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If one more girltouched my dick uninvited, I was going to start screaming.
Now I was all for a little hand and mouth—and, okay, definitely pussy—action where my cock was concerned, but haven’t these women ever heard of consent? We were in aclub, for fuck’s sake, and notthatkind, either.
My buddy Aaron must’ve noticed the look on my face when the latest one removed her hand from my groin, the one that said I was seconds away from bailing if I had to endure much more of this, because he quickly shoved another shot into my hand, clinked his glass against mine, and said, “To Cal!”
And, okay, I supposed I couldn’t exactly leave my own celebration early, could I?
I tossed back the liquor, reveling in the way it burned all the way down, until it hit my stomach and the warmth spread. Mentally, I shook out my arms and legs, cracking my fingers and preparing to settle in for a long night.
Truthfully, I was excited to be here. Like I said, this wasmycelebration.
After finishing grad school two years ago, I’d moved out to Napa Valley and took an internship, that then turned into a glorified assistant’s position, under one of the big winery’s Chief Financial Officers. The pay was garbage—unless you counted endless free bottles of wine as a solid trade for sometimes wondering how I was going to pay my bills—but the experience more than made up for it. And when a friend sent me the job posting for a CFO position here in Michigan, I jumped at the chance to return to the Midwest. I’m originally from Wisconsin, but I moved to Michigan for college and fell in love with the area. This night out was a coming home party for me, and a celebration of my new position as Chief Financial Officer for one of the oldest and most successful wineries in all of Michigan.
I’d nearly shit myself multiple times during the interview. The CEO of the company was an intimidating bastard, and I had been terrified my answers to his questions hadn’t been sufficient enough. No one was more surprised than me at the end of the interview when he stood, refastened the button on his suit jack, extended his hand to me, and said, “Welcome aboard.”
As simple as that.Welcome aboard.At twenty-eight, I had officially secured my dream job.
That had been a week ago, and the surrealism still hadn’t worn off.
Four days ago, I’d taped shut the last box in my apartment in Napa, loaded it into the moving truck, and caught an Uber to the airport with enough clothes and toiletries to last me until the rest of my things arrived. Two days ago, they had, and I’d been spending endless hours settling into my new home in a condo not far from this bar.
Fortunately, I still had a few friends in the area from my college days, and when I began to go stir crazy staring at the same blank white walls, I called them up, and we agreed to check out this new club, Lawless. It had recently opened and was apparently owned by Owen Lawless, former—now retired—Detroit starting quarterback.
Unfortunately, there were people everywhere, and I was chafing a bit from the constant unwanted physical contact. Women had repeatedly sloppily poured drinks down my jeans or thrown up on my shoes when they couldn’t make it out of the crowd fast enough, not to mention the not-so-subtle cock groping.
Yeah, tonight was not going well.
After the latest vomit incident, I left the group to head to the bathroom and clean up. I was wearing my favorite pair of suede loafers, and I was already planning a small funeral service for them in the morning, when I woke up, studied them in the light of day, and inevitably deemed them a lost cause. Still, I was stuck with them until I got back to my apartment, so I wetted a paper towel and mopped them up as best as I could.
I washed my hands and dried them on my jeans—because I’d unwittingly used the last of the paper towel on my shoes—then exited the restroom, taking a moment in the hall outside to allow my eyes to readjust to the dimness. Still blinking, I started making my way back out to the main room when the door to the women’s room opened and a girl stumbled out, plowing her head right into the center of my chest. Instinctively, I threw my hands out to steady her.
“Fuck,” she breathed, rubbing her forehead. “Are you wearing armor or something?”
“Uhm…no?”
“Your chest is hard as a rock,” she said, and reached out, placing her palm atop one of my pecs, unabashedly feeling her way around. “Fuck.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said dismissively, though she still hadn’t lifted her head. “I just…how often do you work out? Your pecs are ridiculous.”
At last, she looked up at me, and based on how little she had to crane her neck to meet my eyes, I put her somewhere in the five seven to nine inch range. But I forgot all about the height difference the moment our gazes locked, because…holy shit.
Her eyes, fringed by thick lashes coated in mascara that I was willing to bet she didn’t need and lined with kohl and glitter, were the most peculiar and stunning shade of hazel I’d ever seen. Hazel typically presented as a combination of brown-gold and green, but hers were all gold, shining brightly even under the near-complete absence of light in this dingy hallway. They were pools of honey I wanted to drown in.
Vaguely, I remembered she’d asked me a question, but as her slightly open mouthed stare turned to a full on grin as I studied her, illuminating her entire face with the same light shining from her eyes, I had no idea what it was—nor did I care.
“Cal,” I said.
“Cal?”
“That’s my name,” I explained, aiming a thumb at my chest like a tool. “Cal. Short for Calvin. Calvin Ryder.” I was rambling and couldn’t make myself stop. Something about the way this girl had plowed into me had shaken something loose in my chest—and probably my brain. I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.
“Amara,” she said through her smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Calvin Ryder.”
The name dimly rang a bell in my brain, but I was too intoxicated, too entranced by that golden stare to figure out why.
“Would you like to join me for a drink?” I asked.
