“I didn’t ask, and I don’t too much care.”
“I didn’t think it was rude to ask you that. It’s just a question to get to know someone. You’re defensive.”
“If you say so.” He yawned as he checked his wallet to ensure he’d placed his I.D. back inside of it, then slipped it back in his pocket.
“Do you take recreational drugs?” She burst out laughing, as if that were somehow amusing. “You seem a bit high strung is all. Are you okay? Should I call for help?” She took the water from the bartender and smiled smugly. “Thank you.”
I don’t give a shit how pretty she is. I don’t care if her head game is otherworldly, or how wet and tight the pussy might be. I didn’t even come up in here to find someone to smash. I get that opportunity wherever I go, but I’m not even in the mood. It’s been a messed-up week, and a messed-up day. I’m trying to clear my mind… I don’t have time for this shit.
He swallowed down the things he really wanted to say. The cruel, verbally violent words he was known to toss into the ring of fire and force his adversaries to choke on the smoke. Deciding she wasn’t worth any more of his time or energy, he waved goodbye to the woman, then made his way to the small area where people were dancing and laughing, having a good time. He saw more familiar faces and yelled over the music, trying to catch up with folks but not get caught up in conversations about his recent cameo appearances on the evening news.
Jack Harlow’s, ‘Churchill Downs,’ featuring Drake started to play through the blasting speakers. Everyone got hyped up at that point. Jack Harlow was a skyrocketing rapper out of Kentucky—the ’Ville, to be exact. He was their very own home-grown sensation.
“Louisville in tha house! Louisville in tha house!” People began to chant the lyrics to the song. He started to sway to the music, arms up, lost in the rhythm and happy as the crowd got thicker. A woman approached him, stars dancing in her lustful eyes. Her dark brown hair hung to her shoulders, and her lips were unusually juicy and big, reminding him of one of the Kardashians. Her breasts were practically spilling out of her tight white shirt, and her jeans hugged her curves like a vehicle on an old country road. Getting close, she began whispering in his ear, something about taking her home…
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted English dancing with some guy. She’d taken her jacket off, and a tiny shred of something green and awkward, a kernel of jealousy, sprouted from his inner Earth. He could see her shape better now… and damn did she look good. All of that was hidden under that coat? Damn, baby.
She was laughing and swaying her body in a sexy way while the goofball she was draped around looked desperate and thirsty, but not for beer or the sauce off the chicken wings. Axel scanned her body real slow, from her head to her heels, then back up again. That was when she swung her head fast in his direction, stuck out her tongue, and winked.
Busted.
He quickly turned away, laughing. He’d been set up and had. She knew he’d been looking the whole time, acting interested, despite the words they’d exchanged. Something about her got his engine revving. She was annoying and intriguing all at once. A beautiful woman with brains turned him into a puddle. He was used to smart women, and he craved to be able to not only seduce and fuck a woman he desired, but also to have meaningful conversations with her. He had a feeling she was far from a dingbat, who couldn’t teach him shit. Such a woman would only be good for one night. But a woman that could hold her own and was intelligent… well, she could last a lifetime.
When he came back to reality, the one with the Kardashian lips was glaring at him with her arms crossed. Rolling her eyes, she then stormed off. I guess it was obvious my attention was elsewhere… He tossed up his hands and continued to enjoy the music for a while, then, feeling thirsty, returned to the bar and knocked back two more beers. He followed that with a game of darts with his buddy Greek—a nickname given to him because his last name was Papadopoulos, even though he swore up and down he wasn’t from that country.
“He had the whole year to turn it around!” Greek yelled, going off about one of the Cincinnati Bearcats.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to see Melanie standing there, her hand on her hip.
“Did you and English get a chance to talk?”