“Okay, if you say so,” he huskily says, pressing forward, closer. I lean back farther into the seat, not wanting his tantalizing mouth to get too close to my lips. He reaches over me, still holding that cute, sexy, I-get-what-I-want smile. He pulls back with my cell in his hand and stands up.
“Hey-” I grab for my phone, and he veers back from the golf cart, tapping my screen.
“There.” He hands the cell to me, and I snatch it from him. “Considering you don’t need my biological services, and you’ve stated that I’m not your type and there’s no way you could fall for a guy like me,” he crouches back down, again dangerously close to my slightly parted lips, “perhaps you’ll call me if you’re interested in my strictly platonic tour guide services.”
“Platonic,” I breathe out, then smooth my tingling lips together.
“Yes.” His eyes drop to my mouth for a brief moment, and I lick my lips trying to wash the tingle away. “You know,” he peers up at me through long lashes, “nonsexual.”
“Yes! Yes! I know what platonic means.” Yet I don’t think there’s anything nonsexual when it comes to Zeke Declan. Even now, he’s drawing heat into my blood.
He gazes into my eyes for a moment and all I feel is desire—hot, disobedient, sexual desire. “Okay, then, give me a call.” He stands then, and without looking back, he walks away.
I grip my phone with a smile. Rule number one, broken.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I toss back another shot of Jameson in an attempt to dull my exhaustion from babysitting Slate all night after Jax and I had to bring him back from a bad high via an ice-cold shower. Now, with the night off from JZS and no fight scheduled, I’m ready to get all liquored up. And in order to get a decent night’s sleep, besides getting drunk, I need to get laid but, fuck. All my cock wants is that sweet little Picasso. It’s going on four days and still, no call from the damn woman.
“Rusty.” I lift my shot glass. She scowls at me and pulls away from the bar where, bent over, she’s flirting with a pretty blonde. She twists around, grabs the Jameson off the shelf, and pours me another. “She’s straight, ya know?”
“No shit.” Rusty sets the bottle on the bar. “But some studies have shown that fifty percent of women have either made out with another woman or have fantasized about it. Being an expert and all with the ladies, I thought you’d know that, bitchmeat.”
“I didn’t.” I pick up the shot glass, give her a wink, and down the alcohol. “So,” I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, “you think Goldilocks over there falls in favor of your fifty percent?”
“I wouldn’t know ‘cause you keep callin’ my ass over here to refill your damn glass.”
“What, you sayin’ I’m pussy blockin’ you?” I laugh.
She places her palms on the bar. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She squints. “Hey.” She jabs her chin at me. “What are you doing sitting alone at the bar anyway? Shouldn’t there be a skirt or two hanging on you?”
Huh. She’s right. I glance around the bar. I haven’t had a chick hit on me yet tonight. Damn! Can the ladies sense my dogged cock is on a one-woman mission? Fuck that. I gotta get a grip on the beast in my pants, gotta get him wagging from some tail. Picasso can’t have this kind of impact on my dick, not if it’s going to block me from gettin’ laid tonight.
I spot one of Missy Mills’ friends, the blonde with big tits, the one with the fuck-me-now eyes. Even in that short little skirt and tight halter-top, fuck-me-now is doing nothing for me. Fuck. My dick must be broken. I wink at her before rounding back to Rusty.
“Yeah,” Rusty says, looks at the chick, and then smirks at me as she picks up the Jameson, “ya better lay off this shit unless you want whiskey dick tonight.”
I let go of a chuckle. Rusty knows what whiskey does to me and why I don’t normally drink it. But, apparently, my cock is already ruined. So what the hell; I snatch the bottle from her and pour myself another shot.
“Holy shit, Zeke!”
“What?” I glance at her, pick up the shot glass, down the burning whiskey, and then reach for the bottle again.
“No!” Rusty grabs the Jameson and holds it back away from me. “It can’t be,” she says as I stare at her, trying to figure out what in the hell she’s getting at. “I can’t believe it.” She laughs. “Oh, my God!” She laughs again, waving her hand. “The past few days ... uh-huh.” She nods. “Oh yeah, it all makes sense now.”