Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) by Stevie J. Cole Read Free Book Online Page B

the most famous sex god on earth could mend the smallest sliver of my ego. I didn’t need him to boost some part of me. I felt was inadequate, because all of me was inadequate.
    “If that was an offer from you…” I had to pause to take in a breath as my eyes scanned over his stylishly dressed, ripped body. I forced a snarl. “I think I’d rather fuck a goat.”
    What the fuck did I just say? Did I really just say I’d rather fuck a farm animal? Oh, God help me! This man makes me act like a fucking idiot.
    “Ohhhh!” Jag bellowed, lifting his arm and pointing an accusing finger at me. His eyes were wide and sparkling when he shouted, “She’s into bestiality. That’s illegal here, you know?” His attention directed back to me when laughter broke out from the people gathered around the bar. I glanced around, and of course everyone was staring at the two of us.
    The two of us…
    Now, he’d pissed me off. He was so fucking cocky, he didn’t understand no, and I swear, I think he liked me fucking with him. Part of me felt it just made him more determined to persuade me to follow him into a bathroom, hike up my skirt, and toss my ankle over that muscular shoulder of his.
    I gave up. I surrendered. “What do you want?” I growled.
    He looked off in thought for a moment, then I saw his eyes light up. “Hmmm. How about a buttery nipple,” he said, glancing at my chest and licking his lips. “A blow job.” He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek to mimic a dick pushing against it. “And two bald pussies.” His mouth quirked up into a satisfied grin. “What?” He held his hands innocently in the air. “Those are the names of shots, aren’t they? That’s what I want. Go ahead and mix those up for me, would you, princess?”
    At that point, I just wanted to rid myself of him. I jerked a mixer from the side of the bar. My eyes locked on his in an angry glare as I grabbed liquor bottles and poured the liquid into the stainless steel container.
    Evidently, he felt he could do just a little better because he yelled out, “And what about a black-headed slut with a pink stripe? Is that a shot? Because I really think I’d enjoy putting that in my mouth.”
    Fire coursed through my veins as I stared through the black and pink tendrils of hair that had fallen in my face. I shook the container as hard as I could, wishing it was his shoulders I was shaking violently. Did women really respond positively to his condescending comments, to this rude and crude self-entitled jackass?
    I sloppily poured the shots, gathered them in my hands and placed them on the counter. Just as I placed my hand around the first shot glass, one of the other bartenders latched onto my shoulder. “Hey, that’s Jag Steele, you know that, right?” She leaned in and whispered, “You lucky bitch, he is hard-core hitting on you!”
    I felt my entire body shake and I couldn’t control the aggravated groan. That groan actually came out more like a yell, a much more frustrated and so-done-with-this-shit declarative than I’d expected.
    Taking the first shot in my hand, I slammed it down so hard I feared I may have shattered the glass.
    “Here’s your buttery nipple.”
    The next one hit the counter a little harder.
    “Here’s your blow job.”
    I tried to soften the impact when I banged the next two down.
    “Two bald pussies…”
    Grabbing the last shot, I twisted it around as I stared coyly through my lashes at him. I attempted to give him the most intimidating stare I could muster as I slowly let the words roll from my lips. “And this one, this one I made especially for you, Mr. Jag Steele, and it’s called not a fucking chance!”
    I felt a smug expression fall over my face and I took the tray from the counter, slapping it against my hip as I trotted off from the bar to catch a breath.
    Although no one would have ever been able to tell by the way I’d just acted, I was horrified. I hurried behind the bar to try to