Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(85)

The blare of hip-hop music drew their attention back to the floor. Couples were already pairing for some up-close freak and grind, while a few girls were twerking in groups.

“Mira ese culo! Look at that ass, man.” Garcia gestured to a curvy brunette. He up-ended his bottle, emptied it in one long swallow, and then handed it to Reid. “Target sighted, hermano. Time to engage.”

*

Haley didn’t know why she’d let Yolanda drag her to the club. She didn’t have time for guys. She was far too busy with work and school even to think about them. Or had been. Until the cowboy. He’d definitely made her think, but her budding infatuation died a premature death the moment he’d declared himself a leatherneck. Maybe she wasn’t being fair, but the deck was firmly stacked against him.

She already wanted to leave, but Yolanda had driven. Unless her friend chose someone else to take her home tonight, she’d be stuck here until closing. Haley looked around the club with increasing dismay. She hated dancing and was surrounded by marines.

She scouted the dance floor and spotted Yolanda holding up her hair and doing a body roll, sandwiched between two guys. Maybe she’d be driving herself after all. By the look of things, Yo was gonna get a ride of some kind.

Yolanda spotted her and waved frantically, beckoning Haley to join her and the two guys. Haley answered with a sharp head shake. If she was going to be stuck here all night, she really needed a drink. She formed a fist with her thumb raised to her lips, the universal drink sign. Yolanda nodded acknowledgment and then ground her booty into her new partner.

Haley considered the acetone wipes Yolanda had shoved into her purse. A few minutes of scrubbing in the bathroom would erase the black marks on her hands. She weighed the consequences. If she got caught, she’d get tossed out on her ass. It was definitely worth the risk.

Moments later, Haley exited the restroom, hands thoroughly cleansed of black marker. She then discovered an ATM at the back of the club and whipped out her debit card. After collecting her cash, she headed for the nearest bar, only to be intercepted by four different guys sporting buzz cuts. She rolled her eyes. More marines. It wasn’t too hard to brush them off yet, but the night was early and they weren’t fully tanked.

She could really use that drink, but the bartenders would ask to see her bracelet before taking an order. With her friend on the floor, her only option was to ask one of the grunts to buy the drink for her. Opting for the devil she knew, the cowboy, Haley scouted the bar. At least she had the excuse of paying him back. She had enough cash to cover her debt and still buy a couple of cocktails. She found him a few minutes later shooting pool with a cadre of his leatherneck buddies.

“Hey, cowboy. I have something for you.” She slapped the twenty on the table where he was setting up his first shot.

Her unintended innuendo was met with silence as his baby blues darted up from the table to meet her gaze. The rest of the group eyeballed her up and down with open interest, making her feel like she’d entered a wolf’s den.

She bit her lip, wishing she’d said something else. “I-I mean I found an ATM. I can pay you back now.”

His tawny brows met. “Said I didn’t care about that.” He pushed the twenty across the table and turned his attention back to the cue.

That was it? A brush off? Haley’s hackles rose. Was this his idea of payback for her earlier snub? I don’t think so, cowboy.

“All right then.” She parked her hip on the edge of the table, blocking his view of the balls. “If you won’t take it from me, play me for it.”

He stepped back from the table, his gaze sweeping over her with open cynicism. “You want me to play you?”

His partner at the table sniggered. “If the cowboy won’t take you up on it, I will. I’ll play you like a sonata, baby.”

Straightening to his full height, the cowboy shot his buddy a dangerous look. She guessed he was a few inches over six feet and wondered how much of that was the boots. Probably only an inch or so. Without them, he’d still tower at least a foot above her five foot two inches.

She dropped another twenty. “Double or nothing? Eight ball, nine ball, nine ball kiss, Chicago, Chinese, Rotation 61,” she rattled off the game variations.

A buff marine in a muscle shirt flashed a lecherous grin. “I’ll rotate you sixty-nine, sweetheart.” No doubt about it, they were already halfway to shit-faced.

Haley ignored him. “Slop shot, call shot. Your choice, cowboy. Loser buys the drinks.”

*

Reid considered the blond who’d brushed him off like a fly from shit less than an hour ago. When he’d paid her cover he hadn’t expected anything in return except maybe a dance, but now she’d positioned herself squarely in his crosshairs.

“So you think you’re a player, eh?” Reid eyed her with renewed speculation, wondering what game she was really playing.

“Only pool,” she answered as if reading his mind. “A better question would be what kind of player are you?” She slid off the table, letting the double entendre hang.

“Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself. Mind if the lady steps in?” he asked the cluster of marines. The request was purely rhetorical. They all knew he was staking his claim, but he’d still sweeten the deal. “Tell you what, give us some space, and I’ll buy you all a round.”