Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance (3 page)

T
he slap struck
him like lighting, with an audible
smack
. The sting was instantaneous. Alex removed the hand from her slender neck and brought it up to his cheek to soothe the pain.

The man behind them—who, at this point, was beginning to get on Alex’s nerves as well—guffawed with delight.

He ignored it as he sat there embracing the lingering effects of that kiss. The skin on the back of her neck had been so smooth. He could still feel the plumpness of her ass in his hands, even above the rough denim fabric. And the taste of her…
sweet lord
. He rolled his tongue around his mouth, savoring the last bit of her flavor. The flag in his pants that had been working its way to half-mast, made it all the way to the top of the pole.

He placed his hands over the tent in his jeans as he watched her expression.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” she seethed.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice indicating no such sentiment, “the moment just struck me. Besides, the camera crew obviously thinks we’re a couple. We might as well please the masses.”

He offered a charming grin in hopes of tempering some of that rage. She looked down at his lips and he was pleased to see her suppressing a smile of her own before she turned to face the game again.

The Alex Wright charm works its magic yet again.

He felt rather pleased with himself. Based on her behavior beforehand, he would have thought it would be tougher to bring her around. Apparently he was a better kisser than he thought. He might as well try pressing his luck.

“So is that a yea or nay on going to
Jealous
?” he probed, offering up yet another trademark Alex Wright smile.

She turned back to him. He saw her eyes taking in his smile once again. He felt a bit encouraged when she offered a smile in return.

“Sure,” she shrugged. Then she leaned in close to him, and he had another heady whiff of that intoxicating jasmine scent of hers.
God, this girl!

“Just keep in mind,” she purred. “The second you leave that seat, I’m taking it back. Then I might just lose all interest in you. So I hope you can hold it as far as going to the bathroom goes.”

It was an odd pronouncement, but Alex didn’t put too much thought into it. She’d agreed to come with him, which was all that mattered. If he had to pee into a cup to keep from leaving his seat, that’s what he’d do.

Having more than a passing knowledge of
Jealous
, he knew there was no way anything even remotely resembling a conversation could be had there. The music was far too loud—and for good reason. When people couldn’t talk, they spent money on drinks. And when people drank…they let go of all their inhibitions. Alex had a strong desire to see what this little minx was like when she let go of hers.

By the time he was done with her, his brother Michael would be nothing more than a distant memory.

* * *

H
aving made
good on keeping his ass firmly planted in his—or rather Michael’s—seat for the entire second half, she agreed to accompany him to
Jealous
. The irony of the name of the club wasn’t lost on him. As he led her out of Madison Square Garden and on to the street to hail a cab, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the fact that she was so obviously sprung over his older brother that made her so damn desirable.

“So it looks like your knee is better,” he heard her say as she looked down at his leg.

“It’s a miracle!” he said, giving her his best shit-eating grin. “It must have been that kiss,” he said, leaning in to her.

She smiled down at his mouth again. They both knew he’d been lying. It was the second tiny white lie he’d told her tonight.

Actually, the first wasn’t so much a lie, as a choice not to divulge information. She still had no clue that he was Michael’s brother. Alex made it a point to be on a first name basis with everyone he interacted with personally, and professionally. Wright wasn’t an uncommon name; all the same, he had no desire to play on his father’s notoriety. He was grateful for the opportunities in life the Wright legacy had afforded him, but he learned early on that being associated with his father was more trouble than it was worth. Which was why he was often in one international city or another—as long as that city wasn’t New York. He had a suspicion that was the reason why Michael had gone the opposite direction and taken on a boring law firm partnership.

As they stood on the curb waiting with the masses for a cab, a thought occurred to him. “So I just realized, I don’t even know your name,” he said, posing the unspoken question to her.

She gave him a smile. “I suppose you deserve that much,” she said. “Brooklyn.”

He nodded as though it made sense. In a way, it did.
“Brooklyn…?”
he prodded, hoping for more than just a first name to go on.

“Just leave it at Brooklyn,” she said.

He left it. It would have been hypocritical of him not to. The second she gave her last name, she’d want his. That wouldn’t do. If she knew her crush—and let’s not mince words, it was definitely a crush—was his brother, the wall of silence would come crashing down.

“Alright then, Brooklyn…
Smith
,” he said.

“Pleased to meet you Alex…
Smith
,” she said in kind.

