Hustler (11 page)

“I had fun today,” I tell him, beeping the locks and opening the driver side door. And it was the truth. I really did have fun. I’m still not sure about how I feel about going on an actual date with him, but at least I know, no matter what, I’ll have a great time. Just because the chemistry I have with Gavin might not be front and center with Nick, doesn’t mean it can’t be developed over time, right?

“Me too.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Now get in your car and go home so I can get back to running my cocaine empire.”

“
Pfft,
cocaine,” I scoff. “That’s so 2002. Everyone knows heroine is the new
it
drug.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mumbles as he comes close and plants one more kiss on my cheek. “See you later, gorgeous.”

“See you,” I grin as I climb into the car and buckle my seatbelt as he closes the door for me. I look up and give him one last wave as I pull away and start the drive back to my apartment, the whole time wishing I could somehow find a way to transfer my attraction from Gavin to Nick. It would make my life so much easier.

**GAVIN**

My feet pound against the pavement, my breathing has evened out, and I’m feeling my stride. Five miles in and I’ve never felt better as the blistering sun of Las Vegas beats against my bare back. I tore my shirt off after mile two and tucked it in the back of my shorts, letting it flop with my movements. Mumford and Sons blares through my earphones, Babel being my favorite album of theirs. Not typical running music but then again, I’m not a typical man.

Almost every morning I run the five miles to Prosperity Park, exhaust my body in their workout yard where I do endless pull-ups until I feel like my arms are going to fall off, and then I run back to my villa. It’s a routine I’ve become accustomed to, not because it’s a well-known fact that single women go to the park to feast their eyes on the men playing basketball and doing sit-ups on the equipment, but because it clears my mind, helps me manage my thoughts, and prepares me for the day, especially when I’m playing that night.

Lately, I’ve welcomed the workouts, thanks to the lack of sex in my life and the persistent morning wood I wake up with due to a certain petite brunette who I have to watch prance around the high roller room day in and day out. When I’m not playing, I have to see her on screen, flirting with that dickhead of a bartender. The dude’s body language toward Penelope is obnoxious. He might as well just stick his dick in her ear and call it a day. I pray I don’t look like that on camera, because if I do, I need to rework my image.

Doubtful though, I’m a hell of a lot smoother than that asshat. Pretty sure he bleaches the tips of his messy hair. There is no way in hell the sun is that accommodating.

What really perplexes me though, is the way Penelope reacts to him. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m an expert at reading people and Penelope doesn’t hide her reactions to Nick very well. From a distance, it’s obvious that she’s interested. How the fuck is that possible when I’ve made it clear what my intentions are? I’m not the kind of douchebag, like Graham, who knows his shit doesn’t stink. I get women can be interested in other men, but the chemistry between Penelope and me is, by far, superior than the meager interactions I’ve seen her have with Nick.

So why is she still talking to him and ignoring me every chance she gets?

Was she really bent out of shape about me not finishing her off in the storage closet? Fuck, I thought that would have made her even harder up to get me into bed. Then again, I’ve never had a woman flick me in the dick before either.

I shake my head at the thought. She’s a fucking wildcat, that’s for sure.

The workout yard is empty as I trot up to it. It’s the perfect place for bodyweight fitness, which is just what I need to maintain my physique as well as my sanity. I’m not the kind of man who spends hours in the gym pumping iron, striving for muscles bigger than my head. I prefer the lean, defined look. Makes it easier when trying on a suit. I’ve heard women compare me to some dude named Nick Bateman. Whoever the fuck that is. There was one girl in particular, who I brought home from the park that kept running her hands up and down my six pack, telling me how much I looked like him. It creeped me way the fuck out, but I made a mental note to look him up on the internet that night and I had to admit, the lucky bastard did look like me.

The rubber mulch of the workout yard bounces under my feet, a welcome sensation after the hard paved streets. Stretching my arms over my head, I shift side to side, preparing for my pull-up routine. I start with simple pull-ups and then do full on muscle ups. It’s fucking grueling, and kind of makes me want to die, but it’s given me the body I have today, and when I’m doing them, it’s impossible to think about anything else, so I suck it up.

