Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(7)

“Where are we going?” This doesn’t feel like a party, and the music is fading as we walk.

“Pool house.”

“Why?”

“Privacy.”

“What—”

“Soon, Mr. Jaeger. I’ve been instructed to wait.”

That’s not ominous. Fuck. What the hell’s going on?

Eventually, we reach a pool shaped like—

Huh.

That’s a dick pool.

Daisy’s initials are DICK—my sisters say her parents must’ve hated her—so I guess a dick pool makes sense. Definitely a cock-and-balls shape, with the balls as a hot tub. Another house’s lights are just visible beyond the patio.

We skirt around the ball sack and a statue of a dude peeing and head to the small, brightly-painted pool house. It’s about the size of a double-wide, except the front of the house is all glass, and inside, it feels like an exotic getaway with marble tile floors, a dolphin chandelier, a sleek bar along one wall, and tropical plants in every corner. Discreet signs point down a hallway to changing rooms and a restroom on one side and a spa on the other.

I do a double-take when I realize the arrows are actually crystal dicks.

Crystal?

Or diamond?

And is that a diamond-encrusted mosaic of a penis hanging on the wall?

This is nothing like the neighborhood pool my siblings and I begged to go to every summer back home in Chicago. Not that I expected it to be, but I didn’t expect so many penises either.

The subtle noise from the party is completely muted once the glass door slides shut behind us. “What—” I start again, but before I can finish, a colorful mass of a person tumbles into the room from one of the hallways. She’s wearing stilettos, drink in hand, bringing a whirlwind of chaos with just her presence.

Her dress is a gold and white glittery number that barely covers her from boobs to thigh and shows off every curve. Her hair’s neon red, tied in a tall ponytail on top of her head, and she’s wearing a choker collar of diamonds that matches the dangly sparkles in her ears.

“Stanley! You brought me a stripper! You shouldn’t have!”

He opens his mouth, but she holds up a finger. “Ah-ah, don’t ruin the mood.” She whips out a phone, hits the screen twice, and “Low Rider” fills the air. “Okay, big guy. Show me what you’ve got.”

Comfortable. Becca said I was comfortable.

Can’t wait to tell her this story. Though when I tell it, it’ll involve tequila shots and falling in the pool and mistaking a blow-up doll for a drowning woman and getting crowned king of the dick pool.

Assuming I get to leave. This whole night is turning surreal. I don’t like it.

Mr. Chihuahua sighs heavily. Glances at me. Back to her. Then to me again. “Five minutes, Mr. Jaeger. Please don’t—don’t let her scare you off. Mrs. Carter would be very put out.”

The woman claps. “Oh, a stripper from Gramalicious? I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“Daisy?” I ask.

She grins and circles me, hips swaying, shoulders rolling to the music. It’s hard to watch just her lips when she’s a whirling blur of sensuality and outrageousness, so I don’t catch everything she says over the music, but she’s having a party whether the rest of us join in or not.

Her eyes sparkle as she twirls near me in that tight dress, her breasts jiggling just enough to be noticeable. “You gonna dance, or you just gonna stand there?”

My heart drums.

My fingers twitch.

Pure lust stirs low in my gut.

I don’t know exactly why I’m here—being pranked into going to a party by my brother is feeling like a less and less likely option—but I haven’t worked my ass off my entire life to not let loose and have a good time when the situation presents itself.

Especially tonight.

Don’t know that I have moves—the last time I tried to impress a girl, I did it by throwing down in a chin-up contest on a rope, and yes, I won—but I close my eyes and let the music hit my veins.

Dancing isn’t my thing.

Usually.

Tonight?

Tonight we’re in straight Fuck It-ville.

“Woo, baby!” Daisy crows. “What’s your name, sugarplum?”

“West.” My voice comes out rough.

Jesus. I’m shaking my booty for Daisy Carter-Kincaid.

She circles me closer, one hand on her phone, the other holding her drink in that fancy martini glass. She’s dancing, but not wobbling on those thin spikes under her heels. Her drink sloshes, but her eyes aren’t bloodshot, and she’s not slurring anything. “Where you from?”

“Everywhere.”

The backs of her fingers brush my biceps, and her drink dribbles over the edge onto my skin. “I like everywhere. Where’s your favorite?”

I’m not the partying-with-heiresses type. Whatever I’m here for, it’s tonight, and tonight only. Probably no more than the next hour.

What the hell do I have to lose?

I stare straight into those lavender eyes, ignore the warning, warning buzzing at the back of my brain because no one has lavender eyes, which means she’s hiding something, probably a lot of somethings.

But again—fuck it.

“My favorite?” I sway with her, squatting lower to be closer to her level. She’s not at all as tall as you’d think she’d be from her reputation, but she’s every bit as wild. “Right now, it’s right here.”