Sidelined (2 page)

“Gotcha!” Ryann yells in my ear, laughing.

“Fuck you, bitches!” I shriek, but I’m laughing, too. I’m laughing and I’m singing and it’s so damn perfect that my heart swells with love for both of them.

We dance our way through it, and it’s the best freakin’ fun I’ve had in weeks. Just stopping and letting loose for five seconds… Hell. I didn’t know how much I needed those three or so minutes with them.

Song after song, we sing, we dance, we laugh, and we smile. Song after song, I let go a little more.

After thirty minutes and too many songs, our feet throb and we head toward the bar. Simultaneously, we drop onto stools, still laughing.

“Shit!” I wipe my forehead and wave to the bartender. “Three margaritas!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he salutes, which makes Ryann giggle, and turns away.

Thirty dollars appear on the bar, and we all look up at Corey. “S’on me, girls.”

I reach across Ryann, grab his thirty dollars, and stand. “Nuh-uh. It’s illegal to buy drinks on your birthday.” I slap the bills against his chest, grinning.

“Fuck,” he mutters, taking the money. “Got me, Mace.”

I grin sassily and turn away. My ass touches my stool again just as the drinks are placed in front of us.

“Ain’t my birthday,” a rich, deep voice says from behind me.

I freeze.

“Or mine,” Leah interjects, shoving her credit card at the bartender. “Better put another round on that.”

Jack leans over behind me, his chest brushing my shoulder, and snatches Leah’s card out of the bartender’s hand. Then he throws it at her. “Cor? You want a drink, birthday boy?”

“I guess. Bud,” Corey answers, shrugging.

I glare at him.

“Add two Buds onto that,” Jack orders. “Bottled.”

The bartender puts two uncapped bottles onto the thick glass surface.

“And another round,” Jack instructs, handing him
his ca
rd.

“Minus a cocktail,” I add as the bar guy turns away. “I’m on my last.”

“Keep the cocktail.” His voice growls from behind me, and his hand rests between my shoulder blades. “Ms. Kelly has more stubbornness than she does manners.”

I clench my jaw shut, grab my glass, and take a long drink. When I look at it, half of the liquid is gone. Maybe I’ll need that second fucking glass after all.

I shrug my shoulders in a bid to get Jack to let go of me, but he ignores it, and his hand stays firmly planted on my upper back.
Motherfucker.

“Well, thanks, Jack,” Ryann says, breaking the silence among the five of us, and then turns to Corey. “You having a good day?”

“It’ll be better in a few hours.”

Leah’s hand promptly slaps his chest. “Watch it, cowboy. I never promised you a thing.”

“Darlin’, you took my house key not an hour ago. You’re promisin’ me a shit-ton of crap.”

“You have a key to his house?” I spin and stare at her. “Why was this not mentioned sooner?”

“Uhhh, Corey gave me a key to his house and said I can move in if I want,” Leah elaborates. As soon as she finishes speaking, she raps her knuckles on the bar and orders three tequila shots, handing over her credit card. Her eyes cut to me as the glasses, salt shaker, and lemons are placed in front of us.

I shake some salt onto the back of my hand and grab the glass. I throw the harsh shot into my mouth. Swallow. Suck lemon. Lick salt. And then I say, “I’m sorry. What?”

“Oh, kiss my ass!” Ryann jabs my shoulder. “Leah, do whatever the hell you want and don’t listen to Ms. Cynical over here. Just get her another margarita and I’m sure she’ll forgive you for committing to, well”—she glances at Corey—“such a fine piece of ass.”

I laugh.

“Shit!” Ryann claps her hand over her mouth and shoves her glass across the bar. “Take it. Take the damn alcohol before I get really crazy.”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek. “Done.” She grabs the glass and empties it into her mouth. “Double done.”

“Whoa, babe,” Corey interrupts. “I need you in control for later.”

“Can we get these two a room?” I ask the bartender. “Not that I’m insinuating that you’re this kind of establishment, but calling her mom would have the same effect.”

