Played (Trapped Book 3) Read online

  No kidding.

  Now I wish we’d carpooled. To say I’m feeling a tad conspicuous is an understatement. I wouldn’t call this place a meat market but at times, the looks I’ve been getting have me feeling like a pan-seared filet mignon. I’ve already declined three offers of a drink—one of which had been accompanied by an invitation to his place for dessert.

  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I mind guys hitting on me. That comes with the territory. I just don’t want to be seen as the girl so desperate for male attention that I’d come out clubbing alone. People on the prowl do that. It’s been two years since Dale and I broke up but I’m not that desperate. I’m here for my friend, whom I haven’t seen since school let out for summer break.

  After spending a good fifteen minutes in the ladies’ room killing time, I slowly, rather self-consciously circle the club a few times before finally taking up a spot next to one of the columns near the bar. There I retrieve my cellphone from my purse and call Maggie—again.

  After what seems like an interminable number of rings, she answers, huffing as if she just ran up a flight of stairs. “I know, I’m not there.”

  Really? Tell me something I don’t know.

  I strive to keep the irritation from coming through in my voice. “Which is precisely why I’m calling.” It’s a good thing she can’t see the look on my face.

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  When Maggie starts channeling Meryl Streep in Oscar-award mode, I have a pretty good idea where this is going…and how it’s going to end. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and fraying temper.

  “I’m not going to be able to make it.” She’s able to capture the woebegoneness of Sally Field in Places in the Heart perfectly.

  Maggie doesn’t give me a chance to reply, launching into a breathless, garbled explanation of the situation. She just got off the phone with Brad who, as of three hours ago, was her ex-boyfriend. He’s coming over to talk, and she thinks—she’s crossing her fingers—that they might be getting back together. For the umpteenth time.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” she implores. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you. We can do something next week. Anything you want.”

  I roll my eyes as frustration firmly takes hold. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled this shit, and it isn’t the first time I’ve fallen for it. The last time she and Brad broke up, she’d wanted to go dancing to get her mind off things. She’d begged me and some of our other friends to go out with her, and then bailed at the last minute with the same story of them getting back together. Except this time I’m being left all by my lonesome.

  “I’m busy next week,” I reply, my voice intentionally curt.

  “You’re mad at me.”

  At the sound of her pouty, little-girl voice she often uses to gain sympathy, I let out an exasperated breath. “I just don’t understand why you’re even thinking about taking him back—again. He’s a liar and a cheater, and he treats you like shit. God, Mags, you can do so much better.” And I can’t understand why she can’t see that. I’d had to come to the same realization when it came to my ex.

  “No, Erin,” she replies, hurt evident in her voice. “I’m not like you. I can’t flutter my eyes and have guys fall at my feet. Some of us have to take what we can get.”

  My breath hitches. The causticness of her words, not so much the words themselves, renders me momentarily silent.

  I’ve never fluttered my eyes in my life. Yes, while I’ll admit to attracting my fair share of male attention, it’s not the way she paints it. And since when has she ever been hard up for guys? She’s simply attracted to the wrong ones.

  “Brad wants me,” Maggie continues with the conviction of the newly converted. “He’s sorry for the way he’s treated me, and I’m not going to throw four years of my life away if there’s a chance we can work things out.”

  Tamping down the hurt caused by the sting of her words, I recover my voice. “You are talking as if Brad is the only guy who’s ever shown an interest in you and that’s the farthest thing from the truth. Are you forgetting Doug and Pete?”

  During one of her frequent breakups with Brad, both seniors had asked her out. She’d turned them down claiming it was too soon to start dating as she was still getting over Brad.

  “I don’t want Doug or Pete,” she snaps.

  Well, okay then. “Fine, you do what you want.” Clearly what she wants is a vain, immature jerk constantly feeding her lies.

  But Maggie isn’t done defending her decision. “We started going out when we were seventeen. Guys that age aren’t ready to commit to one person.”

