Losing Streak (The Lane) Read Free Page B

my hands against the bar.
    “You just met the first girl that shit doesn’t work on. Now you gonna order something or you needing me to hose you off? I’m fine with either.”
    “I’d fuck you half stupid.”
    The room around us went instantly and utterly quiet. Even Andrew paused mid-note, having either heard or sensed something was about to go down. But Frat Boy didn’t so much as blink. He stood staring at me, a determined, if somewhat desperate, expression on his face. Over his shoulder, I spotted a group of guys near his age laughing and honest-to-God elbowing each other. His persistence suddenly made a lot more sense.
    “Really now?” I dragged my eyes back to him and made a show of looking him over closely, as if really taking his oh-so-eloquent offer into consideration. “That’s a pretty bold statement. Does it include memory loss?”
    “What?” His nose wrinkled slightly, and something about the sight of it made the bars of my beast’s cage feel white-hot and stretched too tight and too thin, in danger of snapping under the heat and the strain. My nails dug into my palm as I struggled to keep my voice even.
    “Memory loss. You said you’d fuck me half stupid. Well, does that half happen to include memory loss?”
    “Baby, it can include whatever you want it to.”
    I smiled and leaned in closer, brushing the blond curls away from my neck. His eyes immediately fixated on the unobstructed view of my cleavage, just like I figured they would.
    “In that case—” I let the grin fall from my face and fixed him with a hard look as he moved closer as if drawn by an invisible pull, “—I’d still say no. In fact, make that a fuck, no. Now get out of here before I forget how bad I need this job.”
    Frat Boy’s lips thinned almost to the point of disappearing completely, and something fiery and dangerous flashed in his eyes. A sudden flurry of excitement in my chest had me swallowing back a wild burst of laughter.
    “I don’t think you know—”
    “I don’t,” I interrupted, almost gleeful when his nostrils flared. “And that’s the way it’ll stay, lover boy.”
    Jackson took an uncertain step in my direction, as if torn as to what his move should be. There were the roles we wanted to play and the roles that were ours. His would always be the brother who believed he should be the keeper of his older but smaller sister yet knew his place was the kept. Sweet Jackson, wanting so badly to be more than he was.
    Much like Frat Boy in front of me.
    I leaned forward farther still, bracing my hands against the shiny wood between us. Frat Boy was nearly humming with hostile humiliation, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. Somehow I managed to grin wider, the closest to delighted I’d come since the last brawl I’d both started and finished.
    Few could manage that better than me.
    “But more importantly, Casanova,” I continued, my voice both conversational and cruel, a feat I’d put real effort into perfecting, “you do not know me. Count yourself lucky for that.”
    I had a feeling whatever kind of hold he had on his temper was just as precarious as the one I had on mine. He wouldn’t be able to control it much longer, and then I wouldn’t have to control mine. It’d have a target that didn’t come with any kind of risk or real consequences. Those were my favorite kind.
    “Fuck you, you stuck-up bitch.” He said it low, too low to be heard, and yet in the near-silence of the still-watching room, it seemed to echo as if shouted.
    I didn’t hold back the laugh this time.
    “I think we established that that’s on the list of things definitely not happening.”
    Then, in that space between blinks, his final ounce of control slipped.
    He damn near leaped the small distance left between us, hands outstretched, as though he planned on coming over the bar or dragging me over it to him.
    Jackson yelled out something that sounded like “Oi!” An outbreak of hurried, frantic activity