“Babe, you’re in a club,” Jack says into my ear. “You think you can call her mom?”

“Can I have that second one after all?” I lift my glass, and then I finish it.

Shit. This isn’t how I planned this. He isn’t supposed to be anywhere near to me.

Especially not fucking touching me.

Again, I wriggle. Instead of keeping his hand on my back, he slides it up and around the side of my neck. His thumb slips beneath my hair and strokes the back of my neck while his fingers curl over my pulse point and tease my collarbone. My skin tingles.

“Get off me,” I mutter, swapping glasses.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he mutters back, smiling against the side of my head.

“I’m gonna go dance,” Ryann announces. “Leah, Corey? You wanna come dance?”

“To fuckin’ Whitney Houston?” Corey raises his eyebrows.

“Nothing wrong with Whit,” Leah implores, standing and grabbing the front of his shirt—as if her sharp tone weren’t strong enough.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I shout, turning my head when they walk behind me and disappear.

“Smart,” Jack whispers, resting his forearm on the bar.

“Uh.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, baby.” He steps closer, his fingers twitching, his breath ghosting across my neck. “At least, you ain’t fuckin’ moving until you’ve told me why you’re avoiding me.”

“Isn’t it obvious? You and I are cut from the same cloth, Jack. We don’t do the post-sex thing.”

“Yet here we are.”

“It’s unfortunate.”

“That what you call it?” he laughs, low and husky.

“Yep.” I drink.

“Put the drink down, M,” he whispers. “It’s fucking with you.”

“Really? I thought that was you fucking with me,” I respond, turning to him and pressing a hand against his chest. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Like, right here. Literally.

“It’s my best friend’s birthday.” He smirks. “Why’ve you been staring at me all night like you wanna suck and bite my cock simultaneously?”

“I assure you it was the latter.”

“Sure it was.” Jack steps closer to me again, and I grab my glass with the hand closest to him so I don’t grab his ass or something, ‘cause, shit. He has a sweet-as-hell ass.

“It was.” I drink. Again. Where the hell are my girls? “I feel like dancing.” I finish the glass and twist my body away from his.

His hand finally falls from me as I stalk toward and then down the stairs. I slip into the moving crowd, but I’ve barely moved my hips when two large, strong hands clasp me and tug me backward. The wall of muscle my back slams into is solid, and I exhale on a whoosh even as I close my fingers against the ones clasping my hips.

“Nice try, baby,” Jack says into my ear. “Run if you want. I’m a running back. I’ll chase you and catch you every fuckin’ time.”

“Sounds like a promise you can’t keep, doll,” I reply, my breath catching when he moves my hips against his.

“Sounds like a promise you’re afraid of.”

I laugh and shove his hands away from me. I turn to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes blaze bright green—so fucking bright that they’re close to blinding me every time the strobe lighting coasts across his face. And, shit, it does it so many times, and every time, it illuminates every line and curve of his perfectly sculpted jaw.

“You wish, Jack Carr. You fucking wish.”

His hands snatch mine and he pulls me through the crowd. I fight his hold, but his grip is too tight. My heart pounds as he drags me through the hall with certainty, and two minutes later, I find myself pressed against his goddamned car in the parking lot.

“What the fuck?” I shout, shoving at him.

He grabs my hands once more and pins them over my head, effectively bending me backward on the hood of his SUV. “What the
fuck
?” he replies, leaning into me, his voice low. “Is that hard or soft, quick or slow, deep or shallow? ‘Cause, baby, I can fuck you all six of those ways in one go.”

“None of them,” I snap. “What the fuck as in: What the fuck, asshole?”

“Oh, that what the fuck.” He bends forward a little more. Until his mouth is against my ear and his hard body is pressed right up against mine. “Maybe it’s the what the fuck I felt when I felt your eyes on me all night. Maybe it’s the what the fuck I felt when you looked at me like you wanted to fuck me one minute then slice my balls in two the next. Maybe it’s the what the fuck you’ve got in your eyes while you let me lay my body over yours in a motherfucking parking lot seconds after I ask you
how
you want to be fucked tonight.”

