Make Me Yours

M
ak
e
M
e
Y
ours

Alla
Kar

NA Romance

2013. Copyright.
Alla Kar

All rights reserved. No parts of this books may be reproduced or transmitted in any forms without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it or won it in an author contest this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its distributors.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storyline are created from author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

Chapter One

  
I’m not too big on titles. They’ve always been unnecessarily cliché to me.  You’ve got the preppy girls, the punk girls, the jock guys, nerds and so on. For me, I’d rather just say I’m a girl and that be the end of it. But, because I’m the one in a million that doesn’t like titles, I guess if I had to choose I’d fall under the title
hustler.
  Laugh all you want, but I’m way better than anyone gives me credit for. In fact, I’m so good every guy that’s surrounding this pool table right now thinks I’m a damsel in distressed, twirling my long blonde hair around my finger.  My hip pressed again the edge of the pool table and my back arched, so that the drooling baboon behind me can see my long legs barely hidden beneath my blue jeans shorts.

  
Sure, call me sleazy, a flirt or manipulative, but that’s my game. That’s how I pay the rent. And its due next week, so I’ve hustled quit a few tonight.
Suckers.
 

  
I drop my finger to my low cut shirt and drag it slowly across my cleavage. “Wow, that was a great shot,” I say, leaning further over the pool table. I make sure my cleavage is showing before I bite my lip and stand back up.

  
Jason-I think that’s his name- pushes his fingers through his perfectly quaffed Justin Beiber hair and smiles. “That’s how Daddy does it,” he laughs.

  
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and substitute it with a giggle.
Daddy doesn’t know that he is gonna get his ass whooped.

  
Placing a hand in his thousand dollar jeans, he tosses his blue beer bottle back, eyes traveling down to my cleavage.
Obvious much?

  
“Come on, sugar, it’s your turn,” the guy standing behind me says. I give him a sideways glance. His hair is in an Edward Cullen, wanna be, wild cluster. Smiling a crooked smile, he winks, sliding his hand over my lower back. I wouldn’t be wasting my time with such amateurs if I wasn’t hustling, but they have daddy’s pocket book and a shield when it comes to anything with boobs. So, they’re my best bet.

  
Stifling, I grit my teeth and bend over the dark green table.
Never lose character, Layla.
I narrow my eyes and block out the warmth of Wild Hair behind me. This is the
good boy
pool hall. Well, as far as a rich, manipulative good boy will take you. They spend their family’s money on booze, sex and pool. They just don’t know they’re about to lose two hundred dollars to a girl. A smart girl.

  
Squaring my stick, I shoot the ball right in the pocket. I smile to myself. “Lucky shot,” I say, standing up straight. A perfect shot. They’re too dense to know.

  
Jason laughs and glances down at the table. “Lucky shot, sweetheart. Looks like you’re getting the hang of it.”

  
You have no idea. “
You’re a good teacher,” I say, biting my lip. Jason watches me, scratching underneath his chin, not embarrassed that he is bluntly checking me out. I glance over at the bar, in the next room. Cindy is sitting on a barstool arm hanging over some overly sized jock.
No boundaries.
If she weren’t my roommate, I would slap her silly. Give her a pretty smile, nice car and a fat wallet, she is all yours for the night. Or two.

  
She glances over at me, and shakes her head. She doesn’t exactly
approve
of my lifestyle. But, when rent comes around, she sure is glad I hustled the people I did. The money I make at the campus coffee shop, doesn’t cut it.

  
She points to the muscled baboon beside her and mouths something. I nod, pretending like I know what she is talking about. I really don’t care.

  
Jason’s hand in front of my face, brings me back to hustling time. “Oh,” I say. “My turn again?” I ask.

  
Jason gestures toward the table and nods. “Sure thing, sweetness. Your go,” he whispers.

  
Okay, time to lay it down, baby girl
. I smile to myself.
Daddy didn’t raise no fool.
I bend over, square it and shoot it right in. “Wow,” I say. “Got another stripe in there.”

  
Jason narrows his eyes. “Two in a row. Your turn, again.” He takes a long swig. I can see a bead of sweat on his forehead, he wipes it off with the back of his hand.

  
Right about now, he is regretting the two hundred dollar bet he placed on our game.
Sucker.
I shrug and bend over
. Let me show you how it’s done, bitches.

  
Ten minutes later all the striped balls are safely in the pockets. I smile. Jason’s mouth is ajar. “What the fuck just happened?” His brown brows are pulled down and he hasn’t moved.

  
Placing the end of my pool stick on the floor, I lean on it and shrug. “Beginners luck? I’ve never done this well before.”

