Page 5 of Getting Off

Dylan Pierce had no problem in social situations. He was gregarious by nature. Hell, everybody enjoyed his company. Sort of. And maybe not at first, now that he thought about it. But then again, you couldn’t please everybody.

He thought it was appropriate.

As for all the uptight people in their tuxes and cocktail dresses? Well, Dylan had put on his best boots. They should be glad for that. He kept these clean for special occasions.

He’d been to the Las Vegas Country Club once or twice for other events.

Not many, but a few. He’d never seen it quite like this, though.

It looked like someone had invited every wealthy person in the city over the age of sixty-five.

Well, with the exception being some of the female attendees.

There were an awful lot of young ladies hanging on the arms of men old enough to be their grandfathers.

But hey. If you had the money, you were bound to get the hot chicks, right?

Dylan swept a glass of champagne off a server’s tray, swung past the buffet table, and reached for some kind of appetizer that looked vaguely edible.

A lot of this stuff was just weird-looking paste smeared on a cracker. What kind of party was complete without hot wings and nachos?

He threw back the glass of champagne and reached for another.

Then he resumed his search for his new physician.

It didn’t take long to spot her. Dr. Foster— Brooklyn Foster—had donned a black cocktail dress for the occasion, and the dress transformed her.

It really clung to her long, lithe body. She looked elegant and graceful.

His doctor was talking with some guy in a tux.

Dylan’s eyes narrowed as he looked the dude over.

Huh. Competition. Although he was sexy competition, Dylan couldn’t lie.

The guy looked expensive. Fancy tux. Diamond cufflinks glittering in the chandelier lights.

Dark hair. Handsome. Maybe even as handsome as Dylan, and that was saying something.

Popping another little sausage-filled thingy in his mouth, Dylan sauntered deliberately in the direction of Dr. Brooklyn. He reminded himself to be nice. He wasn’t going to get her to sign the medical form all folded up and stuffed in his pocket unless he was nice.

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Dylan shouted with his widest, most welcoming smile possible. Rich and fancy people stepped aside from him, glaring and muttering and making outraged noises. He kept right on walking, his eyes locked on Brooklyn Foster. “Hey! Doctor Beautiful! It’s good to see you!”

Her eyes went comically wide when she saw him. She looked irritated. Or maybe horrified. It could go either way.

She turned and snatched up a champagne glass and downed it. The tux guy standing next to her eyed him with a mix of confusion and amusement.

Dylan strolled right up to them both. This should be exciting.

The doctor glared at him with blue eyes as cold as ice. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Pierce. I didn’t realize you were on the guest list for this evening. However, I’m actually on the list. And not under the name Doctor Beautiful .”

“Well then, Dr. Brooklyn . It’s good to see you.” He grinned. “See? Found out your first name. Like Sherlock Holmes.”

Brooklyn Foster’s male companion was fighting a grin. Dylan could see that easily enough. At least the guy seemed to have a sense of humor.

“Would you like to introduce me to your friend?” the tuxedo guy said. He had one of those smooth narrator voices, like voice-overs for movie trailers.

Once again, Dylan sized up his competition.

The guy looked like he belonged in a board room with his fancy suit and pinchy-looking shoes.

His black hair was on the longer side, probably tended to by stylists being paid thousands for a haircut.

Although, the more Dylan looked at the guy, the more curious he became.

Dylan didn’t usually have trouble getting his first impressions spot on.

Even though this guy looked like a stuffed shirt who wouldn’t know fun if he had the word tattooed on his ass, Dylan’s gut told him differently.

Maybe it was something about those dark eyes.

Dylan thrust out his hand. “Dylan Pierce.”

The dark-haired man smiled. A genuine smile. He shook Dylan’s hand. Good grip too. “I’m Lucas Fox.”

Brooklyn Foster cleared her throat. She did not look pleased. “If introductions are over, perhaps you could tell me what you’re doing here, Mr. Pierce.”

“Call me Dylan.” He pulled the folded release form out his back pocket and held it up. “I brought the release form for you to sign.” He glanced around the ballroom, frowning. “Does anybody have a pen? I forgot to bring one.”

“I thought we discussed this,” Dr. Foster said in icy tones. “You would make an appointment. That’s how we do things in a society.”

“Yeah, I forgot. Must be amnesia.” He grinned at her.

She glared at him. “Everyone’s ignorance to the contrary, amnesia is not funny.”

Beside her, Lucas Fox chuckled. “Come on, Doctor Beautiful. It’s a little funny.”

