Travis immediately turns his attention back to me, and in that moment I suddenly become aware of the pain in my ankle.
“Shit, I think I’ve broken my ankle.”
CHAPTER THREE
TRAVIS
––––––––
I might’ve been a little rough with Brooklyn. I stole the idea from Parker, and honestly it didn’t work out quite as smooth as his calculated meet-cute.
I’ve injured her.
There goes my cheeky joke about liking it rough. No one here is going to appreciate it.
Now that she’s here in the flesh, I can see that Brooklyn is much smaller than I was expecting. The camera adds pounds and all that.
She’s at least five foot five, but tiny as fuck. By the look of her tanned, taunt abs, I’d say she hasn’t eaten a hamburger in a very long time.
Sexy, yes, but so is watching a woman eat.
I like my women with curves.
I glance around and spot a few men watching her and am taken aback by the sudden and strong urge to tug her blazer closed and tell her to cover the fuck up. Like I’m her damn father.
What is wrong with me? I own a damn sex club.
My game is getting clothes off women, not the opposite.
But if I got her alone, I’d been ripping them off.
She might be tinier in the flesh, but she’s also a thousand times more gorgeous. Her blonde hair is shiny and wavy, and intelligent, sparkling blue eyes challenge me with every glance.
My cock has been hard since the moment our eyes locked.
“I think I’ve broken my ankle.” Brooklyn begins to hop.
“What? You just walked over here.” I frown.
“Oh, no! I’ll get Sam,” Milly says, and disappears to get whoever Sam is.
“Are you a doctor?” Those blue eyes deepen in their challenge.
“No, I—” I start, then concede. “No.”
Her brows shoot up allthen shut the hell up.“Well, thanks for the drink, but I think I’d rather get a professional opinion.”
Brooklyn eyes a table nearby, and I stiffen. I’m not going to all this trouble to meet her and set this plan in motion only for her to brush me off.
I need her to pursue this story about my father and make sure he does not get his Hollywood star. And totally destroy him.
But one step at a time.
“Come on.” I loop my arm around her lower back and help her over. I pull out a chair, and she sits as Sam, I assume, walks over with our drinks and Milly in tow.
He places them on the table and hands her a pack. “Ice.”
Typical bartender, he has his shirt open, tats on display, and looks like he could please a woman in bed while scrolling TikTok. Milly looks like she’d offer to give it a go if only he’d pay attention.
