Booty Camp Dating Service, Page 4

  The fight was draining out of her, anyway. This whole night was a disaster. It was like the naked crouching in front of Scott while he broke up with her was the start of a horrible horror novel. And this was the next chapter. Maybe everything she touched from now on would be a pile of crap.

  “Can you get the door or are you just going to stand there and pout?”

  Wolf gestured with his foot.

  “You know what? Screw you. No. I’m not opening the door. You can go screw yourself. I’m done being humiliated by your gender. You can stick that painting up your ass.”

  Hazel put her hands on her bare shoulders and started walking home. She had to look down to try and pick out a straight line.

  Right now would be a great time to throw up. It would probably be the healthiest thing. However, one of Hazel’s skills was never tossing her cookies. Strong stomach or whatever. She was a glass-and-a-half kind of girl. Pounding three glasses in less than fifteen minutes was going to make her feel like she was getting tea-bagged by an angry clown in the morning. Getting home while she froze her tits off was great as well. Maybe while trying to retain heat, her body would burn off the alcohol and she'd sober up.

  She stumbled again and contemplated her footwear. She didn’t want to walk barefoot on the sidewalk in the city.

  Hazel sighed. She’d maybe made it two blocks when she had to give up and die. Her feet turned inward in an effort to keep her up—like she was snowplowing down a bunny hill.

  And then he was behind her, holding her hips. “Whoa there, Capone. You all right?”

  She elbowed him in the stomach, but not too hard. She was a tiny huge bit blasted, and it was getting worse, but she didn’t want him to sue her any more than she wanted to sue him. Court sucked.

  “Capone?” His nickname registered after the weak scuffle.

  “He was a criminal, too.”

  She tried to slap his face over her shoulder and missed. She did, however, succeed in throwing herself off balance.

  He ducked and caught her, lifting her into his arms before she could fall.

  “Damn, girl. What the hell?”

  Hazel felt like her lips might be numb. “Why are all the pretty boys assholes?”

  “Are you saying I’m pretty?” He was walking with her now. Her cheek was bouncing off his shoulder.

  “I’m saying you’re an asshole.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

  “You’re freezing.” He pulled her closer as he carried her in the direction of the theater.

  There was a distinct breeze in her chest area. “Don’t look at my tits.”

  “You ask things that aren’t even human.”

  He set her on her feet on the teeny stairs in front of the theater and covered his eyes with one hand, holding her shoulder with the other, while she pulled up Claire’s tiny top.

  “All good?” He spread his fingers so he could look at her face through the gaps.

  She turned to walk in the theater because the cold had superseded her pride and she needed to warm up.

  He had to steady her again as the tiny steps demanded better gross motor skills than she had at the moment.

  “Just give me a second.”

  She faced him with what she hoped was an aggravated glare as he put a hand on her hip, peeled off his Booty Camp T-shirt, and shook it out with his free hand.

  His chest was mesmerizing. He was the perfect kind of lean-chiseled that told anyone checking him out that he could easily carry a woman two blocks but not enough muscle to make a person wonder if his balls had shrunk up like two jingle bells. And the tattoos.

  The colorful tattoos were artwork that included shading and highlighting and elegantly lettered foreign words.

  “They should put that heavy frame around these dazzling nipples.” Hazel wanted to chew on one of the tannish-pink erogenous zones. Then she looked in his eyes. They reflected surprise and a little amusement. At least that’s what her wine-soaked brain perceived.

  He let go of her hips to pop his T-shirt over her head. She watched his hands for a few seconds before she cooperated and threaded her arms through the holes.

  It was still slightly warm from his body, and she let out a happy—yet accidental—moan.

  Chance opened the door for them from the inside. Claire was there, looking concerned.

  “Hey, can you hang that picture back up? And check it for damage?” Wolf put his arm around her waist and led her back to his office.

  Claire came to her side. “Are you hurt?”

  Hazel wanted to shake her head but wound up just using her eyeballs to make the motion.

