Page 34 of The Spare

"Oh my god, are youhighor something?" I giggle, arching a brow at him.

He laughs and then hunkers down, leaning into my ear so close I can feel his breath caress my neck. "I just banked three million dollars today. We're celebrating. The moneyandyour upcoming birthday, baby girl," he says in a cheeky tone, slamming my door shut and then sliding across the hood of his car in such a smooth move my eyes go wide.

When he gets back in the driver's seat I snap my seatbelt on and I turn to him. "Three million dollars?In one day?"I ask breathlessly.

Because let's be real here; that's so fucking cool, and only something a person tends to read about online, not get to experience.

He glances in the rearview mirror, waiting for Donte and Stephen to flash their headlights before pulling off. As soon as he gets the signal we're off, merging into the nighttime New York traffic and headed to Devotion, a private club that you need a membership to get into.

According to Mason this is the newest addition in a series of clubs sprinkled throughout the city called Club Committed, Club Infatuated, and the newest is Club Devotion, and it looks packed to the brim.We park and see there's at least fifty or more people outside waiting to get in. However, in true King fashion, we don't wait with the others.

Nope.

We head to the beginning of the line where the mean-faced bouncer doesn't even look twice at Mason. And I bristle, knowing it's because he's been here before. Feelings of jealousy rise hot and fast inside of me, and I cut my eyes to him, wondering if he's taken a girl he's met here home and fucked her.

He's never broughtmeto his house…

"Mr. King," the bouncer says, unclipping the rope and stepping aside. "Have a good time tonight."

"Thanks, Bernard," Mason clips, letting go of my hand and putting his arm around my waist instead, drawing me close to him.

I try not to let that excite me too much and tuck myself closer as the bouncer lets us and our security through, averting my face from the pissed off crowd and ignoring the boos of everyone still waiting in line.

"Yikes. I thought we were going to be drawn and quartered out there!" I exclaim as we enter into bustling nightlife of neon lights illuminating the dark club.

My eyes wander excitedly, seeing women dancing in circular cages hanging from the ceiling, bodies sweating and moving on the dance floor and tons of bottle girls everywhere. It's the type of fun I wanted for myself when I moved to California -which never happened.

Mason's fingers tighten on my waist as we make our way deeper into the club. I don't ask questions, letting him take the lead and soaking in how natural this feels for me to let him. I'm not snippy with him like I am with Hendrix, who I feel like meddles too much.

Of course we go straight to VIP: a curtained area sequestered off in the corner of the club on a raised platform that sets us apart from thedance floor but close enough for us to be in on all the action. I don't recognize anyone as I pass the curtained little areas, but I wonder if Mason does.

"I'm not waiting for a bottle girl," he says, his voice pitched loud over the music as we enter into our own private area. "Stay here, and I'll get us a couple drinks."

"Okay!" I say loudly, throwing myself to one of the plush couches and crossing my legs. His face tightens, but he turns quickly and walks away. I crane my neck to see him wind his way through the crowd, and then disappears behind the bar and pulls down bottles, making the drinks himself. My brows go up.

What the hell?

I turn to eye Stephen who's standing by the entryway.

"Does he work here or somethin'?" I ask loudly in an attempt to be heard over the music.

He turns his head slightly to look at me. "Or somethin'." Then he averts his face.

I blink.Oh.

My eyes go back to the crowd again and see him coming back with a small tray of assorted drinks. However, a woman presses up against him, smiling and pressing her boobs all over his arm and smoothing her hand across his chest. I inhale sharply as a hot pang of jealousy shoots through me so fast that I tense up hard enough to strain a muscle in my neck.

"Ow," I whimper, bringing a hand up to rub at it, but I can't look away from the train wreck of this gorgeous woman rubbing herself all over him.

To my horror, tears flood my eyes; although, they go away just as fast when he pushes her off in a firm, no-nonsense movement that's accompanied by a pretty dirty look that makes the woman step awayhastily and surprises me with its viciousness. I'm still a little stunned when he sidles up next to me with our drinks and hands me mine.

I widen my eyes at him and blink. "Damn, Mase. What did that poor girl ever do to you?"

Shooting his shot, he places the empty shot glass on the table before tilting his head at me. "Not my type," he answers in a rough, sexy voice.

I scrunch my nose. "I have a hard time visualizing your type, Mason," I tease sarcastically and roll my eyes.

I want to ask him if he's dating someone so bad I can taste it. But I don't tend to like to meddle, and I sort of feel like if he were seeing someone then he'd have told me. That's how close we are.