Pump Fake (The New York Nighthawks #9) Read Online Fiona Davenport

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors: Series: The New York Nighthawks Series by Fiona Davenport
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Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
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I’d heard of The End Zone, but I had never been there before since it was a popular club. I didn’t even realize they served dinner. “Umm, that sounds like a great plan except…I’m not twenty-one.”

“No worries.” She waved off my concern. “My husband is friends with the owner, so you’ll be able to get in without a problem. I’ll have him call Axton to let him know we’re coming.”

I glanced down at my jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt with a grimace. “I don’t get off work until five, so I won’t have time to go home and change. Is what I’m wearing going to be okay?”

“More than okay.” She turned to leave but paused in the doorway to add, “You’re so pretty, you could show up in a potato sack and still turn heads.”

My cheeks were flushed with pleasure when Susan returned to help me get situated for my first day. The next nine hours flew by—in the best way possible—and I was headed to The End Zone before I knew it. Luckily, I had lipstick in my purse that matched the red my mom had talked me into doing when she took me for a mani-pedi this past weekend. The pop of color helped me to feel a little less out of place as I walked up to the nightclub entrance.

I paused in front of the door and gulped before giving the bouncer my name when he asked for my identification. “Umm, I’m Talia Finch. I think Dakota—”

Before I could finish my explanation, he tilted his head and said, “Go ahead. She’s already here.”

Dakota waited for me just inside, with a hostess hovering next to her with a couple of menus in her hand. “Oh, good. You’re here. I’m starving.”

“I’ll make sure your server brings you a bread basket when she comes to take your order,” the hostess promised as she led us toward a table.

Dakota beamed her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

The staff must’ve known her well because the hostess had only made it halfway across the room when our server showed up at our table with two glasses of water and a basket of bread. “Here you go, Mrs. Yarrow. Would you like a glass of juice tonight?”

“Yes, please. Cranberry.”

When the server’s attention shifted to me, I said, “That sounds good to me, too.”

“Great, I’ll be right back with those.”

Dakota popped a bite of bread into her mouth and moaned. “Mmm, so good.”

“It looks amazing.”

I had just slathered some butter on a piece when she cried, “Darn it. I totally forgot I was going to order a kiddie cocktail with lots of cherries.”

Glancing around the club, I didn’t see our server, so I set the bread down and offered, “I’ll run over to the bar and grab one for you.”

“It’s so sweet of you to offer, but I can probably wait until she comes back. Maybe.”

I laughed at the doubt in her voice and how her bottom lip puffed out. “No worries, I’m going to get two since a kiddie cocktail sounds good to me, too.”

Her expression brightened at my answer, and I hurried over to the bar near the entrance. It hadn’t seemed busy when I arrived, and I was lucky enough to catch a bartender’s attention as I approached. “Can I get two kiddie cocktails with lots of cherries please?”

He nodded. “Sure thing.”

As he turned to grab a couple of glasses, a guy tapped me on the shoulder and said, “If you have a cherry problem, I can help you with that.”

I turned with a grimace and muttered, “No thanks.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

He shifted closer, and I scooted to the side so I didn’t get stuck between him and the bar behind me. Pasting on a fake smile, I murmured, “Sorry, but I’m not even here alone.”

This guy just wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I didn’t want to pull Dakota into any drama. Racking my brain for an explanation that would get him to walk away, I blurted, “My boyfriend is outside taking a phone call.”

“Sure he is, babe.”

He rolled his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t buying my excuse. When I glanced over his shoulder, my gaze landed on a big guy who was sure to intimidate him. He was about six feet two inches of pure muscle with blond, slightly shaggy hair, bright-blue eyes, and tanned skin. He walked with the confidence of someone who knew his place in the world and was also the hottest man I’d ever seen in person.

His sexiness—and how he just reacted to a woman who tried touching him—was going to make what I was about to do a lot easier to sell to the creep bothering me…as long as he caught my hint and went with the story I was about to spin.

3

BRADY

I ignored the table of wasted women catcalling me, throwing one of them a dark scowl when she touched my biceps. The sober women in the club knew better than to approach me, reading my “fuck off” vibe correctly.



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