  Claire touched her cheek while keeping up with Wolf’s pace for her.

  “Holy crap. You’re straight fucked up.”

  Hazel wrinkled her nose in agreement.

  Wolf pulled her through the door and helped her to the chair in front of the desk where he’d been looking at pictures when she first came to fight for her money.

  Chance popped his head back in. “Picture is back in its rightful spot and looks perfectly intact. So we’re good.”

  Hazel wanted to give Wolf an “I told you so” facial gesture, but she caught her reflection in the mirror behind the desk and saw that she was replicating the "Wiley E. Coyote getting slapped in the face with a frying pan" expression instead.

  She replaced it quickly with a frown and looked at her lap.

  Chance spoke up again, “Listen, I’m about to coach the group share. Can I take Claire for that? I want her to see it in action.”

  Claire was petting the top of Hazel’s head, which made her wonder how much her best friend had been drinking, as well.

  “Is that okay? Can I leave you here with Wolf?”

  “Wolf is such a dumb name.” Hazel flipped her hair and got it stuck in what was left of her lip gloss. Pulling it free became an all-consuming task.

  “She’s fine here. I’ll make sure she has a bucket if she hurls.” Wolf gave Chance a quick thumbs-up.

  Hazel watched as Wolf pulled a button-up shirt over his bare chest. She was sad to see the nipples go as he fastened it closed.

  “What’s the group share?” Hazel poked the word Booty Camp on the front of his T-shirt she was wearing.

  “You want your money back. You don’t get our secrets.” He sat down on the other side of the desk and started sifting through some paperwork.

  “Don’t you have to go?” Maybe she should just be quiet until she was more sober. She scratched at her scalp to try to hurry the process.

  He regarded her again but didn’t answer before getting up without a word and walking out.

  “Dick,” Hazel muttered. He didn’t even have the decency to answer a question.

  She heard the crowd of people outside laughing together. Now she was even more curious about the group share.

  Wolf walked back in and set a pile of crackers on her side of the desk. “Let’s try and dilute that alcohol a little.” He cracked open an ice-cold water bottle and handed it to her. Then he dragged the waste paper basket close to her feet and gestured to it. “In case eating makes you more… productive. And no, I don’t have to go to the group share. My job is done for now.” He sat back down and rustled through the papers again.

  “So you’re just the mean one? Is that what you do? I’m surprised Chance lets you work for him.” Hazel crossed her legs, and one of her high heels fell off. She pretended it didn't happen.

  Wolf looked from her face to her foot and back again. “You just going to leave that there?”

  “I wanted to take it off.” She gave him her best poker face.

  “Chance works for me, not the other way around.” He pulled out his phone and appeared to use it as a calculator.

  “So you mean you’re his boss? Man, you must be related to somebody. You have no people skills.” She ruffled her hair.

  He gave her an exasperated eye roll. “I own this. Booty Camp. The whole company. It’s mine.”

  She squinted at him. “What. W
hat? You own this whole nightmare?”

  He didn’t answer but gave her a dark look.

  “Oh, that explains the stupid name.” She pointed at the name on the shirt again. She could feel the light bulb of an idea forming. “So, really, you’re the one who owes me my thousand dollars directly.” She uncrossed her legs and put her hands on her lap. “Pay up.”

  He clucked his tongue at her. “Oh no. That went into the business account. I can’t touch those funds until the banks have cleared the transfers. I don’t dip into personal money when it comes to Booty Camp. It’d be a huge tax hassle.”

  She stood up. And remembered her shoe was off, so she was lopsided.

  He stood up as well. “And I’m not sure if you’re done trying to vandalize the place I’ve rented for this leg of the Booty Camp tour.”

  “Did you design the tacky butt as a heart emblem yourself too?” She put her hands on her hips.

  “We prefer to call it cute. And inviting.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His blue eyes were sparkling a little. Like he was enjoying sparring with her. Like it was unusual to have someone do so.

