Undisputed (5 page)

He just rolls his eyes. “Brec, are we going somewhere? Or would you rather I leave you alone with your watch so you can show it just how much you appreciate it?”

I glare at him. I’ve known Tripp for fourteen years, and if it’s possible, his jokes are still just as bad as they were in middle school.

“Fuck you,” is all I can come up with. “Let’s go. I’ll drive tonight.” I grab the keys off the counter and head toward the exit.

“You sure? I can drive. Last time we went out, you got pretty trashed.” He sways his head from side to side in consideration. “Actually,
every
time we go out, you get wasted. We should probably just call a cab and save the hassle of trying to figure out how we’re gonna get home later.”

As I open the door, gesturing for him to lead the way, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and clicks only one button before lifting it to his ear. Fucker actually has the number on speed dial.

I press the call button on the elevator and then stare straight ahead as I swat his phone right out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“I’m driving tonight. You can take a cab there if you want, but I’m leaving now.” I laugh as he scrambles after his phone, muttering curse words.

He’s not pissed. But I’ll definitely pay for punking him out later. Tripp is my best friend for a reason. He is quite honestly the only person who can not only put up with my shit, but dish it back out just as well.

“You have problems,” he mumbles.

I open my mouth to level him with another Breccan Carlisle classic, “Fuck you,” when he snatches the keys from my hand and darts to the stairs.

“Son of a bitch! You touch my car and I’ll fucking kill you!” I yell after him.

I’d like to say I love my ride, but that’s probably a vast understatement for the way I feel about Velma. She’s a brand-new, absolutely fucking loaded Range Rover. I had them put everything they could in it, and then I took it to a customs shop and had them add even more. There isn’t a single vehicle on the road like mine. I have a list of rules anyone has to all but sign a contract stating they will abide by before they’re even allowed inside her. Velma is my baby, and I’m the world’s worst helicopter dad.

We pull up to the front of the packed club twenty minutes later. The line circling the block is a good mixture of guys who are obviously douchebags and half-naked chicks with fake tits—it’s my personal version of heaven.

After parking, I get out, crack my neck, and roll my shoulders. I have a feeling this is going to be a great night.

“I can tell this is going to be a bad night,” Tripp moans.

“What? Why the hell is it going to be a bad night?” I bump him with my elbow. “Dude, look at all the chicks you have to choose from. Over there.” I point to a group of five girls standing near the back of the line.

They probably spent at least two hours getting themselves all dressed up to come tonight, and the disappointment of being in the back of the line is written all over their pretty faces.

“Let’s go make their night, Trippy.” I purposely use the nickname he hates as I saunter over to the girls. “Ladies! You all look incredible tonight. I’m sure it took you, what, fifteen minutes to get ready?” I smile as all of their eyes light up. “This kind of beauty just comes naturally, right?” I tell them while plastering my most genuine smile on.

The blond chick looks like she isn’t buying it, but the rest of the girls are either blushing or giggling out loud. It’s actually the most stereotypical response you would expect from a group of women.

“It would be a shame to waste this beauty outside all night instead of inside with a drink in your hand. It must be your lucky night, because I can get us all in. By the way, my name is Breccan.” I stick my hand out to the skeptical blonde.

She begrudgingly accepts it. She may be unsure of me, but even she can’t resist the thought of bypassing the hell line and getting inside.

“I’m Aly. This is Autumn, Danielle, Britney, and Krystal,” she tells me while pointing to the girls.

I forget their names the second she says them.

After the introductions, I lead them to the front of the line. I’ve almost forgotten that Tripp is with me until one of the girls starts talking to him.

“Hey, I think Breccan here forgot his manners. I’m Aly. What’s your name?” It’s the icy blonde.

“Oh, Brec doesn’t have manners. That’s why he drags me out with him. I usually spend my night cleaning up his messes and making up for the fact that he’s a complete dick. Anyway, I’m Tripp.” He takes the hand she has outstretched and shakes it.

I waggle my eyebrows in his direction, and he swiftly stomps on my toe.

“Fuck! What the hell was that for?” I bark out.

Before he can respond, though, the bouncer steps in front of us.

“IDs please.” He’s checking the girls out before turning his attention to me. Surprise registers on his face. “Oh shit. Breccan Carlisle. KO. Man, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m a huge fan. Boss said, if you show up, I’m to let you in right away.”

I don’t recognize him and realize he must be new. But it’s obvious the big guy is absolutely star struck. Yet another reason I love what I do.

“Good to meet you too,” I say, sticking my hand out.

“Mike. Big Mike. Man, this has just made my night. Hell, my week,” he responds, vigorously shaking my hand.

I thank him for his support before heading for the door. Tripp grumbles to himself about people always recognizing me.

The music is throbbing and the lights are flashing, and I am thanking my lucky stars that I’m not epileptic, because if I were, I would be flopping around on the floor like a fish out of water. It’s hot as fuck inside, and there’s a mass of people bumping and grinding on the dance floor to the latest song by 2 Chainz.

Once we get to the VIP section, a waitress takes our drink order and I spout off about three different bottles of liquor I want. Tripp shoots me a glare, but I ignore him and scan the crowd.

Half an hour passes and I’ve downed half a bottle of Crown. I can usually hold my alcohol, but dinner was hours ago and the liquor’s gone straight to my head. And my bladder.

“Tripp… Tripp buddy… Trippy…” I slur while waving my hand back and forth, trying to get his attention.

Tripp hasn’t left that girl’s side all night. I can’t remember her name any more than I can figure out why she’s shooting me dirty looks.

Tripp gets up and makes his way over before settling in the chair next to mine. “Brec, I think maybe you should have some water. Shit,
I
need some water and I’ve had half as much to drink as you.”