Dylan broke out in a wide grin. Hell, maybe he liked this guy after all.

He knew how to push Brooklyn’s buttons. Dylan had no idea who this guy was, but that didn’t really matter.

He always had one question for pretty much everyone he met who seemed the least bit interesting. “So, what do you drive?”

“Tonight, I’m in the Bugatti.” The guy made it seem as if he had a garage full of vehicles.

“Anything you can drive in the mud?”

Lucas Fox’s brow knitted in confusion. “Mud?”

“Yeah. Any off-road vehicles in that garage of yours? Something that can stand some dirt, dust, and dings? Those fancy cars sure won’t.

” He’d never had much fascination with expensive sports cars.

They went fast, sure, but they were plastic.

Like driving around on a plastic rocket.

If you so much as bumped something, you were going to total the damn thing.

“Dylan races trucks,” Doctor Brooklyn explained. “He crashed one. I met him in the ER.”

Lucas looked concerned as he met Dylan’s gaze. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Brooklyn cut in. “He’s clearly not. I’m thinking he needs immediate hospitalization. I can’t think of any other reason he’d crash this fundraiser for my signature instead of waiting for the appointment .”

Dylan laughed. He glanced at Lucas. “Doc says I had a concussion, but I’m back to one-hundred percent. So I wanted to put in some track time tomorrow morning. I called the hospital, learned she would be at this posh party, and decided to roll on over and see if she’d sign off on the release forms.”

He held out the paper hopefully even though he still didn’t have a pen.

But damn if Brooklyn didn’t look beautiful in makeup and a dress.

It was hard to be a gentleman and not openly admire her.

He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

Not like his stiffening cock was starting to make him a little uncomfortable.

Lucas Fox was watching him closely. The guy must see him as competition for Brooklyn. Jealous too. Not that Dylan could blame him.

“Off-roading,” Lucas said musingly.

“Yeah. Trophy trucks. Racing. Jumps. Power slides. The whole deal. Around here, the desert is perfect.”

“You must do a lot of walking back through the desert when they break down,” Lucas quipped with a challenging look.

“Well, if you’ve got zero mechanical sense, I suppose that’s a problem,” Dylan shot back. This guy was pretty damned arrogant. Or maybe Dylan had hurt his feelings by ripping on overpriced supercars. “But driving hard is the best way to feel alive.”

“And driving a hundred plus miles per hour across the salt flats in a precision machine like a Bugatti doesn’t qualify?”

Brooklyn cleared her throat. “I can barely breathe with all the macho over here, gentlemen.”

Dylan ignored that one. He knew she didn’t mean it. And he certainly wasn’t a gentleman. As for what Lucas had said, Dylan knew a lot of guys who raced out on the salt flats. Who was he to rag on their good times? “Have you tried that in your Bugatti?”

Lucas Fox hesitated before giving a wry shake of his head. “Never made the time. Not yet.”

“You should definitely try it out. For me, it’s more about racing something I’ve built from the ground up. Testing it. Pushing the limits. But when I take a club vehicle out, it’s no less fun. And racing? Hell, only sex gets your heart pumping faster.”

Brooklyn choked on her sip of champagne, but Lucas only grinned. “How hazardous is off-road racing?”

“It’s safer than skydiving,” Dylan said, not knowing if that was exactly true.

“So says the man who was just in the ER,” Brooklyn quipped, raising an eyebrow at him. When she moved, Dylan caught the scent of her perfume. Something flowery and delicate that seemed to suit her. “How is your wrist, by the way?”

He held up his arm. “Good as new.” He moved it around. It still ached a tiny bit, but it was nothing. “See? So, can you sign me off? I’ll love you forever.”

She snorted. “Let’s get one thing clear. I’m not signing anything until I give you a formal follow-up exam. Am I being clear?”

Dammit. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But she looked fierce and determined, so he guessed his considerable charm wasn’t going to work on her.

He sighed and shrugged. “It was worth a try. I know you’re eager to give me a full physical.”

She glared at him as if she might hit him with a chair if any chairs had been around. He gave her his sweetest smile. She stared at him. Lucas watched them both with interest, grinning the whole time.

Finally, Brooklyn Foster broke out laughing.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You are the most obnoxious man I’ve ever met.

Or maybe the second most obnoxious. Either way, I should have you tossed out of here for saying those kinds of things.

No one talks like that these days. You’re lucky I have a sense of humor,” she scolded.