  I let out a huff. That sounds exactly like something Brad would say. Actually, I’m certain he did, and my naïve friend swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.

  “Then he should’ve been upfront with you about that instead of cheating on you behind your back.” Okay, that’s the last thing I’m going to say.

  “He’s being honest with me now.” She pauses. “Anyway, I have to go. Brad is waiting. Talk to you later.”

  We exchange stilted goodbyes and hang up. Dispirited, I stare at the phone, desperately wanting to call Paige but resisting the urge. She’s working tonight, and she has enough on her plate with a baby and Bree’s worthless father—who just blew back into town two weeks ago—for me to bother her with something this trivial. I drop my phone back in my purse.

  Maggie’s wrong about me being able to get any guy that I want. Trent has never looked twice at me. And then, of course, there’s Josh.

  Paige and Mitch had been going out three months when we met. I’d been a junior in high school and he’d been a sophomore at MIT.

  He’d been nothing like Paige described. She said he was good looking. He turned out to be eye-candy and then some. She said he was smart. Nope. He’s definitely Rhodes scholar material. She said he was nice. Ha! Maybe to her. To me, he had an ego the size of Texas. That hadn’t stopped me from becoming smitten, though. Fortunately for me, Josh hadn’t been interested in high school girls.

  Over the years, many things changed—I started college, he graduated summa cum laude, and our best friends had a daughter together. But some things stayed the same; he’s still insanely hot and I’m still intensely attracted to him.

  I’m pretty sure the attraction is mutual. His attitude toward me underwent a marked change after I started college. It was as if he suddenly became aware of me as a woman. His gaze frequently lingered and his jokes became more sexual in nature. But for some reason, we’ve never been able to get beyond the bickering and sniping stage. It’s probably because I’m a relationship type of girl and Josh is all about variety being the spice of life.

  Paige commented that he changes women as often as he does his underwear. Even if she was indulging in a bit of hyperbole, he’s not what I’d consider boyfriend material. And after Dale, I’m definitely a lot more risk averse.

  Although, sometimes I wish I was more like him and could treat sex simply as a form of physical pleasure and not get all tied up in the emotional aspect of it. It’s been two years for heaven’s sake. My sexual hiatus has turned into a full-blown drought, and I’m tired of handling that particular need myself. I’ve actually been thinking that a little promiscuity might be exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Anyway. Enough thinking about Josh. Time to bounce. The music is getting louder by the second and I can barely hear myself think.

  Expelling a breath, I make a beeline for the exit. As I’m twisting my way through the crush of people near the door, a hand snags me around my waist, stopping me in my tracks.

  Blind to my accoster, my elbow instinctively goes out, ready to jab until the jerk lets me go. What I don’t expect him to do is pull me closer so that I’m pressed tight against his side, my elbow locked and trapped.

  “Let me g—” The demand dies on my lips the second I look up into too-familiar blue-gray eyes. My fight-or-flight response is immediately replaced by a different kind of tension
, but one just as motivating and powerful

  It’s Josh. In all his five o’clock shadow hotness. My personal kryptonite.

  “Where ya going?” He jerks his chin in the direction of the doors behind him without taking his eyes off me. “You’re not leaving, are you?” he asks in a timbre whose sole purpose must be in talking women out of their clothes.

  Not mine, of course.

  I swiftly school my features as I take him in under the pink and blue strobe lights. He’s not too shabby in jeans and a t-shirt, but in black dress pants and a gray-and-burgundy striped shirt, he’s mouthwatering.

  My heart continues to slam against my breastbone. When my gaze returns to his face, I see he’s checking me out as thoroughly as I am him. His mouth curves in a smile made all the more sexy by the wicked glint in his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” My tone isn’t unfriendly and things have already started to heat up south of the Mason-Dixon line known as my belly button.

  A sexy smile plays across his lips as his gaze becomes hooded. “I imagine the same thing you are.”

  “Josh, man, you going in or what? We’re getting backed up here.”