  
A laugh from the corner of the game room catches my attention. A tall, dark haired guy is staring over at us, smiling.
Where did he come from?
“Nice job, Layla,” he says, tipping his beer backwards, never taking his eyes from mine.

  
What the hell?
“Do I know you?” I ask, popping my hip out. I’d definitely remember him. He is tall, has dark, cropped hair, and tattoos popping up from his V-neck, tight, gray shirt.

  
He shakes his head and steps forward. “No, you don’t. But, I know you.” He winks.
Lame ass.

  
I’m about to cuss the creepy, stalker dude out, when Jason slams two hundred dollars down on the wood of the table. “Here, bitch,” he mumbles, turning on his heel and stalking away. Wild Hair follows him out, shaking his head.
I’ve been called worse.
“Now, that’s how Momma does it,” I mumble to myself.

  
I tuck the money deep down in my jeans shorts.
There you go, Layla. Spare no one.
Clapping stops me from my mini praise. I turn on my heel, lean against the pool table and stare at the guy in front of me. “Do you need something?” I ask.

  
He smiles, and my heart races just a tad bit. His heavy jaw is scruffy and his lips smooth and full.
Stop it, Layla
.
Stalkers aren’t supposed to be sexy.
Creeper guy leans back against the table opposite of me, crossing his combat boots over one another. “No, just taking a minute to check you out, Layla. I’ve been a fan for weeks.”

  
I cock my head to the side.
He is definitely confirming the stalker theory
. “Fan of what?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  
He laughs, it’s deep. He takes a long swig of his beer, and I watch as it slides down his thick throat. “Your hustling skills,” he says, pushing off the table. He points his beer bottle toward me. “You’ve hustled too many guys over here, and they’re too dumb to see it. Great job,” he says.

  
Aggravated, I stand straight. He is not supposed to catch on.
Why is he staring at me? Why is he watching me anyway? Dad’s number one rule: Never get caught
.  “As lovely as this has been, I’ve got places to go. Nice to meet you guy and your weird creeping. Chao.” I give him a fake crusty, before the fake smile.

  
He furrows his brow and drops his jaw. I notice his tongue and the silver piercing pinched into the meat of his tongue.  I walk out of the game room and toward Cindy. I push my way through the crowd. It’s way too crowded for my taste. I can’t risk having someone see me hustle, and in a college town everyone would know in five minutes. I finally find her, grinding against the same baboon from the bar.
Jeez.

  
“Cindy, it’s time to go,” I say.

  
Tossing her head up, she yells, “What? Come dance with us!”

  
I glance over at the guy behind her, he seems
really
focused on her ass. “No, time to go.”

  
“Nope,” she says, turning and facing the baboon, who grabs her ass. She giggles. I roll my eyes.
Jesus, getting her to go home is like pulling teeth.
Huffing, I blow my blonde bangs up and cross my arms.

  
“Trying to get your friend to leave? You that desperate to get away from me?” someone says into my ear. Way
too
close to my ear. I turn and glance up at the creeper guy. He smirks, and I notice a small dimple on his right cheek.

  
“If you know that’s what I’m doing, don’t you feel stupid coming up and asking me?”

  
He laughs, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat. Another tattoo catches my eye coming out of his shirt on the opposite side. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetheart.”

  
Sigh.
“I—ouch,” I say, feeling Cindy’s hand wrap around my upper arm and jerk me away from creeper boy.

  
“Jesus, Layla. Do you not know who that is?” Eyes wide, she is staring at me. Straight-faced. Her demeanor tense.

  
“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.” I snatch my arm away, rubbing at the tender skin.
Jeez, she’s got a hard grip.

  
“Taylor Jacks.”

  
I cock an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  
She cocks her hip to the side and throws her hands in the air. “Only the king of the kings on campus. He can have any girl he wants. You know
Fight Night?
The fighting arena up town? The biggest gathering of the student body…like ever!”

  
Oh, Jesus.
“You mean the barbarians that fight to get kicks?”

  
She adjusts the straps on her, extremely too tight, shirt. At least I wear sleazy stuff to con men, she just does it for attention. “If
that’s
what you want to call it. He is so fucking hot, Lay. Brett is friends with him, he talked about crashing at his house tonight. You should come. Get you some
goody goody
.”

  
Goody goody?
“I’ll pass.”

  
She huffs. “You never get laid, Layla. What are you hiding under there?” She points toward my crotch.

  
I roll my eyes. “Are you okay to get home alone? I don’t want you calling me at 3a.m telling me I’m a terrible friend leaving you alone. This is your ride home, right now.”

  
She rolls her brown eyes. “I’m fine, but you should totally come with us. It’ll be fun,” she wiggles her hips and does a stupid shimmy thing with her shoulders.