Good Girl(14)

She's tiny, and it makes me feel protective towards her in some antiquated bullshit way. As if she might need me to carry her over a puddle or buy her something pretty. She needs neither. She'd be easy to lift though, her legs spread around my hips as I sank into her, my hands gripping her ass as I bounced her up and down on my cock, her hands tugging my hair as she begged me for more, more, more.

In my mind she begs. Tiny whimpers. Please, Rhys. More, Rhys.

She turns, flashing a smile at someone behind her. Her smile is wide, a strand of hair falling across her cheek and her eyes sparkling with laughter. Her face is devoid of any visible makeup, which only serves to make her look younger and less calculated in any art of seduction.

As if her objectives are so much less intentional than most women. Less rehearsed. Or maybe she simply has no clue how she affects men, but that can't be right.

My eyes land on what she's smiling at. Or whom. A man. Why the hell am I surprised? As if she's been waiting around since—yesterday—when she offered me whatever I wanted with her? Seriously, what the fuck?

I snort and turn back to my drink.

Then I turn back to Lydia.

Canon watches me and rolls his eyes. "Okay, wow."

"Fuck off." I bring the glass to my lips and sip, eyes on my good girl as she tosses a dart. She says something that makes that man laugh and I wonder if they came together. Where the hell is the pushy blonde she was with last week? I assumed, like the arrogant asshole I am, that she'd be here with her friend. Just waiting for me to arrive and repeat the 'kissing thing,' as she called it. I take another sip and scan the bar until I find the blonde. She's at a table with two guys. Which means there are five of them and it's not a date. Or it's one hell of a kinky date.

"Lydia Clark. Recent graduate of LSU. New hire at the Windsor. Twenty-two." Canon gives me a dramatic wink at that detail before continuing, "Had a dog named Scout growing up—"

I stop watching Lydia to interrupt Canon. "How do you know that?"

"You pay me for security, remember? I know everything." He gives me a knowing look, as if he's some kind of clairvoyant.

It's creepy.

"Also I just took a picture of her and ran it through the software we're using for the casino," he adds, which makes a hell of a lot more sense than him being omniscient.

"Yeah, but how do you know about her dog? That wasn't on her employment file."

"No, it's on an Instagram post from last week," he says, looking at his phone. "Hashtag TBT," he reads aloud. "It's a Throwback Thursday post with a picture of a ten-year-old Lydia and her dog. See?" He turns his phone in my direction and I snatch it out of his hand with more aggravation than is necessary, but he's goading me for his own amusement. There she is. Tweenaged Lydia with a dog. She's in a Girl Trooper uniform. Jesus Christ. I toss Canon's phone onto the bar top in disgust.

"You know, when you're forty she'll be twenty-eight."

"Yeah, I get it, I'm old. She's young." I wonder if they really are on a fivesome date? Maybe that's what the kids are into now.

"No, asshole. I'm saying that when you're forty half your age plus seven is twenty-seven. When you're forty Lydia will be twenty-eight."

"So if I can avoid touching her for six years I won't be a pervert? Thanks, that's helpful."

"I'm saying it all evens up in the next few years so why delay the gratification now?"

"I'm no morality expert, but I don't think that's right."

Across the bar the guy Lydia's playing darts with stands behind her and places one hand on her hip and another over the hand holding the dart. Her dart-throwing skills are fine so it's a lame-ass move on his part.

I wonder if she'll kiss him. I wonder if she'll offer him more.

I wonder why in the fuck I care.

I wonder if I'm having some kind of goddamn midlife crisis. It defies all reasonable logic. Why do I need to touch this particular girl? What does it matter? There are no fewer than ten women at Double Diamonds who would go home with me tonight—women who have gone home with me in the past. Women I pay money to so I can kick them out five minutes after I come.

Women who don't look at me as if they might expect better out of me.

Fuck.

"We should go," I murmur, but I'm still watching Lydia.

"Yup," Canon agrees, but he makes no move to get up. He doesn't even take his eyes off the game playing on one of the bar TV's.

She must feel me beside her before she sees me because she turns a moment before I take her hand in mine. Her eyes widen in surprise, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she quickly blinks. Her lips part, come together again as a smile breaks out. She flushes, the color high on her cheeks, and there's that look again. Expectation. God help me, she looks at me with hope.

What am I doing?

She has to tilt her head back to look at me because I'm standing on top of her, with her soft hand enveloped in my own larger, rougher one. I squeeze and her breathing increases, her eyes sparkling, a look of raw anticipation on her face.

"Rhys?" she asks, and hearing my name on her lips makes my pulse kick up and my cock harden.

I don't respond, instead giving her hand a tug and moving us towards Brady's office. The moment we clear the doorway I'm on her, a tangle of lips and tongue and a fistful of hair.