  Only then do I notice the two guys directly behind him looking at me with rapt interest. The guy urging Josh to move it along epitomizes tall, dark and handsome. He’s African American with a smooth caramel complexion, a square chiseled jaw and a muscular frame. If smoking hot is your temperature preference, he’d be somewhere near the top of the list. The other guy is a few inches shorter with dirty blond hair and a round, boyish face.

  Josh shoots a quick look behind him and sees he is indeed causing a minor traffic jam. He quickly grabs me by the hand and leads me back inside toward an area near the dance floor where a collection of comfy-looking red couches are arranged in a semi-circle.

  I don’t balk or resist. I completely forget I was on my way out a minute ago. Josh holding my hand is…not unpleasant.

  The two guys, whom I’ve now concluded must be friends he came with, follow feet behind us. Josh stops, forcing me to do the same. He doesn’t let go of my hand, something I’m acutely aware of as we scan the filled-to-capacity sitting area.

  Nowhere to sit. I could have told him that.

  But because angels upon high are always watching over him, having already gifted him with above-average intelligence, good looks and a wonderful family, a couple sitting in the adjacent section that contains a handful of glass tables, stands and vacates theirs.

  Josh’s command is sharp and urgent. “Mac, grab that.”

  He doesn’t have to tell Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome twice. Mac places his not inconsiderable bulk in front of the table before the former occupants have barely cleared the space. His other friend takes possession of one of the two stools. They then turn their speculative gazes back on me, wide grins on their faces as we approach.

  “Thanks. Now you can shove off.”

  Josh may have missed a charm class or six.

  Mac chuckles good-naturedly. “What, no introduction?” He winks at me in a manner only a self-confident man can pull off.

  “Mac, Charlie, this is Erin. Now get lost.”

  As introductions go, it’s clear Josh needs to work on his.

  “So this is Erin,” Mac drawls, his teeth blindingly white against his smooth complexion. He reminds me of a boy I crushed on in the ninth grade.

  I shoot Josh a look, my eyebrow quirked. Apparently, my reputation precedes me.

  “Yes, this is Erin, and thanks for grabbing the table. Buy a round on me.” That said, Josh releases my hand and retrieves his wallet from his back pocket. He peels off a couple twenties and hands them to Mac. “Now git.”

  If his friend meant to embarrass him, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Embarrassment isn’t in Josh’s DNA.

  “It was nice to finally meet you, Erin,” Charlie says,

  Mac leans down and lightly touches my shoulder, his voice loud enough for Josh to hear. “Be gentle with him,” he jokes before he and Charlie saunter off.

  “Ass,” Josh mutters but there’s amusement in his voice. “Come on. Have a seat.” He gently tugs my hand, compelling me to sit.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asks as I carefully perch myself on the stool and place my purse on the table. Our eyes meet and I’m lost in his gaze.

  I don’t know this Josh. The Josh without the smirk or mocking grin. Even when he flirted with me, it appeared that for him it was simply a fun way to pass the time. It never seemed he expected it to go anywhere. I’m getting a different vibe tonight.

  “Erin.”

  His prompt jolts me from my mesmerized silence.

  “A drink?” he repeats.

  I wave a hand at the bar and the line winding its way towards the entrance. “It’s going to take forever.”

  He turns in his seat, beckons one of the waitresses and in a matter of seconds she’s at his side, smiling down at him.

  “Hey, handsome, what can I get you tonight?”

  Okay, it’s clear that they’re more than a little acquainted, and that fact lands like a stone in my stomach.

  Josh regards me. “What’re you having?”

  “I’ll have a Mai Tai.” I wonder if he’s slept with her.

  The waitress flashes me a bright smile and quickly shifts her attention back to Josh. “The usual?”

  He nods, his grin easy and relaxed, as if accustomed to having pretty women at his beck and call.