He gave a short laugh and saw her amused gaze fall toward his lips again, no doubt remembering the unforgettable kiss he’d given her.

* * *

A
lex was
happy to see the line outside
Jealous
was all the way down the block. He took it as a personal point of pride. He exited the cab, reaching a hand toward Brooklyn to pull her out behind him. He noted her gaze as she took in the long line of young women in tiny dresses and the men who were there to ogle them. Alex could have told her that the men would get in before the women. Eye candy was important, but men who spent money trying to entice that eye candy were definitely a priority as far as the owners were concerned.

Such particulars were irrelevant for Alex and his date. Even in his t-shirt, jeans and Chuck Taylors, and Brooklyn’s equally, non-sexually appealing attire, he knew they’d get in. After all, Alex had already made the owners over one hundred thousand dollars profit. A one-time joke of a club had all of a sudden become the hottest spot in the biggest city in America—all thanks to Alex.

As such, he felt pretty confident when he took Brooklyn’s hand, walked her right past the line of hopefuls waiting to get in, and straight up to the bouncer, Tyrone. In Alex’s profession, it paid to remember names.

“Alex, my man!” Tyrone exclaimed.

“Hey, Tyrone,” Alex responded, raising his fist to bump the one Tyrone offered him. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain,” Tyrone said. “Thanks to you.”

Alex smiled. Even though the bottom line was the most important thing in his business, it was always good when each and every employee was happy. Alex had learned a long time ago, the two usually went hand in hand.

Tyrone leaned in closer to him, a curious expression on his face. Alex took a startled step back in response.

The bouncer looked at Alex, then over to Brooklyn, then back at Alex.

“Yo, girl, you know you wrong for that,” he said, giving Brooklyn a scornful frown, which was countered by his inability to keep the laughter from his voice. “How you gonna have my man runnin’ round town lookin’ like this?”

Alex turned to her in confusion. She was giving Tyrone a tart, little smirk.

“That’s what he gets for stealing things that aren’t his,” she turned to Alex with a satisfied smile, “like seats…and
kisses.
”

“Is someone going to clue me in here?” he finally asked.

“Yo, man,” Tyrone said, the laugher breaking through. “I can let you in despite them clothes, but that Marilyn Manson shit? It gots to go.” He pointed to Alex’s lips as though that clarified things.

Alex reached a fingertip up to his lips. As he pulled it away he saw the purplish black lipstick, a remnant of Brooklyn’s own personal choice of lip color.

Holy fuck!

He gave her an accusatory glare. She just smirked in response.

“You let me sit through the whole second half like this?” he asked incredulously, as he furiously wiped the lipstick off his lips. No wonder she didn’t want him going to the bathroom during the game.

“Serves you right,” she retorted. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about kissing someone without permission.”

As he continued to wipe the make up from his lips he couldn’t help but laugh inwardly.

Point one, Brooklyn.

T
he music hit
Brooklyn hard as soon as they walked in. She immediately realized there was no way she was getting information out of Alex; at least not any information that she could hear. She was tempted to turn around and walk right out, but she was curious about the hottest new club in town. Truth be told, she was a bit curious about this guy as well.

The pulse of the beat reverberated through her body as she followed Alex further in. She looked out onto the packed dance floor, where people who were far more dressed to impress than she was grinded up against one another. She looked down at her own outfit which, if the tiny spandex dresses surrounding her were any indication, showed far too little skin. Alex was ahead of her wearing the uniform of your average hipster in his fitted jeans, well-worn t-shirt, and black Chuck Taylors.

Lest she get the idea that their inappropriate attire might make them unwelcome, they were both stopped by a rather stunning young blonde holding a tray of drinks. Brooklyn looked down at the uniform that highlighted the best parts of her—which was every part. It was a black corset top with rhinestone covered cups and matching, black booty-shorts. Other than the black shoes, that was pretty much it.

“Alex!” she squealed. Brooklyn felt a brief flash of jealousy run through her as the girl stretched up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. Apparently, Alex knew more than just the bouncer.

“Head on up,” the girl yelled over the music. “I’ll get you a few shots, on the house of course.” She smiled and winked as she walked away to deliver the drinks already in her hand.

As they wandered through the crowd of people, Alex reached back to grab her hand and lead her through the crush of bodies. She kind of liked the feel of it, being led around by this handsome stranger through a club where everyone who worked there seemed to know and like him.

