Pulse (Contemporary new adult/college romance) (Club Grit Trilogy) Read Free

with already locked at the mouth and pelvis with some trashy girl from the bar. Whatever, he was just a low level financial analyst anyway, and that’s not what was on the menu for me tonight.
    I saw him going the backdoor with a girl so I knew I had to make my move before it was too late. I moved in to my target and tapped him on the shoulder as the girl made a corner.
    He turned to see me and then turned away. That was weird: most guys were stunned when they saw me, especially now that I had the proper clothes and beauty treatments to look like a pageant winner turned sorority girl. I flicked one of my long golden extensions over my tan shoulder. “Uh, excuse me?” I half asked, half ordered. I didn’t really want him to excuse me. I wanted him to notice me.
    “Yeah, you’re excused. I’m a bit busy, if you can’t tell,” and so I looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing.
    The girl he’d let out of the club to the back alley? She wasn’t a girl he was going to fuck or anything. He was holding up her hair while she puked, her butt against his crotch out of necessity as he held her up so she didn’t fall into the puddle of grossness her stomach was letting out. I wished that I was that girl, kind of, with my ass against the bouncer’s dick, but I didn’t envy the fact she didn’t know her limits. There were splatter marks on his jeans now, as well as on her discount level black bandage bodycon dress that was definitely not in line with the theme of #ThrowbackThursday. It was pretty fucking gross, but whatever.
    I ignored it. I wasn’t about to let some other girl kill my buzz, especially one that was wearing a ponytail. “Yeah, so, I was wondering if like, you wanted my number.”
    “No,” he said. This time, he didn’t even turn to talk to me. Maybe he’d misheard me over the pulsing beat of the music, the bass heavier at Club Grit than at most places, but I doubted it. Guys like him said yes to girls like me. They always did.
    “No? What do you mean, no?” Guys didn’t say no to me, ever. They asked me if I wanted it faster, or harder, but not for me to go away.
    “Listen, lady, I’m just trying to do my job. I’m a bouncer, if you want the kind of guy that’ll give you his number out of obligation, try the bartender or better yet, another club. There’s a strip club down the street, I’m sure many guys there would oblige your request.” His voice was getting firmer. I wondered if he was like that in bed, growling orders and commands. It would be like one of those hot stories that Becca had told us. Ever since BDSM had become chic, I’d always wanted a dominant lover. I didn’t want one that was rude.
    “Excuse me? I’m not that kind of girl.” I wasn’t some thirty year old single divorcee who read romance novels in the tub with a glass of cheap red wine, who had more cats than ex-boyfriends. I was a young, hot nubile woman, at the prime of my life, and he was a guy. Guys wanted to fuck. That was what they were good for.
    “You’re sure acting like it. Now please, go away. I’m trying to help a customer here,” he said, and this time, he did turn to look at me, but not to give me a once over, but to glare. That’s not how guys looked at me. They looked at me and they practically made a pool of drool at their feet. They didn’t ignore me, ever.
    “Whatever,” I said, but he had already turned away. I went back into the club, to the VIP where the girls still were. They had just got another round of drinks, a bottle of champagne poured by a sexy bottle service girl who was friends with Kim Lee while the sparklers in the cork fizzled away while emitting bright white and rainbow sparks that didn’t burn our skin or dresses.
    “You smell kinda funky, honey...did you bang him against the dumpster or something?” asked Becca as she sipped away at the slender flute, her perfectly shaped gel nails tapping against the crystal glass like a spa chime. The bubbles around the