Hung Read Free Page B

it for everyone. But right now, I want to see champagne. I want to see bottles of vodka, Patron. I wanna see the goddamn tequila flowing, you hear me?"
    The roar that greeted me in reply was almost better than sex. Better than sex with most girls, anyway. But not, I imagined, better than sex with the sultry cocoa temptress still sitting, clutching her guitar, on the stage.
    I pulled an expensive leather wallet out of my jeans, flicked my AMEX Black Card out, and tossed it behind the bar. I didn't look to see whether the bartender caught it. I didn't care.
    And then the party went off !
    Honestly, for me, this wasn't much more than a quiet Friday night – but for some of the frat boys packing this bar to the rafters, this was the kind of night they were going to tell their kids about. Hell, this was the kind of night they were going to tell their grandkids about!
    All around me, there were sorority girls doing shots. One of them was lying on the bar, her tits just held together by a bra that looked two sizes too small, giggling while letting frat boys suck tequila off her flat stomach.
    None of that mattered to me. I only had eyes for one girl in the place, no matter that dozens of them were throwing themselves at me.
    "Hey, Clay," one of them whinnied into my ear, a New England horserider by the sound of her, "wanna take me home?"
    She leaned into my ear, raking her hand down my jeans and grabbing my ass for good measure. "You can do anything to me…"
    I brushed her off like I was raking leaves off my lawn. Compared to the black Lamborghini sitting on stage, she was just a rusty old Ford, and I didn't have any time for messing around with a jalopy. Judging by the astonished, pouting look on her face, she'd never had a man refuse her before, but then again – she'd never met Clay Hunt. In this town, she was the pick of the bunch, or at least she thought she was.
    But the only woman I wanted to fuck was sitting twenty yards away from me, and if I couldn't have her, then I didn't want any of them.
    But obviously, I was going to have her. The thought didn't even cross my mind that she might turn me down, because women just didn't turn Clay Hunt down. I couldn't remember the last time it happened – probably a couple of years before my first album went platinum.
    I knocked the whiskey back, more because I wanted to get rid of it than because I needed the Dutch courage, handed it to some chick and walked towards my target. Not that target was the right word for this ebony seductress – no, for this woman, it was far too demeaning.
    I almost wanted to say crush , but Clay Hunt didn't crush on women – it happened the other way around.
    She was still sitting on stage forlornly when I reached her, and I effortlessly hopped up onto it. I saw a couple of jealous looks from chicks in the crowd as they realized their chances of catching me were diminishing with every step I took, but I paid them no mind.
    "Hey, girl."
    She turned her head and shot me a cold, chilling stare that almost knocked me back on my haunches.
    "Hey," I smiled, holding my hands up above my head disarmingly for good measure, "someone get up on the wrong side of the bed today?"
    It didn't seem to go down nearly as charmingly as I had intended.
    "Oh, hell no," she said with what sounded a whole lot like astonishment in her voice. "Listen, boy, if you think you've got a chance of getting into my pants, you better get walking." She paused and stared me up and down. "Fast."
    Boy?
    "Hey now, that wasn't very nice," I said, doing my best to cover up my surprise at her reaction. "What did I ever do to you?"
    "What did you ever do to me?" she parodied. "Are you being serious?"
    Okay, this wasn't going anywhere near as well as I'd anticipated when I walked over. I thought she was just going to play hard to get – but now I saw that if I was ever going to get anywhere with her, I was going to have to get to the bottom of why she'd taken such a dislike to me.
    "Um, I guess