Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(9)

“Nope.” Quickly, I swipe the screen away and toss my phone on the nightstand. “Nope, nope, nope.” I am not that kind of girl, and I have absolutely no interest in finding guys who want to make me get on my knees while they call me pretty. Fuck that.

It’s almost two when I finally drift off to sleep, after putting all thoughts of Emerson Grant and Madame Kink and the Salacious Players’ Club out of my mind.

But apparently, my mind has other plans because my dreams are filled to the brim, reliving every moment in his office, the man in the suit replaced by Madame Kink herself, who then morphs into Beau. Instead of fighting against the act of kneeling, I actually beg for his attention. I’m clawing at his legs, chasing after him like a dog, but he only makes me feel worse, telling me how pathetic I am instead of how lovely.

It’s excruciating, but finally, everything changes when it’s Beau’s dad looking down at me. Even in my dream, I have some sense of awareness that this isn’t real and that it’s okay to like it because I will wake up eventually and no one will know.

Except in my dream, I want more. I reach out and touch the soft cotton of his slacks, feeling the muscle of his legs underneath. I fumble with his belt, staring at him from the floor. He strokes my head and overwhelms me with a feeling of euphoria. And I keep struggling with his belt, desperate to get his dick out. And just as I get the zipper down, I wake up.

My alarm blares on my phone, and I let out a groan. My body is a livewire, anxious and horny—not exactly the way I wanted to start my day. I seriously need help. Trying to have sex with my ex-boyfriend’s dad in my dreams…just lovely.





RULE #5: WHEN THE HOT MILLIONAIRE DADDY WALKS INTO THE SKATING RINK TO OFFER YOU A BETTER PAYING JOB, YOU TAKE IT.





Charlie





The anxious and horny mood I woke up in this morning stays with me all day, and not even some detachable showerhead time could suppress the way that dream made me feel. At work, the whole thing plays over and over in my mind, making me spacey and a little irritable.

I’m stocking a box of new skates when a deep and oddly familiar voice from the other side of the counter makes me pause, and I’m actually wondering if my sleep-deprived brain just conjured the sound.

“Eleven and a half, please.”

I lean back and peer at the customer that made the request and almost scream when I recognize the tall, dark-haired man standing on the brightly-colored carpet, his hand resting on the tall lacquered counter. Trying to duck back around the wall, I silently pray he didn’t see me. What is he even doing here?

“Hello, Charlotte,” he says, and my eyes widen.

Nervously, I shove the skates onto the shelf, not even checking to see if I put them in the right place, and gather up my shredding confidence to greet him.

“Hi,” I stammer, before glancing around to see if anyone is within earshot. It’s Wednesday, and we just opened fifteen minutes ago. With the exception of some homeschooled kids and a few regulars, there won’t be any actual customers here until tonight.

“Please call me Charlie.”

“I was joking about the skates,” he adds with a hint of a smile on his face. “I won’t be skating.”

A forced, awkward laugh bubbles up from my chest as I approach the counter. There goes any hope of trying to act natural.

Seeing his face stirs up memories of my dream and how I was clawing for his dick like a sex-crazed nympho. I cover my cheeks, hoping to hide my blush.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

He holds up his phone, showing me a photo of me in a group of skaters, dancing on the floor in a colorful outfit during our Neon Nights event. “Instagram.”

“Oh.” Could this be any more mortifying?

He must be here because he realized his mistake writing that check he gave me yesterday and he’s here to collect. I’ve already cashed it and made an extra payment on my school loan, so this is about to be an awkward conversation.

“Listen…” I say carefully.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, cutting me off.

“Of course,” I stammer.

Turning around, I look for Shelley, the owner of the rink and an old friend of my mom’s, but she must be in her office or out back having a cigarette. Instead of going on break, I gesture toward one of the old plastic booths against the wall. He nods and takes a seat, and it’s hard not to laugh at the sight.

Beau’s dad is huge, bigger than I noticed yesterday. He must be six-three with wide shoulders and a broad body. Like a…muscly dad bod. If that’s even a thing.

He also looks ridiculous in the booth because he must be a bajillionaire who hasn’t stepped foot in a roller rink or sat in a booth in his entire life. I’m sure if he takes women on dates, it’s on a yacht or to Montenegro, not to a cheap roller rink to eat pizza and drink beer. That’s far more my reality, which is fine. I mean…dates to Montenegro wouldn’t be terrible, but it’s just a sliver out of my league.

“What can I do for you?” I ask as I take the seat opposite him.

He opens his mouth and then shuts it, and it dawns on me that he’s about to bring up something that could be mildly uncomfortable, and I’m already dreading that it’s going to be about what happened yesterday. Especially after looking through everything on his website.