Rebuilding my clientele will be a bitch, but I’ve saved some money, and I’ve just moved into my apartment here. I’m ready to move on. Ready to put that asshole behind me, forget Trent, forget his betrayal and the years I wasted on him. Loveless, sexless years, sitting on edge, wondering if it was just me, if I was doing something wrong, when he’d been banging my cousin all along.
I gulp down the rest of my drink and ask the bartender for another. I’ll need all the liquid courage I can get tonight, because tonight I’ll shed my skin and re-emerge renewed. I’ll live for the moment, dance and flirt, find a strong, dominant man to take over the trainwreck that is currently my life and drive me wild. Make me come like never before. Make me see stars until the past is gone.
Until the image of Trent and my cousin fucking on our bed is erased.
The second gin and tonic arrives and I drink some more. The image in my memory blurs, the hard edges of reality soften.
“I think I’m starting to like your city,” I say, toasting Marcela and the bartender. “And I’ll try the dance floor. After I finish this.”
Marcela laughs, toasting me back. “That’s the spirit, girlfriend. Go find yourself a nice-looking man to fuck the worries out of your mind. Best remedy ever.”
She’s crude, but it’s also funny. I snicker and lick my lips. From across the length of the bar I catch movement, and I turn to see Kaden looking at me. His mouth is pulled up to the side in a smirk and holy shit, he’s damn handsome.
What if I let him fuck me, fuck the worries out of my head? The idea was to go out, do something different, forget about the past. Kaden sure sounds different, as different as I’ll ever get in bed.
He sounds just like the medicine the doctor prescribed.
Marcela leans closer and tsks. “Listen to my advice, Hailey Allen. Steer clear of Kaden Hansen. Unless you want your wrists shackled and your ass pounded until you can’t walk, your mouth and throat sore from deep-throating him and your pussy bruised from his cock, you’re better off finding someone else.”
I nod, pretending I agree—but her words make me feel hot, the thought of him doing these things to me is scorching, sending a fierce throb between my legs.
What if he’s exactly what I need tonight?
Wild thoughts. My mom always told me to avoid bad boys. Dad was a bad boy and the first thing he did when mom told him she was pregnant was to bolt and never look back. So it makes sense that she’d hammer this principle into me—and I did follow her advice for all these years. Only ever dated serious suits with steady jobs and goals in their lives, steady incomes and boring sex lives.
And where did it get me? With Trent fucking my—
Okay, enough. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t keep dredging up that awful, humiliating, life-shattering memory, that I’d focus on the here and now.
Where bodies are twisting to old rock songs and men’s eyes gleam as they check me out. Marcela has joined me on the small dance floor, her martini glass in hand, and she tosses her black hair as she swirls. She looks wild, and the men take notice.
My hair is a classic bob, chestnut with blond highlights, and I’m dressed in the only slinky dress I own. I’ve never let myself go before. Always dressed to the nines for the job, for Trent and his friends, trying to prove I’m as good as they are, that I’m good enough to be accepted.
Screw that.
I toss my hair too, the strands catching in my mouth, and laugh when Marcela wolf-whistles at me. My high heels click on the floor as I let go and allow my body to move to the rhythm.
And then I make the mistake of glancing toward the bar and find him still watching me. Kaden, his brows drawn together, his eyes blazing.
I forget for a moment where I am and what I’m doing, caught in his gaze.
“Hailey!” Marcela grabs my arm and swings me around, giggling. “Come dance with me.”
I let her pull me along to where a couple of guys are drinking beer and fake-dancing, eyes zeroing in on us as we approach.
For all intents and purposes I should find this creepy, the way lust drips from their expressions like dirty oil. The guys aren’t particularly young, handsome or even healthy-looking, but right now it all seems hilarious, and also nice. Nice to have men gaze at me openly, finding me sexy.
I dance and laugh, and when one of the men approaches me, I grin up at him and turn to dance with him.
“What’s your name?” he asks. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair slicked back, a black tattoo winding up his forearm.
“Hailey.”
“You’re very pretty, Hailey.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure he is the remedy I need. He looks… polished somehow, dressed to pick up girls. I want fun but not with some jerk. “This is a nice place.”
“Will you be coming more often?”