Tripp is always the voice of reason. It’s one of the reasons I love him. I begin to tell him just that before my bladder saves me the embarrassment.

I drunkenly sway toward him. “You know what, Tripp? I gotta piss.”

Shoving away from him, I push through the crowd before reaching the hall leading to the bathrooms. I’m nodding my head at a couple guys I recognize when movement on the floor catches my attention. Skidding to a halt, I realize the movement is a chick crawling around on the floor. I write her off as some drunk girl and continue to the bathroom.

When I emerge a few moments later, the girl is still on the floor. Something about her makes me stop. Leaning my shoulder against the wall, I watch her fumble around. It appears as though she’s patting the wall down. Every now and then, she stops and curses before resuming her search. When she makes a face while shaking her hand off, I finally decide to speak.

“Hey. You okay down there?” I ask.

She whips her head in my direction. “Do I look okay?” she snaps.

Despite her attitude, she’s extremely pretty. She has very little makeup on, and her wavy, red hair is all over the place, but it only enhances her natural beauty.

Throwing my hands up, I say, “Whoa. Sorry I asked.”

Not moving to stand, she blows her hair out of her face. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t happen to have an outlet in your pocket, would you?”

Patting my pockets, I shake my head and then squat down in front of her. “I’m Brec.”

She reaches a hand up and dangles a cell phone charger in front of me. “Nice to meet you, Brock. I’m the crazy chick who has a dead phone.”

I smile impossibly wide. “No, it’s Brec.”

She turns her head back toward the wall.

“Here. Let me help you off this dirty floor. If you want, you can use my phone.”

She takes my hand, the smallest of grins splitting her lips. Standing, I pull her to her feet. She isn’t dressed like the other women in the club. Her jeans fit her like a glove and show off her curves, but they aren’t designer threads. Her tank top barely reveals any cleavage, but it does show off her toned arms.

“I bet I looked ridiculous,” she states, brushing the hair out of her face.

Words flow from my mouth before I can even stop them. “Someone as beautiful as you could never look ridiculous.”
Nice line, cheese dick.

Blushing, she shoves her phone and her charger cord back in her purse. “That’s really nice of you to let me use your phone. If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll just send my sister a text.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” I reply, holding her gaze until she shyly glances away. “Here.” I offer her my phone.

She takes the phone and grimaces. “Just one message,” she says before quickly typing a message and then handing it back. “Oh, wait. I should probably delete that.” She snatches my phone back giving me a wicked grin.

I’m lost in her bright, blue eyes as her fingers slide over the screen, doing God knows what in my phone.

Between the booze and this woman, there are no fucks left to give. She could steal the damn thing and I’m not sure I’d be able to protest.

“Thanks again.” She tucks the phone in my hand before turning to leave.

I catch her arm at the elbow. “Hey. Where ya goin’? You didn’t tell me your name.”

She glances up through her lashes while tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “It’s Sidney.”

Sidney.

Sidney.

Fucking remember that, you drunk douchebag.

Sid…ney.

“Sidney. That’s a gorgeous name. It fits you. Are you here alone?” I rush out, doing my best to hide my drunken slur. I pray that she says yes, not only because I’m interested in her, but also because what kind of an asshole lets her crawl around on the ground?

Her gaze shifts from side to side while she smirks. “Are you trying to pick me up?”

“Well, technically, I just did,” I tell her, gesturing to the spot she was just in on the floor.

“Touché.” Her smile grows. “I’m here with some friends, actually.”

Glad she didn’t mention a boyfriend, I offer, “Let me buy you a drink.”

She shakes her head. “Thanks, but no, thanks. I’m not drinking. I was actually about to head home.”

“Well, then let me get you a soda. A water? I hear the bartender makes a mean Shirley Temple,” I counter, determined not to let her leave yet.

She laughs, and the magical sound spurs me on.

“What’s the rush? Husband waiting at home?”

Shaking her head again, she responds, “Nope. Just my couch and Netflix.”

I dramatically clutch my heart then shoot her my best smile. “You’re too beautiful to waste it on your couch. Come have
one
nonalcoholic beverage with me.” I stick my bottom lip out in an attempt to look pathetic enough that she’ll say yes.

Fuck. Am I really doing this?

I’m rewarded for my efforts with a big smile and a quick nod.
Yes. Yes. I fucking am.

“How can I resist the puppy-dog face?” she laughs.

Pumping my arms in the air, I shout, “She said yes!” Gripping her around the waist, I lift her off her feet and jokingly spin us both around in a circle. “She said yes!”

Wiggling out of my arms, she shrieks, “Oh my god, put me down! Jesus, how drunk are you?”

Grinning from ear to ear, I tell her, “I’ve only had three drinks.” I hold up five fingers and wink.

Shaking her head, she mumbles, “Multiply that by two at least.”

Ready to continue this conversation with a drink in my hand, I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her to the bar.

Knocking on the bar with my knuckles, I get the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have a Crown and Coke. And the hottest chick in the club here wants a Shirley Temple.”

Gripping my bicep, she interjects, “I’ll just take a water, please.”

Normally, I’d throw in a flex for good measure.

For this chick? I throw in three.

A few minutes of fighting not to stare at her cleavage later, he sets the drinks in front of us. I hand hers over and offer my glass up in a toast.

Raising one eyebrow at me, she smirks, “This ought to be good.”

I clear my throat before saying, “To cell phones. May yours always be dead, sockets be missing, and heroes be plentiful.” I pause when I realize what I said. Then I correct myself. “And, by heroes, I mean me. May I be plentiful.” I clink her cup with mine.

She giggles before taking a small sip. “Hear, hear.”

“So, Sidney. What brought you to this amazing establishment tonight?” I ask.

“A car,” she replies, her eyes twinkling.