Grinder (Seattle Sharks Book 1) by Samantha Whiskey Page B

upper levels offered balcony views and exclusivity to VIPs. Jeannine and I bypassed those and headed straight for the massive bar which set just off the dance floor. Dark lighting, loud music, and fantastic drinks—it was exactly what I needed—and exactly the place Paige constantly avoided. I wished she were here too, but understood she couldn’t risk the paparazzi catching her indulging at a place like this, not with the wholesome image she had to maintain for her company.
    Either way, after the past couple weeks I’d had, I couldn’t wait to get to drinking. Gage was giving me whiplash and my emotions were just as bad, jumping from wanting to board-check him myself to wanting to simply tie him to his bed and make him watch while I took control over his glorious body. I swallowed hard, the image sending a flush over my skin.
    The club was packed, but not so much we couldn’t get our hands on two healthy portions of top-shelf liquor. A few sips and I was ready to rock, tugging Jeannine into the masses of writhing bodies on the floor.
    A sick DJ booth took up half of the farthest wall from the entrance and she cranked out hip-shaking tunes, appeasing the throngs of people dying for a release. I swayed back and forth to the beat, the bottom of my top fanning out around me as Jeannine spun me in a dramatic move. I returned the gesture and we lost ourselves to the music, our moves, and the drinks. By the time we came up for air, sweat popped from my brow and I held my long hair off my neck to fan it.
    “We haven’t done this in ages!” Jeannine shouted over the thumping of bass. “I’m out of shape!” She pretended to pant, fanning her face as we took a seat at the bar.
    “Please.” I rolled my eyes after ordering another drink. She was fit and had more stamina than both Paige and myself combined. She’d always been able to outlast us at any event we’d ever attended together. I don’t know how she managed it. Usually, after a couple hours, I was dying for my yoga pants, an oversized T, and my bed.
    The thought of my bed made me wonder again what Gage had chosen to do tonight with the house completely empty. A flare of jealousy sizzled in my gut when I thought about him bringing another woman home and I took a quick swallow of my vodka cranberry to cool it.
    He wouldn’t do that, would he?
    The look in his eyes right before he’d kissed me in the laundry room told me I was different than the girls he’d brought home night after night. And I had to be, right? We were friends, for God’s sake. I took care of his baby girl, loved her, and if he ever was honest with himself, he’d realize I’d been taking care of him too—making sure he was eating right, stayed on him about keeping pace with his rehabilitation exercises even though his shoulder was solid again.
    Jealousy turned to anger in a blink, the realization that he kept himself closed off to me for more than professional reasons made me want to smash my empty glass on the floor. How could he group me in with the likes of Helen? With the women who couldn’t be trusted, who jumped from player to player as their news coverage grew. It was infuriating, especially when I knew without a doubt he felt something for me too. I knew it as easily as I knew when Lettie would have a meltdown.
    “Want to tell me what you’re chewing on?” Jeannine asked, clinking her scotch against my glass.
    I sighed. “I’m sure you can guess.”
    “Still has his head up his ass?”
    “Firmly.” I took another drink.
    “He better extract it pretty quick. You’re a hot commodity and won’t wait around for him forever.” She eyed down the bar and I flipped my head around to see what she waggled her eyebrows at.
    The man was blond, big, and gorgeous. He had a tight black t-shirt which strained against his muscles, and he flashed me a genuine smile. I grinned back before returning my attention to Jeannine.
    “Ehh?” She nudged my shoulder.
    I shrugged. Sure, he looked