my legs on the stool and since I value my nuts, I resist the urge to pull her between them. “Then why are your cheeks red?”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “Do you say everything that pops into your brain?”
“Pretty much.” My gaze moves over her pretty pink cheeks. “Oh, wait, maybe you’re not embarrassed. Maybe you’re arous—”
“So you don’t have a type,” she blurts out, cutting me off. “How about the one coming toward you right now. Twelve o’clock.”
I look the pretty girl over. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect clothes. “She seems very high maintenance.”
“Yeah, I think you might be right.”
“Hmmm, what about that one?” she says and I follow the direction she’s pointing.
I give a slow shake of my head. “Nope, she’s downing her drinks like she fears there’s going to be an alcohol shortage.”
“What about her friend?”
I study her body language for a second. “See the way she’s scanning the place, her hands braced by her sides?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“I’m pretty sure she fears we’re about to face a zombie apocalypse.”
Jules laughs out loud and when it dies off, she says, “What about the one coming right at you.”
I reluctantly tear my gaze from Jules and make eye contact with the blonde. I stiffen. Shit. I know where this is going, and I’m not in the mood—not when I’ve been having a good time here.
“What’s wrong?” Jules asks.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“I thought that was you, Rider,” the girl says, and puts her hands on my chest as she juts one hip out in a suggestive manner.
“Do I know you?” While I might not know her, I know her type, and I know what she’s after. But what’s really bugging me is Jules and I were having fun, and I wasn’t ready for that to end. Honestly, I haven’t laughed or joked like that with a woman in…ever.
The blonde gives a breathless laugh. “Not yet.” She runs her finger down my chest. “I’m Candy, by the way.”
“Of course you are,” I say.
“Want to get out of here? Go back to my place, or yours if you prefer.”
Wow, how fucking rude to act like Jules doesn’t even exist. Sure, she’s not the kind of girl usually found on my arm, but still.
“Candy, this is Jules. My fiancée.” I tap my leg, a gesture for Jules to take a seat.
Without even missing a beat, Jules takes my cue, sidles closer to me, and extends her hand. “Candy, it’s nice to meet you.” Goddammit, a woman with beauty and brains. If I weren’t a one-night kind of guy, I’d hang on tight to this one. But I’m not into tomorrows, so that’s a stupid thought.
Candy falters and stares at Jules’ hand like it’s about to grow a head and bite her.
“Yeah right,” she fires back, her eyes narrowing as her head bobs back and forth between the two of us.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Jules asks in a voice so sultry and smooth it could churn butter.
Candy’s head jerks back, her lips pursed so tight they’re beginning to turn white. “Rider Lewis, the NHL’s best wingman, does not date, or do commitments. Everyone knows that.”
In a move that displays possession, Jules settles between my spread legs and sets her sweet ass down on my left thigh.
She blinks innocently at Candy. “I guess I must have missed the memo.”