  “Okay, one Mai Tai and a whiskey sour coming up. I’ll be back before you can miss me.” With a wink, she’s gone, hips swinging in her thigh-hugging black skirt.

  “She seems…nice,” I say innocently.

  “No, I’m not sleeping with her, nor have I ever had sex with her.”

  It’s clear I have to work on my poker face.

  “And don’t look at me all wide-eyed. I know that’s what you were thinking.”

  Yes, but I was plotting a way to bring it up without being obvious.

  “Cherise is like that with everyone.”

  Cherise. Is that her real name or the one she uses when she’s on stage? Okay, that was tired and catty, but seriously, who names their child Cherise unless they want her to grow up to take off her clothes for a living?

  “I was not thinking that because I don’t care who you’re sleeping with. It has nothing to do with me.” The last part is true. Who Josh sleeps with is technically none of my business but my feelings about it are, and it’s something I don’t seem to have much control over.

  A dark eyebrow goes up as he studies me silently. Just as I’m beginning to squirm, he sighs, places his forearms flat on the table and leans in, his gaze intent.

  “I want tonight to be different.” His voice is soft and low.

  My brow furrows. I’m not following.

  “Mitch told me you’d be here tonight with one of your girlfriends.”

  Mitch? How did he know…? Oh right, Paige. Of course. I’ll have to talk to her about discussing me with the enemy. God, I hope she’s not falling for him again.

  “And that’s the reason you’re here?”

  Josh tilts his head and runs his knuckles down the side of his bristled jaw. “For the most part.”

  Pleasure suffuses my body like a hot blush. It’s the closest to a vocal admission I’ve ever gotten from him. An admission that there’s something between us. A spark. A sizzle. An itch that needs to be scratched.

  “Why?” I have to ask.

  He chuckles, deep and low, and it’s as if his finger circled my clit because it elicits the same reaction: the dampening of my panties.

  His eyes darken. “You know why.” It’s growing increasingly harder to hear him above the music, but I can read his lips. And they are very nice lips.

  “So you can ruin my evening?”

  That earns another low chuckle. “C’mon, Erin, it’s just us. You can admit how much you want me. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mitch.”

  It would have been funny if it weren�
�t true.

  “In your dreams.”

  A speculative gleam enters his eyes as his gaze drops from my lips to my breasts.

  My nipples respond to the molten heat in his gorgeous blue-gray eyes, tightening into hard discernible buds.

  “I’ve had more than a few of those.” The seductive growl in his voice curls my toes.

  “What kind of dreams?” May as well. In for a penny and all that.

  “How ’bout you come back to my place and I show you.”

  The pounding pulse of the music—the kind that has couples on the dance floor grinding and slowly thrusting their hips—fully captures where my thoughts go.

  The waitress’s return gives me a moment to decide how to respond to his overt come on. This time Cherise doesn’t loiter, and after placing our drinks in front of us, she throws a cheery, “Flag me when you need refills,” at Josh before sashaying off.

  Placing the straw to my lips, I take a tentative sip of my umbrellaed cocktail. Perfect. I thirstily go back for a long draw.

  Josh doesn’t take his eyes off me as he first stirs then takes a sip of his drink.

  There are no words to describe what I’m feeling except to say that my heart is in my throat. I swallow then ask with guileless aplomb, “Josh, are you coming on to me?”

  “I must be doing it wrong if it’s not obvious.”

  I’m not one prone to uncontrollable bouts of blushing, but my cheeks are on fire.

  “We don’t even like each other.” I don’t know why I’m hedging. I have no business entertaining anything he’s proposing.

  Josh’s gaze dips to my chest. “Speak for yourself.”

  Nervous laughter sputters from my lips. “Are you saying you wouldn’t mind having sex with someone who doesn’t like you?”

  “No more than you want to have sex with a man you claim not to like.”

  I send him an arch look. He doesn’t have to sound quite so smug in his skepticism.

  “Are you insinuating that I want to have sex with you?” I counter, trying to sound as if I find the whole thing amusing.