They’re soft, yet hard.
Sweet, yet bitter.
Perfect, yet perfectly imperfect.
Each is an inescapable mixture of everything that’s captured fragments of my dreams, nightmares, thoughts, and soul. They’ve become my reason for going on.
“Hey, sweets,” Brock croons, dragging his fingers up my spine.
Goose bumps flare my skin, the deliciousness of his touch curling through my weakened muscles. “Hey.” I sound breathless, a whisper of uncertainty stealing my voice. What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve never been meek with a guy. In love or not, confused or not, I care for both of these men. Their well-being is the first thing that springs into my head the second I crack open my eyes. I know I have to tread with caution—shit’s already ugly—but I’m not about to let their alpha tension bruise the rest of our night, let alone their friendship.
I’ve had many guilts in my life. I refuse to add the demise of a long-term friendship to my list.
Deciding to take control—and knowing I’m the only one who can fix this mess—I swing my hip against each of them, hoping to lighten the mood. “Lee, these boys are lightweights at best. Double me up to four shots. It’s time to school them on how drinking’s really supposed to go down.”
Steadfast, Lee obeys my request, plopping two additional shot glasses in front of me.
“Mm, you love pushing it, don’t ya?” Ryder chuckles, a grin softening his face.
“Ah, she knows nothing else,” Brock agrees.
“What’s wrong, fellas?” I fling my arms around their necks and yank, cushioning their jaws against my ample C cups. “Are ya feeling . . . threatened?” I tease, a wiseass smirk plastered across my lips. “’Cause I’m smelling fear, and it reeks like shit.”
A giggle bursts from Madeline as Lee pours liquid bliss into each glass. “She’s about to take you both down. Saddle up, my brothers, and watch how it’s done.”
Before either can respond, I untangle my arms from their necks and down my quartet of shots. The leftover sting in my throat, spliced with waves of nausea, convinces me I’ve gone too far.
Yep. I’m gonna hurl.
Still, the fluidity in which I conquered the task garners me not only a round of applause from the patrons, but impressed smiles from my sexy opponents.
Following my lead, they toss back their double shots and slam their glasses onto the bar, Ryder beating Brock by a split second.
“Not bad,” Madeline appraises, clapping. “But Amber still outdid you guys.”
“I did. And for this, they owe me for the victory.” I smile, my brain in overdrive as I think of a proper “trophy.”
Brock rests his hands on my hips, his eyes narrowed. “I know that look, and it’s not good.”
“Be a good boy,” I say, tapping his nose. “You’ll both be fine.”
Ryder lifts an incredulous brow. “Which translates into: we’re royally fucked.”
“Maddie,” I call, jutting my chin toward Ryder. “You get him, and I’ll get Brock. I need to work off some of this alcohol.”
“Oh, hell no.” Ryder shakes his head. “I don’t—”
“Dance,” Madeline finishes, yanking him by the collar of his T-shirt. “We know. We know. Stop being a baby, Ashcroft. You lost. You dance.”
I laugh and thread my fingers through Brock’s, leading us through the horde of sweaty bodies and out onto the dance floor. With the band on break and a DJ taking over, I twine my hands around Brock’s neck and pull his ear down to my lips, licking along the shell as we sink into the rhythm of Usher’s “Scream.”
“Is this my punishment for losing?” Brock squeezes my ass and jacks me against his chest, his mouth finding the contour of my jaw. “If it is, I have absolutely no problem losing every time we battle it out.”
“Again,” I say, a purr biting my tone, “such a naughty boy.”
“You bring out the bad in this good boy.”
I scoff. “Yeah. Like you weren’t bad before me.”
“You got me there.” He smirks, tipping his head toward Madeline and Ryder. “Look at those two.”
I glance over my shoulder, amused at what I’m witnessing. With his collar acting like a leash, Ryder begrudgingly makes his way through the throng, a pout on his face as he and Madeline step onto the dance floor. However, his pout disappears when Madeline bends over, curls her fingers around a pole, and shakes her ass against his crotch. Seemingly more than okay with what she’s doing, a smile pops across Ryder’s face.
“Now you’re good?” Brock asks.
“How can I not be?” Ryder grips her shoulders, grinding his hips against her. “I do have a dick, and she just kind of woke him up.”
“Ryder!” Lee bellows from the bar, “I’m off in ten minutes, and I’m beating your ass if you fuck with my girl.”
“Bro, I’m innocent,” Ryder throws back, a shit-eating grin curling his mouth as he fists her hair. Grinding harder against her ass, he gives it a whack and chuckles as Madeline squeals in delight. “See? It’s all her. I ain’t doing nothing she doesn’t want.”
Narrowed eyes locked on Ryder, Lee dashes into the kitchen, a cart of dirty glasses in tow.
Continuing her tease, Madeline giggles and flips up her head. “You’re asking for it, Ryder.”
“No, Madeline, you’re asking for it.” Ryder plucks a bottle of beer off a passing waitress’s tray. With a wink, he fishes out a couple of twenties from his jeans, handing the hearty tip to the chick. “Don’t ya think she is, beauty?”