Timothy's POV
The nightclub is packed with willing bodies, but for the first time in months, I can't bring myself to choose one.
The bass pounds through the floor, vibrating up through my feet and into my chest. Neon lights flash across faces glazed with sweat and alcohol, and everywhere I look there are opportunities. Blonde hair catching the strobe lights. Dark eyes promising no complications. Curves displayed in tight dresses that leave nothing to imagination.
Six months ago, I would have had my pick within the first ten minutes. Tonight, I've been nursing the same whiskey for two hours.
"You're losing your touch, Blackthorn." Jake, one of my defensemen, slides up beside me at the bar. He's already half-drunk, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by sloppy confidence. "See that brunett
