m not a boy,” I growled.

“Yes…I can see that,” he observed, his withered glance sliding along my muscles. “And that’s even worse.”

He turned to face her, and she wilted under his angry gaze.