I don’t live my life for anyone but me. Does that make me a dick? According to my family, sure. But family isn’t everything.
Right now, the thing I’m most interested in is finding a nice piece of ass to take back to my suite tonight.
Is this something out of the ordinary? No. I like to fuck—no hiding that. And what I like more is a woman who’s fearless in the bedroom. I don’t want some girl I can train into dominating.
I don’t want to be called Sir. I want to be called a motherfucking King.
Besides, I’m not into that hardcore shit. I just like to spank an ass, use a blindfold, tie a girl up to the bedpost while I lick her pussy.
And, looking around this wedding reception, I can’t help but think there must be some girl here looking for a hook-up that’s less risky than swiping through Tinder.
“When they said their vows, I thought I’d just melt,” Tess says, her tone reflecting absolute longing. “I want what Ace and Emmy have so much it hurts.”
Tess, sitting next to me at the wedding party table, sighs into her Lemon Drop cocktail. She’s the epitome of sappy bridesmaid.
I smile tightly at her desire to be partnered up. I held her arm as we walked down the aisle, and I swear I could see her heart pitter-patter through the strapless pink chiffon.
“Chin up, Tess,” I say, offering her my best groomsman pep-talk. “Surely there’s some chap here you fancy.” I look around the room appraisingly, wanting to find myself a woman to bang.
The wedding reception is small—neither Emmy nor Ace have any family—but there are business associates and friends in attendance. Still, only fifty or so people have gathered here today, and Ace was adamant about no paparazzi.
Jack appreciates it, and his on-and-off girlfriend, Grammy-award-winning pop star Ashley Fast hangs on him with the same starry eyes Tess has.
I don’t want any woman like that tonight. Sure, a nice wedding always gets a girl’s panties wet—but I’m an asshole, and not interested in a woman looking for anything longer than one night. Some women get so damn clingy after a night with me, and I can’t handle a girl like that.
Ace and Emmy are on the dance floor, swaying to their first dance. I truly thought Ace would be above all this wedding bullshit, but Emmy has his nuts in a pretty tight grip. Not that I blame him. Emmy is an absolute gem of a girl. I understand why Ace fell so hard, so fast. Plus, I’m sure she’s absolutely banging in the bedroom.
I mean, with a rack like that—which, I know, not cool to talk about my friends wife that way—but the truth is, what Ace has found isn’t something I want. Not in the least. I’ve spent my life avoiding commitments and running from my posh, old-money childhood. Running from my father’s estate, and his wishes that I’d come home and work in the family business.
But my stick-up-his-ass brother Geoffrey has always held that role. And I learned early on that I wanted nothing to do with him and his long-time girlfriend Fiona. They’re wound up so tight they give me a fucking ulcer just being around them.
Everyone claps as Ace dips Emmy low at the end of the song. They’re laughing, all smiles, and my shoulders tighten as I take another glance around the room. There are some women over at the bar holding up their phones, but they look tacky as hell taking selfies at a fucking reception. At this point I’ll consider one of the waitresses—they might be my best bet for tonight.
The band, playing old jazz standards, opens up the dance floor and McQueen, who sits next to me, takes Tess’s hand like the gentleman he isn’t, and leads her to the dance floor. Jack and Ashley follow them, and the lights dim as couples find their way.
“Landon, you need to ask someone to dance, bro,” Ace says, coming up behind me. “You kinda look like an ass sitting alone.”
“I’m not alone,” I say, looking across the table at Emmy’s friend Claire, who’s still sitting here. But she’s nearly as bad as the selfie girls; she’s been looking down at her phone in her lap all throughout the reception.
Emmy takes a seat next to Claire, and I see a smile stretch tightly across Claire’s face. Her eyes are brighter than they have been throughout the reception, but I can tell it isn’t genuine. I know, who the hell am I to judge her, right? I just appreciate she isn’t starry-eyed like Tess and Ashley.
“Go dance with Claire, asshat,” Ace tells me. “She looks sad as fuck.”
“You see that, too?”
“Yeah, Emmy says she’s been off lately. Stressed out about money and shit. I feel bad for her, in all honesty. Tried to give her a raise, but she said it was ridiculous to pay her twice as much as the other cocktail girls. That girl doesn’t want hand-outs.”