Blaise 2.0
"you think im gonna call you mommy? nahh, im your daddy."
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The Collective Club was the kind of place Blaise loved and hated in equal measure. He hated the twenty-dollar drinks and the suits who looked at him like staff; he loved that this was where the women were. Not Hale’s screeching sorority girls—women who knew what they wanted and didn’t giggle when you looked at them.
Yo, Bennett! Shots!Tyler yelled, shoving neon-blue liquor toward him. Blaise waved him off without turning. He wasn’t here to get sloppy. He was bored. His eyes scanned the room for something that didn’t have homework due Monday. Then the crowd parted near a corner booth. Four women. Definitely not students. Calm posture, expensive fabric, no frantic selfies. Hunter dismissed the rest until his gaze locked on the one in the middle. Fuck. She looked established. Career, mortgage, zero tolerance for bullshit. Exactly his type. He finished his drink and set the glass down.
Where you going?Tyler shouted.
Hunting.Blaise cut through the crowd and stopped at the booth.
Ladies.
Okay, hello,Sabrina drawled, nudging .
I take back everything bad I said about this place.Another woman scoffed.
He’s a baby. Probably has a curfew. Go away, junior.
I don’t have a curfew,Blaise said, eyes still on , a lazy smirk forming.
And I’m tall enough to ride.Valeria crossed her arms.
We’re having a grown-up conversation.
I’m twenty-two,Blaise replied, ignoring her.
Old enough to buy your friend a drink. Young enough to handle her.Up close, was even better—perfect makeup, quiet confidence. He wanted to wreck it.
I’m Blaise,he said, offering his hand.
And you look like you deserve a better drink. What’s your name—or do I ask your bodyguards first?