The alcohol and the blow to my pride must’ve really fucked with me.
“You lied,” I say, my irritation evident in my tone.
I narrow my eyes on the bastard as he scrambles to put his phone in his pocket, nearly dropping it.
“Why, Bass?”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” he admits.
“Doesn’t answer my fucking question. Why do I have your girl’s number in my phone when it could be in yours?”
I’m not sure why I’m so pissed he lied about something so small. He’s probably too much of a pussy to talk to her himself.
Bastian shifts uncomfortably before blowing out his cheeks and finally telling me what I already knew.
“I don’t know how to talk to her yet.”
Right, a pussy.
“You trust me to have her number?”
Bastian’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at my question. Maybe me having Mila’s phone number could be an advantage for me. Then again, bro code and all that bullshit.
“Call it a test.”
Without another word, Bastian stalks past me and out of the club. I groan in response and order one last drink before heading home.
Blondie and her friends treat me to several glares while I sip my scotch. I might be wallowing in my own bruised ego, but I can’t help chuckling at her broken pride.
DRINKING DONE, I CAN’T get out of The Emerald fast enough. Rain batters my windshield as I careen down the city streets. I usually stick to the busier areas, but with my need to drink more within the privacy of my home, I decide to take the back roads on the rougher side of the city to get there faster.
This side of town is pretty dodgy, and, as late as it is, I’m surprised I don’t see drug deals going down and scum hanging out. The rain hardly deters the lowlifes; they take any chance to play they take it, and nighttime is prime time.
Turning on a final side street before making my way back onto the highway, I spot a woman running along the side of the road. She’s too far away to see any details, but I can tell she’s small in tight black shorts and a green sports bra.
It’s the middle of the fall season. In DC, it’s not uncommon to get all four seasons in the same week, but tonight is a typical fall night—cold. Add the rain, and it’s definitely not the weather to run half-naked around the city streets.
In the middle of the night, in a dangerous area, no less.
As I mutter to myself about the sheer idiocy of some people, I get closer to the woman. She has one hell of a body on her, and that plump fucking ass is a weapon in itself.
Well, goddamn.
Under the streetlamps, the familiar tattoos that wrap around her back to her front come into focus. Shoulder-length jet-black hair hangs in loose, wet waves.
Mila.
What the hell is she thinking?
I stomp on the gas, passing her to find a spot to park. A few blocks down, I throw my car in park and hop out, leaning against the hood and wait for her to catch up. With her long, confident strides, it doesn’t take long.
“Dangerous area, don’t you think?” I question as she starts to pass me.
Without turning to look at Mila, I feel her stop, taking a few moments before walking back towards me.
“I see the car matches the owner. Screams douchebag,” she taunts with a laugh.
I push off my car and round it to come face-to-face with her. That statement is downright offensive with the pussy I’ve gotten from this car alone. A custom-built, matte-black GT screams power. Maybe it’s a little showy, but I am a man after all, and this beauty is my fucking baby.