California Nights: Rich Boys of California Duet

I doubted it, but I couldn’t blame her. I’d hurt her. Thankfully she wasn’t really the vengeful type.

But I didn’t think so.

God, I fucking hoped not.

I would not be able to handle that shit.

I hydrated and stretched while I waited for my match. No surprise there – it was Matt. We grinned at each other as we took the court. But not in a friendly way.

More like sharks bearing their teeth.

Or wild dogs.

Or in his case, a hyena.

I was laughing to myself and I tossed the ball in the air for the first serve. The club was packed today. I could only hope Nev was watching.

I was doing this for her, after all.

She might not accept money from me, but there was a cash prize of ten thousand dollars. If I won and gave it to her, or her mom, or Frannie – well, she knew I didn’t need the cash.

Maybe she’d take it.

I fucking hoped so.

Throngs of socialites were in the stands. As well as the golf crowd. And of course, the young hotties. Everyone was there to watch me take down the club champ.

For a while it seemed to be going well. I was beating him. Slowly, but winning. Then I noticed Matt accepting a drink between sets. A girl stood by the side with a tray.

Nevada.

Matt reached out and stroked her cheek.

I barely saw her jerk back. I barely saw her storm away, hellfire in her eyes. I barely saw her drop the generous tip he’d given her on the floor.

I couldn’t see any of that because I was seeing red.

Bright red.

The color of fresh blood.

I picked up the ball to serve again.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Nevada

I was at the bar, running another set of drink orders to the outdoor dining terrace. I’d nearly quit after what just happened. Matt touching me like that in front of everyone.

Hell, him touching me at all.

And the creepiest part was that I knew, I knew he was only doing it to piss Clay off.

Matt was using me to get to him.

The thought made me want to throw up, truth be told.

I heard a ferocious cheer from the crowd. It must be over. I really hoped it was over.

And I hoped Clay beat the pants off of that fucking asshole.

Man, I’d really developed a potty mouth this summer. It was a good thing I didn’t usually say those things out loud. My mother would not be amused.

I carried my drinks over to the patio and waited while the couple signed for their drinks. I glanced down. A 5% tip. This was standard at the club.

For some reason the richest people were also cheap ass sonofabitches.

I scanned the crowd from the service doorway, looking to see if anyone needed service. Then someone grabbed my arm and yanked me backwards. I stumbled as Matt dragged me around the building to where they kept the trash and out of use golf carts.

“What the fuck, Matt?”

He grinned at me, looking somewhat demented.

“Well, if it isn’t little miss Nevada Jones.”

I crossed my arms.

“What do you want?”

“I was just wondering if you are down to fuck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Now that Clay is done with you. That’s what he’s telling everyone.”

I stood there, staring at this cretin in disbelief. Clay wouldn’t do that. Would he?

“I heard he broke you in real good.”

He stepped towards me and I took a step back. I felt disgusting. Like he was pouring his hate all over me.

“You’re just another notch in his belt. You must know that, sweetie.”

I swallowed back tears. I knew it wasn’t true. Well, not entirely.

Fuck, maybe it was true.

“Another cute little whore. But it’s different for you. Because you’re poor. Rich guys like him will just eat you up and spit you out. Not that I blame them.”

He lurched forward and grabbed me.

“I’m sure you taste delicious.”

“Let go of me, you pig!”

“Fuck, no. I think I deserve a taste.”

He started kissing me but I turned my head. That’s when I saw him.

Clayton Westfield was running at us.

Full blast.

He hit us like a ton of bricks. Somehow though, he managed to push me out of the way. He was even kinda gentle about it. But the momentum sent us all careening out onto the terrace.

I stumbled backwards and watched in horror as Clay proceeded to pummel the everliving crap out of Matt. He fell backwards and Clay put his foot on his shoulder.

“No man, don’t!”

“What did you call her?”

“Nothing!

He must have applied pressure because Matt cried out.

“Ow, fuck! A whore! I called her a whore!”

Clay smiled at him grimly.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then he pushed down. I heard a snap. Matt started screaming.

I looked up and realized a crowd had formed.

Brett was holding the trophy.

He walked over and handed it to Clay.

I guess he’d won.

“You better get out of here, man.”

Clay nodded and looked at me. We could hear sirens.