Page 12 of Dirty Player
“Your brother? Who?” A hand scrubbed down his face.
I didn’t take the time to explain. A rush of bodies pressed against us, giving me my opening.
I turned on my heels and trembling legs and got the hell off the floor, back to the VIP area and into the ladies’ restroom without looking back.
My back hit the wall of the bathroom and my hands went to my face before the door closed behind me. My fingers still shook from adrenaline and lust and desire when I pressed them to my temples.
I needed to get out of there.
I needed to leave.
How could I have ever been attracted to an asshole like Patrick, just in a prettier and sexier package?
All men were the same.
They thought with their dicks and thought women should bend to their will just because they flashed a wad of cash and the promise of an orgasm.
And fuck that, my fingers hadn’t let me down yet.
“Get yourself together,” I murmured to myself before I used the restroom.
When I was done, I splashed cool water on my wrists and my throat. My body was still heated. The memory of Powell’s body against mine. The sway of his hips. The size of his erection.
“Shit.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to vanquish the memories that were so brief they should have already disappeared, but they hadn’t. They were there, vivid and clear as day and equally powerful as the vision of Patrick pounding into a woman in a bathroom much like the one I was in at the moment.
The memory was a bitter slap to the face, better than any splash of cold water on my still-flushed skin.
I walked into the hallway with my head held high, my heels stable, and my resolve strengthened. Never again would I let a man use me and toss me to the side like Patrick had.
I would move on from him, but it would be with a man who knew how to treat a woman with respect, and had the ability to cherish them.
“Beaux’s your brother.”
The strained voice stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t turn to him.
“Yes.”
I waited for an apology I assumed would never come, and was surprised when it did.
“I’m sorry. I might have fucked that up down there.”
Might have? He’d essentially called me a whore. I spun on my heels until I faced him directly. With Oliver several feet away, his back braced to the wall, his hands on his hips, I barely had to tilt my head up to see him clearly.
“He was right about you, though. You’re a prick.”
A lip curled in response. “I said I was sorry.”
“Forgiven.” I turned around and walked back to Beaux. He had three teammates around him, women draped on their laps, but none on his.
His eyes were on me, his face holding that look of concern I was getting so, so tired of seeing on him.
“You okay?”
“Good. Ready to head home, though.”
He shot a look behind my shoulder and stood immediately. “What’d he say to you? I saw him follow you back to the bathroom.”
