Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(7)

I inhale a deep, cleansing breath. Harry just grins at me, his gaze bouncing from me to his Pixie Girl. Obviously he’s enjoying the attention.

I swear her nose flares when she says, “Maybe it’s time you left—unless you want to regret it later.”

Is she going to drag me out to the parking lot and kick my butt if I don’t? How have I gotten myself into a chick fight when all I wanted to do was spy on the hockey player?

A few people around the bar stop what they’re doing and stare, and I blow out a breath, angry and maybe a little intimidated. I could have spooked Horny Harry the Frat Boy eventually—I mean, I’ve handled my fair share of leeches at Boobie Bungalow (with the help of a bouncer)—but toss in a catty jealous girlfriend and all bets are off. Women are vicious, and I like all my hair on my head, thank you very much.

A new song comes over the speakers and I feign interest, bobbing my head. “Wait? Is that 50 Cent’s “In da Club”? Yeah, it is.” Fake smile. “Sorry, guys, gotta go.” And I dart for the dance floor. My plan? Shake my ass all the way to the door and get the hell out of here.

The dance floor is a madhouse of bodies, and I boogie along with them, eyes locked on the exit. My purse gets shifted behind me during my exodus, resting on my butt as I push through the crowd. I don’t bother fixing it, but halfway to the door, there’s a tug on the strap that jerks my shoulder. Afraid it might be Pixie Girl ready to pluck my eyes out, I whip around with my fists clenched and raised—my mama didn’t raise no slouch—but it’s only a dancer with her arm tangled in my strap. “Sorry,” she calls out over the music, and I nod. I turn back around and run smack into a brick wall of muscle.

“Whoa there,” says the deep, husky voice.

Holy hockey jackpot.

It’s him.





5





Sugar





My head looks up…and up…and my eyes widen as I take in the broad shoulders, the thick lashes, and the dark scruff on his perfect jawline. He bites his lip and pushes his wild blond hair off his face. Damn. Just damn. His cologne, something spicy and all male, hits my nose, and I inhale deeply.

His full, sensuous lips part slightly as he blinks at me, and there’s a look of uncertainty on his face as he stares back. His jacket eases open as he moves to let someone pass by us, and I see the tight black shirt he’s wearing underneath, the way it clings to his lower abdomen. Hockey players have notoriously well-developed physiques, and Zack doesn’t disappoint. I swallow, imagining the six-pack under the shirt, the V on his hips. I think about the texture of his skin that I can’t see. Is it rippled and hard? What would my tongue feel like— Stop, Sugar. That’s not why you’re here.

His eyes gleam down at me, the color of molten hot steel as he watches.

Later, I’ll blame my reaction on the adrenaline from the incident at the bar and my lack of dinner, but right now, I’m disappointed in myself. Apparently I’m just like those other girls who look at him with rapturous expressions on their faces.

And right there, it happens. I chicken out. I decide I can’t ask him for help.

I’ll find another way.

“Sorry,” I mutter as I move to walk around him.

He sidesteps, blocking me. “Wait a minute. Were you behind that column earlier…over there?” His head tilts toward the support beam in the center of the room.

“Nope.”

A furrow forms on his forehead. “I could have sworn—”

“Who’s this?” A sharp female voice interrupts from beside him, a stunning petite redhead in a black miniskirt and a red halter top that matches her hair.

I’m not sure how I missed her arriving.

With a slight curl to her ruby lips, she runs a cursory glance over my frame, her eyes widening as if she sees something weird. Feeling paranoid, I pat down my hair where I’ve been twisting it.

I don’t respond to her question about who I am. I’ve had enough of this place and these people.

“Let’s go play darts, Z. It’s too crowded over here.” She dismisses me and turns her attention away, her lashes fluttering up at him as she runs a possessive hand over his shoulders. There’s a familiarity in her touch, as if she’s known him for a long time.

He shrugs, his eyes never leaving me. “You go on, Veronica. I’m sure my brother is looking for you.”

“He’s upstairs somewhere. I thought maybe we could hang out—”

“No,” he bites out.

Her face falls, a sullen expression settling in. She darts a glance at me before looking back at him. “But why—”

“I said go.”

She huffs and opens her mouth as if she might say something else but then decides against it, her teeth clamping together. “Fine.” She does a pivot and flounces off.

“Girlfriend?” I ask, watching her leave, trying to suss out what’s going on.

“Fuck no.”

This is when things get really weird.

Zack Morgan just stares. And stares.

Warm tendrils of heat slide over me at his scrutiny.

Then he frowns as if he can’t figure out what I am.

“I’m human,” I say, and it’s such an utterly ridiculous statement to make, but he doesn’t even blink.