Reckless (Thoughtless, #3)(92)

Griffin made his way to a table in the back and we followed him. When we all arrived, his face turned oddly serious. “Same rules as last time.”

Matt rolled his eyes while Evan laughed and shrugged. Kellan frowned and glanced at me. “We’re not playing that game tonight, Griff.”

Griffin eyed Kellan up and down. “Uh, yeah, we are.” His smile turned arrogant. “What? Afraid you’ll lose?”

Evan turned to Matt. “When has Kellan ever lost?”

Curious, and wondering if I wanted to know what game they routinely played at bars while on tour, I asked, “What game?”

Kellan turned to me. “It’s stupid . . . Griffin came up with it.” He said it like Griffin and stupid were synonymous.

Griffin snorted. “You’re a pansy. All intimidated ’cuz your girlfriend’s here?”

“Wife,” Kellan corrected.

“Whatever, we’re playing. Turn out your pockets.” He instantly pulled the innards out of his jeans. They were empty.

Kellan looked over at me and, too curious to say no, I nodded. Kellan turned out his pockets, which were also empty. After all the guys did it, Griffin looked satisfied. “Good. Now, numbers count as one point, condoms count as five. The person with the least amount of points picks up the tab. The stud with the most gets a shot from everybody . . . and top shelf shit too.” He pointed at each guy in turn. “And cheating in any way is grounds for immediate ass-kickery.” His fingers pointed at his own eyes, then Matt’s. I’m watching you. Matt sighed.

Still trying to wrap my head around the point system—condoms?—I asked, “Wait, what game?”

Griffin squatted in front of me. “The dude who fills his pockets with the most chick’s phone numbers wins.” He said it slowly, like I was already drunk so I couldn’t possibly understand him.

My eyes widened, and I turned to Kellan with an eyebrow raised. “And you haven’t ever lost this game?”

Kellan lifted his hands in the air. “Completely unsolicited, I swear.” I pursed my lips at him and Kellan scratched his head. “You, uh, want a drink?”

I gave him a tight smile. “Mmm-hmm.”

Kellan immediately tucked tail and headed for the bar. I had to laugh a little as he waded through the crowd with his head down. Evan wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “He really doesn’t ask for any. He doesn’t have to. Girls tend to . . . shove things Kellan’s way.” His raised his eyebrow, and the ring pierced through it sparkled at me; it nearly matched the amused gleam in his eye. “Just you watch.”

Curious, I turned around to observe my husband. As he waited at the bar for our drinks, he was approached by a couple of girls. They hadn’t talked to him for more than five seconds before one of them was sliding a napkin his way. My jaw dropped. That was so fast! Griffin was apparently just as shocked as I was.

“You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me!” He raised his hands in the air. “You’re a whore!” he yelled at Kellan. Some girls, maybe thinking he meant them, looked back at Griffin with scowls on their faces. I figured none of them would be approaching him with their numbers tonight.

Kellan looked back at our table. Seeing my amused smile, Kellan teasingly waved the napkin at Griffin, then stuffed it in his pocket. Griffin’s scowl grew. “No way that cocksucker’s pulling one over on me again.” He disappeared into the packed bar, and I had the distinct feeling that every one of his phone numbers would be “solicited.” Heavily solicited. Perhaps bribed.

I knew the game should have disgusted me, but aside from Griffin, none of the guys actively tried to get phone numbers. Their natural good looks and charisma did it for them. Their quickness to laugh and easygoing personalities drew a circle of people around them. It was almost like we were back at Pete’s. I even had to stop myself from clearing off a table once or twice. But, unlike Pete’s, Kellan merely had to walk by a woman to get her to discretely shove a finger in his pocket. He didn’t acknowledge the slip, or the girl, and I began to wonder if maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was exactly like Pete’s and I just didn’t realize it. Maybe Kellan got slipped numbers at our bar back home and I had never noticed. Well, if he did, he was quick to discard them.

It also helped that all of the guys treated the game as a big joke. Whenever Kellan grabbed a drink at the bar, or went to the bathroom, someone asked him how many names he’d nabbed when he returned. When Griffin sulked his way back to the table with an irritated expression, Matt gave him an exaggerated, sympathetic, “Ah, no luck?” to which Griffin responded with grace by flipping him off.

Drinks and merriment abounded at our table, and I grew to love my decision to roam around the country with D-Bags more and more. When everyone was feeling no pain, the alarm on Matt’s watch went off. We all stared at it for a second, then remembered that there was still a show going on.

“Shit, Sienna’s set is almost over. We have to go.” Matt looked a little panicked as he downed his beer.

Everyone started to leave the table but Griffin threw his hands out. “Wait! We need a winner. Pockets.”

As I stifled a drunken giggle, I wondered which guy would be breaking the most hearts tonight. My bet was on Kellan. I eagerly leaned into his side, like he was laying down a winning poker hand, not phone numbers from girls. Evan started the process, slapping down a single phone number scrawled on a wadded up piece of paper. “Just one.” He shrugged, not really caring.