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“Are you all shagged out yet?”
“One day, Tristan, you’ll learn the art of vocal eloquence.” Shaking his head, Mack suppressed a smile. “What are you doing calling me on a Saturday afternoon? Did last night’s hotties not want to stay the weekend?”
Laughter, rich and self-deprecating, was his answer. “Oh, they did. Unfortunately for us all, two of them needed to report for duty at eleven a.m. and the other one thought she better get back to her husband before she forgot all about him.”
“Let me guess, the first two were police officers?”
“With what I did to them? Fuck no, I’d have been arrested in the first ten minutes. Even better, my friend, than women in blue.” There was the quick rasp of a lighter, the slow inhale from a cigarette. “Flight attendants, my boy. One blonde, one brunette, and the black-haired beauty of a housewife made three.”
“What, no redhead?”
“Too much spice. Those I prefer to handle one-on-one.”
Mack knew Tristan’s preferences all too well. Their days and nights of partying over fifteen years ago, drinking themselves into oblivion and picking up whatever willing girls would have them, had shown him his best friend had no exclusions when it came to the opposite sex.
He himself had grown out of the endless party routine, choosing to settle down by focusing his lust into a beast on a chain, and allowing his fledgling business to take flight to distract him from carnal pleasures.
That decision paid off in spades, but Tris hadn’t needed to establish himself. The family name did that for him, generations of wealth behind him, with an unlimited bank account to see him and his children, his children’s children, untouched by poverty.
Unless Tristan did something stupid like buy himself a country.
“Since when do you fuck married women?” Mack asked.
“When they’re thirty-seven, have hair like silk and a husband that can’t satisfy her needs on demand. Melinda,” he purred as though she were right in front of him. “High sex drive, no inhibitions, a pussy tighter than a closed fist. Perfection.”
“Mm-hmm. We both know if she left said husband and crawled into your bed naked, with a bucket list of sexual adventures clutched in her hand, there’d be a Tristan-shaped hole in the nearest wall.”
“Do you want to give me nightmares? Ugh.” The disgusted sound he made summed up Tristan’s view on love and commitment; fucking his way around the globe, swapping women like trading cards at a convention, was definitely his style. “Anyway, being roasted wasn’t the reason I’m calling. Why the hell haven’t you scored yet? It’s a kink club, Mack; sex is pretty much guaranteed.”
“It’s not a pool you just cannonball into, Tris.”
“Sure it is. Head first, feet first, cock first—whatever your preference.” Tristan heaved a disgusted sigh. “At least tell me you’ve got your eye on someone, even if you’re being a boring prick sitting at the bar with a glass of scotch.”
Amused, Mack tilted his glass to the side, studying the juice. He couldn’t even pretend the tart liquid was anything close to resembling hard liquor. “I wish I could.”
“Fuck, did you turn into a priest in the week since I last saw you?”
“No. You’re the one who resorts to dressing up to snag women, Tristan. I’m just more selective about where I put my dick.” In his opinion, his dick had a much more refined taste in women than Tristan’s. “I possibly did a… thing.”
“Definething.”
It was no good trying to define anything with Tristan’s often close-minded attitude toward love and attraction. In his world, if a female moved, breathed, possessed at least two brain cells to rub together, she was fair game.
His motto was essentiallydick first, heart never.
Mack preferred to find some hint of attraction, mutual or not, before bringing his equipment into the equation; in thisinstance, Sierra caught his attention on all fronts—something that had never happened to him before.
“Maverick,” Tristan cajoled in a sing-song voice. “Tell your friend whatthingyou’ve gotten yourself tangled in.”
“I met a couple.”
“A couple of what?” Eagerness replaced cajoling. “Hot subs? Two beautiful, voluptuous lesbians? Shit, no, that wouldn’t work. They’re bi, right? Bisexual, bicurious?”
“A couple, Tris. One man, one woman. Committed to each other.”
“Uh-huh, and how do you fit into the committed equation?”
It didn’t feel right divulging a past that didn’t belong to him. Mack felt privileged to be privy to it, but Tristan held no right to the information. Sierra and Liam deserved to have their privacy. “I’m joining them as their third.”
