God, he is in good shape.
And bedhead looks extra-good on him.
2
Killian
Violet comes out of the bathroom barely covered by a red towel, her raven hair wet and when she sees me, her chocolate brown eyes go wide and her cheeks as red as the unfortunate fabric covering her hot little body. She has got a killer body. I know she has a killer smile, too, but I haven’t seen enough of it since being here. I vividly remember it from the night I first saw her. That smile and those dimples are still imprinted on my memory.
The shy smiles she’d given me the night before were cute, but not beaming like they’d been that night when she cut up the dancefloor in sexy red sky-high heels with her girlfriends, all that dark hair whipping around, her arms above her head with a carefree sway that had my eyes just fucking glued to her.
He saw me looking and spoke first. Fucker made that bet with me. Never should’ve taken that goddamn bet. A jerk of my chin sealed it. He’d flipped that coin as he called it and then showed me the result before he smirked, then strode over to ask her to dance and get her number. I wasn’t surprised he got her attention. The guy always had sway with the ladies. It just never stuck, probably because he liked to play with girls as much as he liked to play games for money.
Kicked myself afterwards. Immediately. Pissed myself off so much I had to leave. Wouldn’t continue to watch what unfolded when he stepped up beside her and whispered in her ear.
Her eyes lit up and she laughed, throwing her head back. He twirled a lock of her dark hair around his index finger and then said something else. Her eyes moved toward me for a split second, but they never landed, because when I saw him put his mouth to her earlobe again and I watched her shiver, I was fucking outta there.
I was surprised to find out she’s still with him. Surprised is an understatement. That’s why I came back here last night with him – curiosity about her. How had he gotten a quality girl like the one I’d seen that night to stay with his sorry ass for three fuckin’ years?
Raymond never had a problem catching their eye. But he wasn’t the kind of guy you expected a quality girl to go the distance with. I expected to see she was actually not a quality girl, that I’d been wrong. She’d be a mess. Mentally or vapid. Or not nearly as beautiful outside the lights of that nightclub.
Yeah, I guess you could say I’d been sour about taking that bet, then losing it to Raymond Iadanza of all people, so I hoped to come here and see that no… I’d been wrong. She wasn’t a catch.
The last time I’d seen him was about a month after that night. I’d run into him in a strip joint and I’d asked him what’d happened with the knockout brunette from the bar, and he’d gone on about her being the sweetest piece of ass he’d ever had. He said she had a good job, took great care of herself, gave world-class head, and that she was sweet to him.
“Too bad she’s got shitty taste in men. There’s her flaw,” I’d busted his balls.
“Naw, man, I’m hustlin’. On my best behavior so I get “in there”. I think I could fuckin’ marry this girl. She’s got it together, brah. Goals. Smarts. Sexy. Even does my fuckin’ laundry.”
I’d spit my beer out, in hysterics at that. When I recovered from a choking fit I’d said, “You get that knockout to marry your sorry ass and commit to washing your shitty drawers for the rest of her life? I might pay to see that.”
“Yeah? How much?”
He wasn’t even insulted. Iadanza was always looking to gamble. The guy had one of the worst gambling addictions I’d seen. And since I’d been bookmaking since I was sixteen years old; I’d seen it all. Back when we grew up in the same shitty apartment complex, played in the same park, shootin’ hoops at the same court as well as hung out in the same circles until seventeen or eighteen years old, I really only tolerated the goof because he made me money on his gambling. I’d left the ‘hood shortly after he left me waiting too long for a payback and I nearly had his kneecaps shattered.
“Ten-grand.” I laughed.
“Done.” He held out a hand for a shake.
I didn’t shake on it. I think I said, “Get the fuck outta here!” And he’d laughed on his way out the door, telling me he was heading home to lay some pipe.
I felt sour. And mildly jealous for a split second, which was not my style. And I remembered that feeling when I ran into him again last night, which is what brought me to his place. Curiosity. I had to see for myself that she wasn’t what I’d remembered. Wasn’t the one that got away. Because something about her that night… it took me a few days to shake the sour at the idea I let her go because I didn’t stop the shithead from a coin toss.