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When they finally deign to recognize that he’s got his arm draped around me, their eyes tend to narrow—not even in judgment, just confusion.
I keep peeking up at him for his take on the whole situation, but there’s not much to see. He seems oblivious to the attention. But surely he must be aware of the effect he has on people, right? You can’t slice through life this effortlessly without at some point recognizing that no one else has it quite so easy.
Or maybe you can; I don’t know.
Maybe that’s just life as Dmitri Egorov.
His box is amazing. It even smells different up here. Gone is the sweaty, boozy stench of the masses, and in its place is peach blossom air freshener and lavender incense. Carts stacked high with alcohol await us in the corner, stationed on either side of broad leather sofas with excellent views of the stage.
I catch a bevy of rich blonde hair and a vaguely familiar face in the crowd. But he’s gone before I can figure out if it’s really who I thought it was or not.
I shake my head. Probably wasn’t. I’m just in a weird mood tonight.
“Thirsty?”
I stand at the edge of the balcony. “Yeah, I could use a drink.”
He presses a hidden button beside the bar cart and, a few moments later, a waiter in a bow tie appears. The child in me is very impressed. Dmitri looks completely unfazed. In his world, it’s normal to be waited on hand and foot. I wonder how long it takes to get used to something like that.
Dmitri’s phone starts to ring and he glances at it impatiently. His eyes glaze over when he sees whoever’s calling. “Give me a moment. I have to take this.” He looks at the waiter. “Get the lady whatever she wants—as long as it’s non-alcoholic.”
I scowl at him as he leaves the booth. Not because I want alcohol, but because it’s annoying that he thinks he needs to police me. I’m not about to start binge-drinking while pregnant, thank you very much.
The only one who sees my scowl is the waiter, though. He’s smiling at me, one eyebrow hitched up with interest. “What can I get you, ma’am?”
“A big, fat vodka tonic. On the rocks.”
He chuckles and takes a glimpse at the curtained door before his professional mask drops and a loopy, friendly grin appears in its place. “Unfortunately for the sake of the prank, I’m not interested in getting the shit beaten out of me.”
I sigh. “Smart.”
He inches a little closer and leans in conspiratorially. “But if you’re looking for a high, I can hook you up with some great weed.”
Oh. I smile awkwardly. “Um, thanks. That’s nice of you, but I’m good. I was just kidding about the drink anyway.”
He nods. “No worries. Just letting you know there’s other options.”
“I appreciate that. For now, I’d just like a virgin mojito.”
His smile is boyish and charming. The lanky hair and kissable lips are giving pretty boy, but the stubble on his jaw saves him with a little dose of edge. Those eyes are searing, too. Almost translucent green.
“Gotcha.” He starts to turn away, then pauses and turns back. “Y’know, if you wanna have some fun after the show, you could give me your number…?”
The door shuts. Neither of us heard it open, but we both definitely heard the thumping footsteps that can only belong to one man.
And unfortunately for this poor waiter, Dmitri heard what he was trying to do.
So much for not getting the shit beaten out of him.
That sleazy grin falls right off his face, replaced with sheer panic. “Sir?—”
Dmitri holds up one huge hand that stops him in his tracks. “If you had to choose between your job, your life, or your balls… what would you pick?”
“Dmitri!”
He ignores me. “Answer. I suggest you do it quickly.”
Amazing how quickly all that cocky, flirtatious, big dick energy evaporates in the presence of a true alpha male. “I’m s-sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