Off to the side, there’s a basketball game going on, a bunch of older men living out their younger years, playing shirts and skins, some of them definitely should be playing on the shirts side. There are also some kids flying kites, moms walking strollers, and then there are the picnic tables.

I grip the pull up bar, feeling the heat of the sun on it, and start my routine while scoping out the picnic tables. It’s where the single ladies hang out. Today they’re empty, surprisingly enough, but to the side there are three women sitting on a blanket having a morning picnic. From my up and down vantage point, it looks like they have a bundle of grapes, some pastries, and juice. Keeping my eye on them makes it easier to work through my reps.

With each pull up, I try to figure out why the women look so familiar. It isn’t until I’m on the twentieth muscle up that I realize it’s Penelope, Davies, and a blonde who I’m going to assume is Penelope’s roommate, Page. I’ve only seen a picture of her on my phone, but she matches up with my memory.

They must all have the morning off. How fucking adorable that they wanted to have a picnic in the park together. I say that sarcastically. Women are so weird.
Let’s eat on the ground and gab while ants crawl all over us, it’ll be fun.

Could you imagine if Graham, Scott and I decided to go on a picnic together, sit on a blanket in the grass and share a basket of grapes with each other? No fucking way. I have no interest in the matter.

After I tap out on reps and I can feel an intense burn in my arms, I drop off the bar and stick my feet in the sit up bench, bracing myself on the decline. With my hands barely grazing my temples, I sit up straight and fall back down. With each up, I glance in Penelope’s direction, taking in her appearance. Her hair is down with a chunk pinned up on the top of her head. The half up, half down shit looks good on her. She’s wearing a pair of white shorts and a navy blue tank top. Her toned arms are on display and so is that fantastic ass of hers.

She looks good in street clothes, that’s for damn sure. The only thing that’s truly different is that her tits aren’t spilling out of her shirt like they do in her uniform. Until now, I hadn’t given the fact she must wear a pushup bra any thought. I have to admit, I prefer her tits to be in a normal place. At least that way she isn’t attracting even more men’s attention.

Hell, even if her tits were dancing the tango with her belly button men would still be flocking toward her. It isn’t just her looks; it’s her entire personality. Sweet and beautiful, but a fucking wench at times. Why is that attractive, you ask? Because she’s a challenge. And if a man tells you he doesn’t like a challenge he’s a goddamned liar. Or a lazy bastard, in which case, you need to run in the other direction.

Watching them interact is interesting. They’re so much more animated than men. Watching the guys and me interact is probably boring as fuck. We say a few words, grunt, take sips of our drinks, and then continue with idiotic conversations, usually trying to one-up each other. Women are so much more complex. They use their hands when talking, their expressions are fascinating; even the ones just listening, they nod their heads, shifting their body language to look interested rather than passive.

Woman are, by far, more interesting to observe than men, and not just because you hope for a nip slip, but because they’re more fun to read, they have so many more tells than men.

I continue to do sit ups when I catch Penelope waving her hands in the air, mimicking something, making Page and Davies laugh. I’m curious to find out what she might be saying and then it hits me. Might as well crash their little picnic. I wouldn’t mind sitting on a damn blanket in the grass if it meant getting to pull on Penelope’s strings a little bit more. Plus, with my shirt still tucked into the back of my shorts, she’s going to get an eyeful of something that has caused lesser women to drop to their knees. I can’t wait to see her reaction.

Excited about my idea, I finish up my sit ups, cutting them a little short but promising myself to do some tonight, along with my pushups, and head on over to their little gathering.

As I approach, I make sure to do it so I’m behind Penelope. Davies is the first one to see me and I can’t help but relish in the smile that crosses over her face. Page is next, her eyes scan my body quickly, a light blush popping up on my cheeks. I hope whatever happened between her and Graham is in the past, because with just one look from her, I can tell she’s entirely out of Graham’s league. She is way too good for him.

Penelope is the last one to clue in. “What are you looking at?” she asks, turning around to see me towering over her.

