The look she’s giving me is one of curiosity and intrigue, but it does nothing for me. She’s not my type.
“Hey there,” she greets in a sultry tone.
“Hi.” I offer her a brief smile as I set my glass down on the bar top. “Scotch, please.”
Not in the mood for idle chit-chat, I turn my body, positioning away from her as I look out into our private VIP section.
My sister and her husband are cuddling on the small leather couch, his hand on her newly protruding pregnant stomach as they stay lost in each other’s orbit. Just past them, Enzo leans over the railing, looking down at the crowd below.
When the bartender hands me my glass, I go over to join him.
I’m aware that conversing with Enzo is about as fun as sticking your head into a shark tank, but this is me making aneffort. We can call it an olive branch.
As odd and slightly off-putting as I find these men to be, I’ve enjoyed my time getting to know them.
“Not in the mood to dance?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink. Leaning against the railing on my forearms, I sweep my gaze over the crowd.
It takes hardly a breath before my eyes lock with a pretty blonde’s.
Raina.
“No.” He doesn’t offer me more than that.
I should look away from the temptation that is Raina Lancaster, but instead, I smirk as I watch her.
“You’re dancing with the devil,” Enzo mutters over his glass.
“How so?” My eyes are still locked with Raina’s. Her arms are above her head, locked around the neck of a man not much taller than she is. A redhead, unless the lights of the club deceive me. I watch as her ass grinds against him, hips moving in time with the music. One of his hands slides around her waist, splaying across her stomach.
My jaw tics.
She smiles at me as though the irritation shows on my face, although I know it doesn’t. I never let my emotions show. No good lawyer does.
Beside me, Enzo lets out a clipped, sardonic laugh.
Finally, I rip my gaze from her and look over at him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Slowly, I take another drink, savoring the flavor on my tongue before swallowing it down. Turning, I lean my back against the railing and look over at the blonde still sitting in my seat. Her legs are crossed, and she’s craning her neck to see through the glass barrier below the railing, looking out onto the dance floor.
I should ask her to dance. A better man would.
After another gulp, it occurs to me she requested a drink as well.
Christ, I’m an asshole. Stomping back over to the bar, I bark at the bartender, “Vodka-Cran,” not waiting for her to greet me again.
“You got it, handsome.”
Pouring the two ingredients seems to take an eternity, but once I stomp back over and hand it to the blonde perched in my seat, she smiles widely.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I clear my throat. “I apologize, but it’s been a long day. Please remind me of your name.”
“Maddie.”
“Maddie,” I repeat, hoping this time to commit it to memory. My eyes graze over her once more.
Flowing, pin-straight blonde hair, tight dress, legs for miles.