As if to drive the point home, they were stopped by another gorgeous waitress, this one a brunette, who also smiled prettily up at him. Brooklyn couldn’t hear what the woman leaned in to whisper into Alex’s ear, but she did see the waitress nod her head over toward a set of stairs blocked off by a velvet rope, and no-nonsense looking man in a black suit.

Brooklyn followed the stairs up with her eyes, and saw the seating area above with what were no-doubt, spectacular views of the throng of dancers below them. Already some of the booths were filled with a few A-listers she recognized.

The granite-like statue guarding the area didn’t break character by offering the two of them a smile. He
did
nod deferentially and, without a word, unhook the rope for them to enter the VIP area.

Alex held on tight to her hand and she used the moment to watch his back muscles work underneath his t-shirt. It was just snug enough to show that he worked out. Her eyes wandered down to the back of his jeans, which also provided an informative glimpse of his impressive anatomy.

As he led her past the VIP patrons, she noted a few players from the game they had just come from, one well-known rapper, and a group of Wall Street types already getting rowdy. Alex came to a stop at one booth and the darkly handsome man in a slick suit popped up out of the nest of bombshells he was nestled in to reach out and give him a bro hug.

Who are you, Alex Smith?

As the two men stood there exchanging greetings, which Brooklyn only caught bits and pieces of, she felt the group of girls in the booth scrutinizing her. Sizing her up. Comparing. Critiquing. Condemning. She turned her attention to the dance floor below. The strobe lighting and dancing bodies were almost mesmerizing.

She felt the tug of his hand as he led her to the last booth.

“Who was that guy?” she shouted.

“Owner,” Alex shot back at her.

As soon as they had settled in, the blonde waitress from downstairs was in front of them placing two shot glasses on the table with a glowing smile. Brooklyn couldn’t tell what was in them, with the blue and pink lights flashing around them, but it looked light and creamy and there was a dollop of whipped cream on top.

“What are these?” she shouted, looking at them suspiciously.

He moved in closer to her to avoid shouting. It crossed her mind that this had been his plan all along. He leaned in toward her ear. “Happy Endings. House specialty.”

He picked them up and handed one to her. She watched him shoot his down, his tongue running over his mouth to collect the remnant of whipped cream. The move stirred something in her, and for the second time tonight she clamped her thighs together.

She shrugged and shot hers down. No stranger to clubbing, or doing shots, she instantly recognized the familiar taste of Baileys Irish Cream, Kahlúa, and Amaretto. “This is a Blow Job!” she shot back at him.

He grinned and shrugged. “Same difference,” he said with a wink.

Brooklyn laughed as she licked the whipped cream off her upper lip.

* * *

A
n hour
—and five “Happy Endings”—later they were knee to knee, head to head, talking to one another as much as the music would allow, which wasn’t much.

The shots had gone down a bit too easy and now they were on to their second round of beers. Alex was rapidly replacing Michael in Brooklyn’s mental priority of men. In a certain light he even resembled the man. They were both tall, well over 6 feet. Both had thick, wavy black hair and that noteworthy chin. That’s where the similarities ended. Michael was sophisticated, always in a well-tailored suit, with an air of firm, but pleasant, authority. This guy? Well, for starters, he was an obvious player. Why else would every waitress in this club be falling all over themselves for him? She wondered how many of them he had gone to bed with and was surprised to feel another, much stronger, ripple of jealousy shoot through her.

Based on the way he was focused on her, she should have had nothing to worry about. It was a bit flattering, especially considering the
caché
this guy seemed to have in this place.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He grinned. “Just call me Mr. Wrong,” he leaned in closer to her ear, “I’ll make you forget all about Mr. Wright.”

She laughed at the pun, but it made her think of Michael. Was it cheating being here with this Alex guy, knowing full well what his intentions were?

Technically,
she wasn’t really
with
Michael.
Technically,
he hadn’t ever said more than a few sentences to her.
Technically,
she had probably already gone back to being nonexistent as far as he was concerned.

She shook her head to clear it a bit. Was she trying to convince herself to go home with this guy?

She had just turned twenty-three after all. Like Alex had suggested earlier, she should be having fun. She deserved to sow a few wild oats before settling down with Mr. Wright. She giggled at her own pun and saw Alex’s face light up.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she shook her head, still smiling. How many drinks had they had tonight?

“How about we go somewhere we can…talk?” he suggested.

It sounded like a fine idea to Brooklyn. Right about now, anything this guy suggested would have sounded like a fine idea.