With a shocked drop of her jaw, she gives me a very slow once over, taking in every contour and divot in my chest and stomach. I’m not being egotistical, honestly. It’s just a fact. I have a fucking great body that I work hard to maintain. It’s not ego when it’s true. Besides, it’s not like I run around with my shirt lifted up, yelling, “Look at me!”. Unless it’s brought up by someone else, I never outwardly brag about my body. I’m an asshole, not a narcissist. There’s a difference, believe me.

“Hello Miss Prescott. What brings you here this fine morning?”

Her eyes are glued to my chest, not a single word comes out of her mouth.

“Um, we’re having a picnic,” Page answers for her, poking Penelope in the back with a stick.

“Oh yeah, food,” Penelope answers, shaking her head quickly and turning back around.

Not waiting for an invitation, I take a seat next to her and say, “Well, don’t mind if I do. I’m famished.” Grabbing a few grapes, I pop them in my mouth and then hold my hand out to Page. “Gavin Saint.”

“Page,” she answers, awe in her voice. “Nell has told me so much about you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, I turn to Penelope whose face is bright red. “Is that so?”

“No!” she answers quickly, shooting daggers at her friend. “I have not said anything about you, at all.”

“Not even about the storage closet?” I ask, not ashamed at all.

Davies throws her head back and laughs while Penelope coughs into her drink. I pat her back in a calming gesture, occasionally rubbing my hand over the thin material of her top, wishing it were her bare skin.

“From your reaction, it seems like our little friend here did tell you. What did she say? Give me all the dirt.” I rub my hands together, loving the way Penelope is seething next to me.

Before any of the girls could cut in, Penelope says, “Just that you told me you had to use your fingers because you have a micro-penis and felt bad that you wouldn’t be able to please me any other way. We all agreed, you can’t have it all Gavin Saint,” she finishes with a sympathetic wince.

Should have seen that one coming. Fucking woman keeps me on my toes.

I lean over to Penelope, placing my hand on her lower back, and speak directly into her ear, keeping our conversation private. “You and I both know that’s a lie, but I’ll let it slide because I look forward to the moment when I fuck that thought right out of your head with my long… thick… cock.” I take my time speaking into her ear, eliciting goose bumps across the surface of her skin. With a quick glance, I also take in how her nipples have hardened.

Bluff all you want baby, I can read you like a fucking book.

“Shit it’s hot over here, isn’t it?” Davies asks, waving the top of a pastry box in front of her face. “How often do you work out Gavin?”

Davies and I haven’t spoken much, just some passing nods and thank you’s when I tip her, but from what I’ve read in her body language, she’s hardened. Something’s happened to her in the past and she’s just as good at hanging out with the guys as she is with the girls. She’s no bullshit, no drama, and no relationships. A blistered kind of woman who doesn’t plan on ever settling down, she says it all with her scorned eyes.

“Every day, unless I have a woman between my legs.”

“Ugh, pig,” Penelope scoffs under her breath.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” I ask her.

She crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. “Yeah, I called you a pig.”

“Because I like sex?”

“No, because you talk about it in front of three women. It’s rude to be crass in front of the female race.”

I shrug. “Just exercising equal rights for all.” I grab some more grapes and say, “Please tell me there’s some alcohol in those drinks.”

“Mimosas!” Page says with a lift of her glass and a rise to her voice.

“Shhh,” Penelope shushes her. “Page, we talked about this, if you can’t hold your breakfast liquor by staying quiet, then we can’t drink in the park.”

“Oops,” she hiccups, clearly a lightweight.

“So what were you pretty ladies talking about before I walked over, looked like Penelope was telling a good story.”

“Nothing,” she cuts me off. “We were talking about nothing.”

I tsk her. “You shouldn’t lie to me, Miss Prescott. You know I can read every move you make, so why even try?”

Her hands fly up in the air, exasperation in her voice when she speaks. “For the love of God, it’s Nell, or, if you must, Penelope. I’m sick of this
Miss Prescott
shit. How hard is it to remember someone’s damn name?”

I lean in close to her, Page and Davies tuned into the melodrama playing out in front of them, glasses of mimosa halfway up to their lips. “I assure you,
Miss Prescott
, I am well aware of your first name, as well as your nickname, but I enjoy the way your eyes light with flames when I address you properly, with sophistication and class, a show of respect you most certainly deserve.”