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“Here,” Ollie says, stepping closer to hand me a drink. “I bought you a drink.”
I take a sip of the amber liquid. The fiery burn of the whiskey tastes smoky on my tongue. “It’s an open bar.”
He smirks knowingly, and I laugh.
“What the hell is that?” I comment through squinting eyes as I see Cruz approaching us. He’s wearing an obnoxious gold tuxedo. “I didn’t even know they made suits that color.”
“It must be custom,” Ollie says, watching him walk closer.
“Would someone pay top dollar for that?” I ask.
Ollie chuckles. “Cruz would.” Then, when our teammate walks closer, he asks him, “What are you wearing, Cruz?”
Cruz puffs out his chest proudly and smooths a hand through his dark hair. “It’s fire, right?”
“Oh, I’d set it on fire all right,” I joke.
Cruz smiles, completely unbothered as he runs a palm down his lapel. “Don’t be jealous, Anderson. I’m just reminding all the women here of the golden prize they’ll be getting when they bid on me in the live auction later.”
Coop steps into our circle. He does a double take when he glances at Cruz. “What the fuck, Cruz? I need shades on to look at you.”
“Whatever, man,” he replies, his easygoing nature shining through. “You guys are just mad you can’t pull something like this off.”
“You think you’re pulling that off?” Coop says after taking a drink of his beer. “You need to can your stylist.”
Ollie chuckles.
“I don’t have a stylist,” Cruz proclaims proudly.
“Maybe you should get one,” Ollie murmurs under his breath.
“I put this together all on my own,” he adds.
Tempe joins our group. “There’s a huge turnout tonight,” he observes, his eyebrows arching as he studies Cruz, scanning our teammate from head to toe. He shakes his head, but doesn’t comment on the attire. He glances over at me. “You were involved with this charity back in Cali?”
“Yep.” I nod. “They’re a good group.”
“Was the Anaheim team involved too?” he asks.
“No.” I don’t elaborate, and Tempe doesn’t push me for more.
“So, you’re saying we’re gonna blow the West Coast out of the water in donations tonight from the auction,” Cruz states proudly.
“Everything is always a competition with you,” Coop notes.
They keep talking, but their voices fade into the background when the crowd parts and I see a woman step forward. It takes a moment for my brain to register that the woman is Emerson. Her hair is mostly down, curled into ringlets that brush the tops of her shoulders with one side secured above her ear with a sparkling clip. The curve of her neck is enticing as she arches back and laughs when Madison says something in her ear. Her makeup is still natural, but heavier than she usually wears. And her lips … they’re full and a luscious, deep red color that matches her dress.
But that dress …
She’s wearing a strapless number that hugs her curves, clings to her narrow waist, and flares over her hourglass hips to the floor. There’s a slit on one side that rises all the way to her upper thigh. It’s about an inch from being indecent, drawing my eyes to those forbidden glimpses of golden skin and making her legs look a thousand miles long. She’s wearing the highest of heels, which I’ve never seen her in before. Her calves look shapely and toned in them when her skirt shifts out of the way. She’s incredibly sexy.
I watch as she moves, more than one head turning to glance at her, their attention lingering when it lands on her. But her eyes are darting around when they aren’t stuck on the ground. Her hands are fidgeting nervously. She’s completely oblivious to her appeal, like always.
I want to take her into the coat closet and push the dress out of the way so I can see if she’s wearing panties beneath her dress. I want to lick along her collarbone and taste those lips again. I want to show her just how appealing she is, to make her feel beautiful and desirable, the way I see her. And mostly, I want her lying beneath me, looking up with those golden-brown doe eyes, begging me to relieve the ache I created in her. I want to show her how addictive my touch can be. But I won’t. Not yet. The wondering if it will happen, but not knowing might be even hotter than giving in to the desire right away—or at least that’s what I’m telling myself when my restraint wavers.
Ollie shifts and brushes my shoulder, but when I look over at him, he’s staring at Madison. I barely noticed her standing beside Emerson.
“Damn,” Ollie murmurs beneath his breath, his eyes stuck on his girl.
