AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Not many people outside of the medical community refer to it as isopropyl. But I must admit, it did turn me on a little."'
I blush but am thankfully spared from having to say anything when a cocktail waitress appears, handing me a drink I don't recognize.
"Oh, I didn't order this." I glance at Wes, wondering if he did, but his face is blank while he waits for an explanation.
"No, that guy at the bar did." She gestures to the crowd of people at the bar behind her, none of which are looking our way except for the guy standing at the edge of the crowd. Sorely out of place wearing severe leather with his stringy hair hanging in a marled face, he isn't easy to miss. His dark eyes collide with mine and he lifts up his flask in a toast just before turning into the crowd. I keep my eyes trained on him as long as I can, but he disappears somewhere in the throngs of teenagers. The waitress sets the drink on the table and teeters away, unbothered by my hesitation.
"What kind of guy sends a woman a drink when she's with someone else?" Wes muses. The touch of irritation in his words sends a slight thrill through me, but I’m not sure yet if it’s because I like the possessiveness that crept into his tone or if it’s because I don't. "Did you know him?"
"No." I shudder. "That was weird."
"Well, since it came from the bar, it's safe to drink. Looks like a Blue Russian."
"A what?" I turn, my eyes falling on the drink.
"A Blue Russian. Vodka, blue curacao, whipped cream. It's a pretty sexy drink."
I laugh. "How is a drink sexy? And how do you know what it is? Did you study the anatomy of a cocktail in med school?"
"You don't make it through med school without copious amounts of alcohol, sleep, and caffeine." He shrugs. "It's a cycle."
"So, is this your drink then?" I tease, my lips quirking into a smile as I lift it up, letting it gleam under the light. "You like the girly stuff?"
"I’m an equal opportunity drunk.” He shrugs, unbothered, but his lips quirk at the corners a bit. “I like all kinds."
I sip the cocktail, surprised to find it’s actually a sweet, creamy orange flavor, almost like a daiquiri. "That's really good, actually."
"Much better than a tequila sunrise, I'd say."
I eye him, the dazzling smile and his eyes like sea glass. With his charm and ambition, I suspect he’s firmly out of my league, so why is he bothering? Does he think I’ll be an easy opportunity for casual fun, or is he just that dedicated of a friend that he’s willing to occupy me as long as it takes?
"And when it comes to women, are you an equal opportunity lover? Do you… enjoy all types of ladies?"
He tilts his head to the side, briefly considering his answer. "Only the ones who make the first move."
I raise an eyebrow and finish the rest of my first cocktail before placing it down on the table. I move closer to Wes, and he slips his arm around my shoulder, taking our stance from casual to intimate. "Come here." I motion him even closer.
Wes moves into me, anticipating the kiss that’s about to unfold between us. But instead, I press my lips to his ear so that they brush against his lobe as I speak. "I'm old-fashioned. So, I'm afraid you'll have to woo me first. A lady never makes the first move."
Wes pulls back to see my eyes, his mouth inches from mine. "You just did."
I’m leaning into him, our lips just barely touching, when a scream tears through the room, overpowering the tenor of the music, which cuts out a second later. There’s a loud scuffling of shoes, a panicked symphony of screeches, and a consuming chaos as everybody scatters. Wes pulls me to my feet just as Rhea appears.
"Time to go!" She yells, grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the back of the room… in the opposite direction of the exit.
Chapter four
Claire
I don’t fail to recognize the irony, remembering my earlier conversation with Rhea regarding the key to the loft. I’ve never been so grateful to have a resourceful best friend as I am in this moment, with her pulling me toward the staircase in the corner of the room. I can feel the panic clouding the room and smell the body odor wafting toward us as everyone else stampedes in the opposite direction, every man for themselves as they try to squeeze out the too-small exit.
We run up the steps with Ryan and Wes in tow, followed by the screams of panicked partiers trampling one another in their rush to get out of the building.
Rhea fumbles around in her purse a minute before coming up with a little ring of keys. “Fuck!” She mutters, spinning them desperately to find the right one. When she does, she jams it into the lock and throws the door open with enough force that she and I both tumble in.
Wes is the last one to cross into the apartment, and he locks the door immediately behind him, turning to Ryan to demand an explanation. “What happened?”
“Some freak just full-on assaulted a girl down there!” Rhea yells. “He was talking to her, and then she must have said something he didn’t like because he grabbed her hair and started yelling in her face. Another guy went over to break it up, and the first guy pulled a knife on him.” She swallows, turning to me, her eyes wide in distress. “A fucking knife, Claire!”