“I don’t want to be fucked,” I reply, doing my best to slam my hands onto his hood. I fail.

Shit. He’s so strong that I can’t even twist my hands in his grip.

“Baby, your body says otherwise.”

“My body is an impulsive fuckwit.”

“Your body knows me.”

“Again, my body is an impulsive fuckwit.”

“You never did say.” He breathes against my jaw and brushes his lips against my skin. “How do you want to be fucked?”

He tilts his face into my neck and kisses. Oh, hell, he kisses my neck, right beneath my jaw where my chin meets my neck, and I pause.

“Get in the goddamn car,” he orders, releasing me.

“Excuse me?” I push up and stare at him.

“Get in the goddamn car,” he repeats, pulling his door open and staring me. “Or do I hafta throw you into it?”

“I am not getting into your car!”

He slams his door shut and rounds on me. I step backward, but he’s too quick, and he wraps an arm around my waist. My body slams into his yet again as he opens the passenger’s-side door of his SUV and throws me into it.

“Get. In. The. Goddamn. Car.”

“This is kidnapping!”

He slams my door, and I both see and hear him laughing as he walks to the driver’s side. “Sure it is, baby. I’m startin’ the engine now, so you got ten seconds to get the hell out before I drive. One… two…”

I narrow my eyes as he continues to count.

“Seven, eight, nine…ten.”

I jolt back into my seat as he pulls onto the main road.

“Now it’s fuckin’ willing.”

“Your mouth is awful,” I retort, even though I know for a fact that my mouth isn’t much better.

“You weren’t complaining when my mouth was on your pussy and licking you into oblivion.”

“I’m a faker.”

“And I’m a damn virgin.” He pauses at the intersection and turns to me, his forearm resting over the top of his steering wheel. “Baby, I ain’t got a clue what your fuckin’ problem is with me, especially tonight, but you can kiss its sweet ass goodbye. ‘Cause by time we’re done here, I’ll have fucked you six ways til next Sunday and made you come fifty times til next year.”

His words slam into me and I inhale sharply. “Or you could get the picture and leave once you’ve taken me home.”

“Or you could stop denying yourself somethin’ you clearly want and shut the fuck up so I don’t have to pull over and make you.”

“If you think your attitude is sexy, you’re mistaken.”

“And if you think yours is, you’re right.”

I narrow my eyes to glare at him. “Is this a sick form of foreplay to you?”

He laughs. “No foreplay with you is sick, M. I should know.”

“Oh, because you’ve done it twice?”

“No. Because I close my eyes and I can still feel your mouth wrapped around my cock.”

I resist the urge to punch the smug grin off his face. “Well, news flash, honey: if you put that thing anywhere near my mouth tonight, it’ll be my teeth around it.”

Another laugh leaves him, and we pull up outside my apartment block. Jack kills the engine, unbuckles, and leans toward me.

“You changed your tune pretty quick.”

“Yeah, well.” I unclip my belt and face him. “We’re here now, and I could really do with an orgasm that isn’t provided by batteries.”

His hand reaches out and grips the back of my neck, pulling my face to his. Our noses brush, and my lips part at the sensation of his breath on me.

“Now, one day,” he murmurs, twitching his fingers against my skin, “that’s somethin’ I’d love to see.” He presses his lips to mine—hard—and then releases me. “But for now, get your sexy ass up those stairs and into your apartment.”

He releases me with such force and power that I have no choice but to grab the door handle, tug it, and shove the door open. I swing my legs out and climb out gingerly—five-inch heels are not conducive to jumping from cars.

“Sometime today, baby,” Jack says before pulling me into his side and slamming the door. He glances at my feet. “Now I understand, and those fuckers are staying on.”