  “Inviting you to donate a thousand dollars to the Booty cause, no doubt.” She placed one hand on the desk near the crackers and tried to nonchalantly put her other damn shoe on.

  “People get their money’s worth around here. You’d be our first failure, love.” He lifted one eyebrow.

  She looked down at her feet as she put on her shoe and hoped she'd broken the eye contact before he saw how much his words had hurt her.

  It was all too soon. She wasn’t done hurting over Scott yet. She wasn’t done hearing him bring another woman to orgasm over her head every night. All of this was too soon.

  She sat back down.

  “I’m kidding. I mean, you would be the first failure, but I’m sure you're much more pleasant when you're sober and not stealing things. There has to be someone out there for you.”

  She heard him walking around the desk. Then she could see his big boots next to the tips of her shoes.

  Hazel said nothing.

  “Maybe drink your water.”

  She got that he was probably trying to be helpful—in his gruff way—but it was harsh to her ears.

  She reached past his hip and snagged the bottle. She took a few sips.

  Music started playing in the theater.

  “What’s that?”

  “The mandatory slow dance.” He cleared his throat and reshuffled his folded arms.

  She hazarded a look at his face. He'd be almost as pretty as a lady. If he didn’t have the Adam’s apple and muscular forearms.

  “You literally recreate everyone’s middle school dream here, huh?” Hazel took another drink.

  He ran a hand over his mouth before offering, “Humans are pretty basic. What we wanted when we started puberty is pretty much what we want now. To be accepted. To fit in and be asked to dance or have your partner say yes. Simple stuff. With the right person, the romantic stuff isn’t cheesy anymore.”

  “How does your girlfriend feel about your job?”

  He bit the insides of his cheeks for a second, highlighting his high cheekbones. Seriously, blush would work on his face.

  “No girlfriend. One ex-wife.” He ran his hand through his dark hair.

  She was sure her eyebrows said, “Wow.” She slouched down in her chair and tried to keep the criticism from her expression.

  “Happy now?” He pushed away from the desk and turned his back to her.

  “I’m just thinking maybe I’m not destined to be Booty Camp’s first failure. Maybe that statistic is already on the books.” Hazel shrugged.

  “Fair point. You’re right. I’m the owner and the first failure.” He sat in his chair.

  Hazel leaned forward and held her temples while she put her elbows on her knees.

  Chance knocked briefly on the partly open door before stepping in. “All good. We’ve got the A’s set up and locked into date two, and now the B’s are mingling.”

  Wolf looked at her while he suggested, “How about two more slow songs? Lower the lights and send out another tray of drinks. And make sure we have plenty of cabs out front. No drunk drivers or ladies who can’t make it home.”

  Chance stood around for a beat, obviously wanting to ask something else.

  Wolf finally looked away from her and at the action-hero shaped man in the doorway.

  “Um. Any chance I can nip out early? I’d really like to take Claire somewhere more private.” Claire inched past Chance to Hazel’s side.

  Hazel looked at Wolf and mentioned, “I thought there was no dating clients?”

  She realized her mistake when she saw the betrayal on Claire’s face. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, Capone, because your friend lives in the twenty-first century and paid with a credit card, we’ll be able to reverse her charges so she’s not considered a client. So I’ll allow it.” He drummed his long fingers on the desk blotter. “It’s normally frowned upon, but for Chance I’m willing to bend the rules.”

  Chance cleared his throat, “I actually comped her, Wolf.”

  Wolf nodded as if this information wasn’t a breech of company policy.

  There was just something in Hazel’s chemistry that made her want to fight with Wolf more than anything else, so she found herself speaking up, “No. You don’t get to decide the fate of my best friend like a sweeping dictator with your middle school dances and your expensive self-made brothel. How do I even know that he”—she pointed at Chance—“isn’t some sort of murdering weirdo on the side? I came here with Claire; she goes home with me. Girlfriends don’t leave each other behind. It’s the best friend code.”

