Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

I nodded, sucking down another mouthful of sugar. “Lusso Men’s Wear.” I gestured to my tux. The thing was tailored to perfection and looked damned good. Then again, it should have made me look like a god for how much it cost. Normally, I’d have gone with the Armani I kept in my closet for occasions like tonight, but the Lusso tux had shown up with my endorsement contract. Was I curious as to how the company knew my measurements? Sure, but not curious enough to turn down the tux.

“No shit?” His eyebrows rose.

“Shocked the hell out of me, but I snapped it up.” My head was still spinning with how fast it had all happened. My agent had only called with the offer three days ago, and it was already a done deal.

“Hi.” A pretty little blonde walked up to us, looking up at me and batting her lashes. She leaned against the table so her tits just about fell out of her dress.

“Uh. Hey.” My dick took notice of her red lipstick, but if I let that asshole give the orders, I’d have woken up in far too many beds I didn’t belong in.

Hell, letting my dick make a decision was exactly what had gotten me traded to the Reapers four years ago.

My chest tightened at the memory of another woman smiling up at me, and I shoved that shit right back down where it came from. Do. Not. Go. There.

“You’re Cormac Briggs, right?” the blonde asked, running her tongue over her lower lip in a practiced move. The champagne she was sipping inferred that she was twenty-one, and I didn’t see a ring, but those two things didn’t always mean legal and single.

“That’s me,” I answered, probably a little more curt than necessary. The problem with getting royally fucked over at twenty-two years old was that I still didn’t trust women, even at twenty-six.

“I’m Tiffany,” the blonde said, eyeing me hungrily.

“Nice to meet you.” I flashed a smile. I was wary, not rude.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Brogan Grant slide up to our table. He’d more than earned his nickname, Demon, both on and off the ice, but where others found his blunt, humorless commentary unsettling, I liked it. You always knew exactly where you stood with Brogan. No games. No niceties. Either he ignored you, despised you, or had your back.

Luckily, he had mine, since the guy was huge and one of the most brutal enforcers in the NHL. His right hook was terrifying, helmet or no.

“I don’t want to be here,” I heard him grumble. I nearly laughed, but kept my concentration on the blonde.

“Look, I’m not usually so forward,” the woman said, stumbling closer. “But I have a room in the hotel next door, and I think we could give each other a really happy new year.” She slid her hand up my chest with a predatory gleam in her glazed eyes.

My stomach turned over, and I stepped backward, putting my drink on the table so I didn’t spill it all over her. “Yeah, I’m going to have to see some ID before you put your hands anywhere near me.” Not kidding. Not even in the slightest.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Her eyes narrowed into little slits, and she swayed. Drunk.

“Nope. I’m the adult version of Disneyland, and only eighteen and up get to ride.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Even if she whipped out her driver’s license, there was zero chance I was fucking a drunk woman.

“Okay, now I’m glad I came,” Brogan muttered behind me.

“Do I look like some underage high schooler?” she spat at me.

I didn’t bother to answer because they never looked underage, and I wasn’t about to get caught in that trap.

“I’m drinking champagne in a thousand-dollar dress, you asshole! What, do you want me to sign an NDA, too?” She flung out her hand, sending champagne toppling from the flute to splatter on the floor. “You know what? Fuck you.”

An NDA wasn’t actually a bad idea, now that she mentioned it, but I was saved from what was obviously a bad idea by the blast of the horns from the band. Someone was about to make an announcement.

The blonde stomped off, and I shook my head, turning to face the stage. The Reapers’ owner, Asher Silas stood next to London, microphone in his hand.

Sterling looked like he’d stopped breathing as he caught sight of London. Reason number four billion I wasn’t looking for a relationship—they turned even the most confident guys into nervous wrecks.

“Thank you so much for being here tonight,” Silas said with a smile, waiting while the crowd applauded. “Giving back to the community is something that every Reaper takes pride in. We aren’t just happy to help out the Ronald McDonald house tonight, we’re honored. And for tonight’s biggest announcement, let me turn over the mic to the woman who put this all together, London Foster.” He turned the mic over to London.