Pretty Little Thing (Central Valley U)

By the time it’s over, I’m damn near ready to shout that my type is petite, with dark hair, blue eyes, plump lips, and a body made for sin. But something tells me that wouldn’t go over very well.

I stand and stack the empty bowls before collecting our Coke bottles and carrying it all to the kitchen.

The sound of heavy footsteps tells me that my dad is about to join me.

“You know your mother means well, right?” he asks as I drop the bottles into the recycling bin.

“Yeah, Dad.” I rinse out the bowls and load them into the dishwasher. “I know.”

“It’s because she loves you.” He leans against the island. “Wants the best for you.”

“I know.” And I do. Lizzie Cartwright loves fiercely and with her whole heart. She would do anything to make her kids happy. And I do mean anything.

Dad stares me down, searching my gaze for God knows what before finally nodding. “Good. You got any plans tonight?” he asks, simultaneously changing the subject and making me feel like a teenager begging to stay out past curfew.

“Why?” I sound defensive even to my own ears.

He holds up his hands in surrender, a wide grin splitting his cheeks. “Just making conversation, son.”

I sigh. “Sorry. Being home… It’s—”

His boom of laughter cuts me off. “Hard being back home? I bet.”

“It’s just… I keep feeling like I’m breaking rules and…yeah, it’s weird.”

“Your mom and I both know you’re a grown man, Orion. We don’t expect you to be home by any certain time or any of that. Like I said when you asked to stay with us, all we expect is for you to help out around the house while you’re here and to not impregnate anyone under our roof.”

I huff out a laugh, and his grin ratchets up to a full-blown smile. “Yeah, I don’t think your mother would be too mad about the last one.”

“Rest assured, I have no plans of becoming a daddy any time soon.”

Dad tips his head at me, his expression knowing. What he knows, I have no clue, but the smugness radiating off him in waves tells me it’s definitely something. “Never say never, son.”

“I didn’t.” I cock my head to the side.

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” He stands to his full height. “Be safe tonight.”

“Who says I’m going out?”

“It’s a Friday night, and you’re young and single. Why in the hell would you sit at home in a bedroom that still has superhero posters on the walls?”

I smother a laugh. “True, true.”

“Don’t drink and drive,” he says, walking back toward the living room. “And wear a condom.”

I roll my eyes and head up the stairs to get dressed. Tonight was actually pretty good, but I’m more than ready to see my Bluebird’s sexy little body writhing under the neon lights.

The bass pounds and the lights flash as scantily clad women work the pole, but none of them hold my interest.

There’s only one woman I’m here to see and only—I check the time on my phone for the fifth time in as many minutes—ten more minutes stands between me and my VIP time with Birdie.

Swear to God, my dick’s still halfway hard from watching her set on the stage, and the thought of her grinding her biteable ass down on me is pushing me into full-on tent territory.

“Hey, baby. Can I get you another whiskey?” the server assigned to my area asks.

Without even glancing her way, I nod and slide my empty glass toward the other two that came before it. I’m not normally one to drink this much, but tonight, I just need to really unwind. To relax, and lucky me, my good friend Jack Daniel’s is here to help me.

She huffs out an irritated breath at my lack of interest but heads toward the bar all the same.

Moments later, she returns and places my glass down on the table to my right. “Thanks,” I murmur, once again checking the time on my phone.

“Yeah, sure.” She starts to walk away, but I call her back.

“Yeah?”

I down the contents of my glass in two gulps. “Can I get one more and close out my tab?”

“Sure thing,” she murmurs as I lift my ass and slide my wallet from my back pocket.

I pass her my card. “A double pour, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” And just like that, she’s gone again.

By the time she returns, it’s time for me to head back to my VIP room. I slide my card back into my wallet, sign the receipt, and stand.

My head spins for a second as I gain my bearings—those drinks must have hit me a little harder than I thought. But I shake it off and head toward the hallway at the back of the club.

The bouncer tips his chin at me as I approach. “Becoming a regular sort of thing, huh?” he asks, his voice light and his eyes hard.