  Hazel sat up straighter even though it made her head spin a little. Claire tapped her shoulder and began whispering in Hazel’s ear.

  “When we were slow dancing, I felt his dong and it’s like a fist, I want to ride it like it’s the last train to heaven.”

  Hazel watched Wolf fail to cover his grin with his hand.

  “Damn it.”

  Claire hugged Hazel from behind and fluffed her hair for her as a parting favor.

  “Can I go with him? Please? They all have to get background checks and stuff. Wolf runs this place like it’s a branch of the FBI. Speaking of things like branches.” Claire pointed at Chance’s crotch with her pinkie in a way that was not nearly as discreet as she thought it was.

  “How am I getting home?” She turned to look at her friend.

  Claire fixed Hazel’s hair again while she gave her the plan. “Chance promised me Wolf would see you home. And he can’t kill you or anything because that would be bad for business.”

  “Really? This is happening?” Hazel grabbed Claire’s hand.

  “It’s like a salami and a beer can had a baby.” Claire gave Hazel the pleading eyes.

  “I swear if this man kills me tonight, I’ll haunt you and all of your descendants forever.” Hazel pulled on Claire so her friend fell onto her lap, and they hugged.

  “I know.” Claire lightly pinched Hazel’s cheeks to add some color and asked, “Did you blow chunks?” Hazel shook her head. “I swear you have the strongest stomach. You could handle a bucket of cum from an alligator.” Claire kissed the top of Hazel’s head, and Hazel's stomach rolled at her friend’s description.

  Then Claire got up and left with Chance like he was the Pied Piper of Penis and Hazel was left to be escorted home by the man who had essentially stolen her money.

  Chapter 5

  Getting Her Home

  Wolf watched Chance and Claire leave. He had a big night ahead of him. There was a lot of accounting to do, making sure the space was left clean, and starting to work on the second string of Booty Camp applicants.

  But his unhappy customer needed to get home. The fact that she was still pretty drunk was an issue. And she was wearing his shirt. Which came all the way past her skirt, so it looked like that was all she was wearing with her heels, and he hated
how much he liked that idea.

  Hazel was stunning. But she acted like she had no clue her face and body were a punch right in the junk. She almost seemed like someone had stolen her self-confidence.

  It would be easier to get her home now and then stay late. He had enough staff to keep this well-running machine going for another hour.

  Booty Camp’s tour of America had been legendary in dating circles. And Wolf’s mother and grandmother wildly disapproved. They said he was going against the energy he'd been blessed with by being able to sense who belonged with who in this crazy world.

  They blamed his divorce on his exploitation of the gifts their family had been given.

  And that had hurt. Honestly. That was the kicker, though. The matchmaker couldn’t find a match for himself. His grandmother had told him from the beginning of his relationship with Clarisse that they were off. Close, she'd said, but off.

  He was pigheaded, and he'd married her anyway. When Clarisse left him, it was for her very own perfect match she'd met at a Booty Camp event. She’d dropped by to see him at work and had broken up with him before the night was over.

  And he hadn't stopped her because he'd seen the energies were a gorgeous match.

  That was the rub, according to his mother and grandmother. There was never a match for a matchmaker. Nothing permanent, anyway.

  Wolf double-checked that his cell phone had a charge before waving over Vin.

  “I have to take this one home. She's had too much to drink. You’re in charge until I’m back. Okay?”

  Vin looked pleased beyond reason and stood up straighter. Chance was always second in command, but Vin was hungry for more advancement in the company. Peter, the head of security, was absent and Vin had picked up extra jobs that had opened up.

  Wolf stepped closer to Hazel and told Vin to call them the car from earlier.

  “So you don’t have a jacket at all?” He held out his hand to her to help her stand.

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  It was pretty, just like her mouth. Full, kissable lips and bright white teeth made the gesture almost obscene.

  He reached for his jacket from the coatrack in the office he was calling home base while in Garville and helped her into it after she stood.