One Nightstand with The Bad Boy

6- Game On

Contemplating the approval of this deal, I found my thoughts in disarray. Was it the right move? Did it align with my desires? As I mulled over the implications, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. Did my eagerness to strike the deal paint me as desperate? Or could I leverage it against Clark? If he wished to engage in a game of wits, I was prepared, but what about Peter? His fervent desire for Clark to confront his emotions and shed his womanizing ways echoed in my mind. Yet, could we truly alter Clark's behavior? He was, after all, a notorious bad boy and the leader of a formidable gang.

The knowledge of their gang affiliation was common, an open secret that only seemed to enhance their allure to women. We had been classmates since our third year of high school, and their wealth, popularity, and influence were undeniable. Clark, in particular, commanded respect as one of the most powerful gang leaders in the state. In the face of such dominance, how could I hope to influence him? What if, in the end, it was I who suffered the consequences? The mere thought of it sent a pang through my heart.

As our journey continued, Peter abruptly veered right, guiding us into the eerie confines of an abandoned building. As we approached the imposing entrance, flanked by two imposing figures, my pulse quickened. Peter halted the car before the men, and as the window descended, I beheld them up close. One, with a thick mustache and a formidable stature, exuded an aura of intimidation. His bald head gleamed under the dim light, a testament to his power.

Upon recognizing Peter, the man nodded in acknowledgment, granting us passage with a gesture of his hand. Peter reciprocated the nod before sealing the window shut.

"Is this a frequent haunt of yours?" I inquired, stealing a glance at Peter.

"Not particularly. We only come here for Clark's races," he replied, his gaze fixed ahead.

Turning my attention forward, I was greeted by a sight that left me in awe.

As we descended into the underground chamber, the pulsating energy of a drag race engulfed us. The cavernous space was alive with activity, a throng of individuals mingling amidst the cacophony of revving engines. Some engaged in animated conversation, while others cast discerning eyes over the sleek machines that dominated the venue.

My attention shifted to Peter, who seemed to be scanning the crowd, undoubtedly in search of familiar faces.

"So, you're not participating in the race? Only Clark?" I queried, my confusion evident in my tone.

"Yeah, I have a passion for cars, but racing's not my forte. Clark still reigns supreme in these circles. No one comes close to dethroning him," Peter replied, his gaze fixed ahead.

"Ah," was all I could muster. While I had always been aware of Clark's prowess on the track, I hadn't fully grasped the extent of his skill until now. It was staggering. I lapsed into silence, mulling over the revelation.

As we made our way toward the epicenter of the event, my eyes fixated on Clark's unmistakable red Lamborghini Aventador. With its staggering 740 horsepower and claimed top speed of 217 mph, it was a machine of pure automotive prowess. I knew every detail of that car; it was the epitome of my automotive dreams. Upon graduating high school, I had anticipated receiving it as a gift from my parents, only to be presented with a red Mercedes-AMG GT S instead. My father had cited concerns over its formidable speed, fearing it posed too great a risk to my safety.

During my later years of high school, I had indulged my passion for racing on legal tracks, consistently emerging victorious. However, recent months had seen my pursuits curtailed by our family's vacation in Paris. Despite my fervent desire to race, my parents remained resolute in their prohibition of illegal racing, their stringent measures a testament to their unwavering concern for my well-being. As an only child, their protectiveness knew no bounds, and while they had provided me with everything I desired, they drew the line at compromising my safety.

Lost in my contemplations, I was jolted back to the present as Peter nudged me gently, drawing a startled gasp from me.

"We've arrived," he announced, a smile playing on his lips.

"Relax, just be yourself," Peter's voice was a calming reassurance as he flashed me a reassuring smile. I nodded in agreement, reciprocating his smile, as he gracefully exited his car and trotted over to mine, opening my door with a gallant flourish. I offered a soft "thank you" as I gracefully emerged, feeling his hand glide to my waist, a touch that sent a ripple of discomfort through me, quickly suppressed.

Our moment was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Tofer, flanked by two women clad in tight body dresses and towering heels. I couldn't help but wonder who would choose such attire for a race track; this was no nightclub, after all.

Tofer released the woman from his grasp with a playful smile, his eyebrows wiggling mischievously as he approached Peter. They exchanged a customary bro-fist and a hearty pat on the back, before Tofer's gaze shifted to us, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"So, what's the deal with you two?" Tofer's inquiry was laced with a hint of amusement as he surveyed us with a knowing smile.

Peter's response came effortlessly, his smile widening as he glanced down at me. "We're together now, bro. This is our first outing," he announced, his tone tinged with pride.

A whispered exchange between Tofer and Peter prompted me to divert my gaze, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over me in response to their secrecy.

As I scanned the surroundings, my eyes landed on Clark in the distance, locked in an intimate embrace with the same woman from the cafeteria. My anger surged, my ears burning with indignation and my chest tightening with pain. Doubt crept in, casting a shadow over my resolve. Had I made the right decision by coming here? It felt as though I had barely begun, yet already, I felt adrift, my confidence shaken. Avoiding the painful sight before me, I lowered my gaze, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of seeing me falter. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

A subtle squeeze at the side of my waist jolted me slightly, Peter's touch catching me off guard. I lifted my gaze to find him looking down at me, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. Had he already spotted Clark and the other woman? I plastered on a fake smile, not wanting to betray any vulnerability.

His hand continued its journey, trailing from mine up to my shoulder and then to the nape of my neck. What happened next, however, left me utterly stunned.

He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. It wasn't just any kiss; it lingered, a gesture laden with unexpected intimacy. My eyes widened in disbelief, my breath catching as his lips brushed near my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"He's watching us right now. I saw him kiss Mitch when he caught sight of us... Leaving together in my car," Peter murmured softly before withdrawing slightly. Despite his retreat, his hand remained firmly planted on my waist. I followed his gaze to where Clark stood, our eyes locking in a silent standoff. The intensity in his stare was palpable; if looks could kill, I'd have been buried ten feet underground already.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? Clark was the one who always found solace in the arms of another whenever I was around. Did Peter's revelation mean he was jealous? It seemed unlikely, given Clark's reputation as the formidable badass, Clark David.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in my mind, tinged with mischief.

As Clark continued to gaze at me, oblivious to the woman draped over him, I took a slow, deliberate sweep of him from head to toe. His rugged charm was undeniable: the tousled black hair, the snug white v-neck accentuating his sculpted physique beneath a leather jacket, the faded jeans, the combat boots—the epitome of a ruggedly handsome man, worthy of any woman's admiration.

With a playful smirk, I wrapped my arm around Peter's waist, my other hand resting lightly on his chest. Though I didn't meet Peter's gaze, I could sense his surprise at my boldness. Instead, I focused solely on Clark, locking eyes with him as if we were the only two people in the room.

Clark's response was a nuanced tilt of his head, his brows furrowing in a mixture of perplexity and suppressed anger. In a swift motion, his hand encircled Mitch's waist possessively, her laughter ringing out in response to his touch. As she leaned in to murmur something into his ear, a surge of irritation rippled through me, manifesting in an audible huff.

Unfazed by my reaction, Clark's gaze locked onto mine, a knowing smirk curling his lips. With a deliberate gesture, he drew Mitch closer, tightening his hold around her, a silent challenge passing between us.

If he wanted to engage in a game of cat and mouse, then I was more than willing to oblige. With determination coursing through my veins, I squared my shoulders, silently accepting the challenge he had unwittingly thrown down.