Page 28 of Fast and Dirty
“I’ve never played before,” I admit. “I told him that, and when I turned out to have some kind of beginner’s luck or something, he lost his shit.”
West orders us both beers, which is nice, since I wasted the last of my BushyTail on assface. “He’s a dipshit, but he’s pretty good at darts. How’d you beat him?” West leans in, getting comfortable and somewhat close, I note.
“Pretended the target was Preston’s face.” I lift a shoulder and he laughs. It’s a gorgeous rumbling sound.
“You might be a natural,” he points out as our beers arrive.
We make idle, but comfortable chat for a few minutes before another handsome man approaches our table. God, this town is full of eye candy. The guy holds his hand up and they do that manly slap-shake thing that I never see the rich twats in my world do.
“You cutting out, man?” West asks him, and he nods before West introduces us. He’s toned and fit but not in a brickshithouse kind of way. More like his job keeps him exceptionally fit kind of way.
“Sorry you had to meet Dick - for - brains that way” he sighs, looking like he just wants this day to end.
“I was just asking her what happened,” West chimes in. “Apparently Ryans’ a sore loser.”
“Yeah, but that didn’t piss me off so much as when he grabbed my ass and suggested I let him tap it if he won the next game.”
Hunt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’m gonna hurt that boy,” he announces. “Then I’m going to fire him. Your offer still stand?” He asks West.
“Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll be as inclined after tonight.”
“Like you said, he’ll have no choice,” Hunt reminds him as he takes his leave.
“What offer?” I ask, after he’s gone.
“Long story.” West chuckles.
12
KIRA
“I’ll walk you home,” West tells me as I pass him through the door. He says it kindly, but it’s also clear it’s not up for debate. The gentle-and-firm cocktail sends a warm sensation straight to my loins.
“Thanks.” I fold my hands into the front pockets of my cut-off shorts. Side note: pockets are fucking awesome.
We adopt a leisurely stroll down the dark main stretch, illuminated by soft streetlights. West keeps pace with me, confidence in his strides.
“You look good,” he tells me, hooking a thumb in his jeans pocket. “I didn’t recognize you in the bar at first.”
“Thanks,” I smile coyly, looking down at my new-old Converse. “I feel good. It’s the first I’ve felt like myself, I think, ever.”
“Really?” He tilts his head up at me and I get another twinge at the sight of the scruff spread down his jawline. God have I been deprived. Exposed to nothing but stuck-up, clean-shaven suits that don’t like to get dirty or heaven forbid dress down in relaxed jeans and steel-toed boots.
“Yeah, I grew up under my father’s thumb. High SocietyChicago and all that, I wasn’t allowed to dress in any way that suggested otherwise.”
“Even after you turned eighteen?”
“Yeah, if I didn’t want to be kicked to the curb without a dollar to my name,” I sigh out. “Working a part time job at Burger Mack also wasn’t a good look, so it was unpaid internships or Daddy’s money. And he did send me and my sister to school, which was the biggest Catch-22 you’d ever heard of.”
“Oh?” He glances at me as we turn the corner.
“Yeah, we had to be well-bred and all that shit; educated. But not to the point where we could out-succeed any men. So he picked what we majored in.”
“Holy fuck, I thought my dad was a douche-rocket,” he muses, blowing out a breath and when I look up at him, I see him swallow hard and face forward as we continue to stroll. We aren’t touching, but the way our elbows occasionally brush each other makes shivers dance down my back.
“Why, what’s he like?”
“I don’t usually talk about it.”
