Page 100 of Faking the Goal

Jesus fucking Christ.

By the next round, she can't swallow fast enough. Some of the liquor escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her cheek, tracing a wet path along the side of her neck before disappearing toward the neckline of her dress.

My eyes follow it before I can stop them.

Fuck.

The shifting club lights sweep over her, catching the liquor glistening on her skin, flashing across the black lace and sheer fabric hugging her body, and turning her red hair almost molten where it hangs over the bar. With her back arched like that and all that bare skin catching beneath the lights, she looks so fucking hot it takes me a second too long to remember I'm supposed to be annoyed by this entire situation.

The bartender tips another two shots into her mouth.

She swallows that too.

Then another.

"Holy fuck," Liam says beside me, laughing as the bartender reaches for another two shots. "How is she still going?"

"I would've tapped out four shots ago," Luke says.

Cody snorts. "Four? Pussy."

"Fuck you. You'd be on the floor."

Another two shots disappear into Taylor's mouth, and the crowd gets even louder.

Cody shakes his head, laughing. "Jesus Christ. She really knows how to own a fucking room."

"That's Taylor for you," Liam says. "Put her in a packed club and somehow she still ends up being the fucking main event."

"And every guy in here is losing his goddamn mind over her," Cody adds.

I barely hear them anymore.

Because Taylor is laughing at something one of the guys beside her says, and when he leans closer, his eyes drag blatantly down her body before coming back to her face.

My jaw locks.

Another guy moves in on her other side.

Then another.

It's like watching fucking sharks circle the second somebody throws blood in the water.

And just like that, whatever small improvement hearing her name made to my mood is gone.

Completely fucking obliterated.

"I need a drink."

I leave before any of them can answer and head for our section.

By the time the three idiots finally join me, there's already a whiskey in my hand and a storm cloud hanging over my fucking head. I sit back on the couch, barely listening to whatever they're talking about while my attention keeps finding its way back to Taylor.

She's on the dance floor now, moving with a couple of girls, still laughing, still drinking, and still attracting men like someone stapled a fucking homing beacon to her ass.

My fingers tighten around the glass.

One guy tries dancing with her. Another moves in the second he leaves. Somebody else catches her attention when she goes back toward the bar. I recognize him immediately.