Page 24 of Step Brother Bear

“I’m not going over there.”

“You won’t have to.” She winks and turns around. “Can we get a round of vodka sodas?” She yells to the bartender. I don’t have the heart to tell her that’s a disgusting drink. I’m not much of a drinker, but if I am drinking, I need a carefully crafted cocktail to enjoy myself. I doubt this place has any signature martinis, though, so a vodka soda will have to do.

Finished this book already?

There is always something else to read at Lokepub.

Someone taps on my shoulder, and I turn around to Doctor Bedroom Eyes. He smiles, but his gaze flicks to something behind me. “Here you go!” The bartender yells, and I turn to find my drink on the counter in front of me.

“I was coming over to ask if I could buy you a drink.”

I don’t move. It’s been forever since I flirted with a guy, besides Derek, but no, what we do is definitely not flirting. By the grace of any god watching, Chrishell swoops in. “Don’t worry. She’ll be done with this one soon.” She tips my glass to my lips, and when I gulp the first sip, she encourages me to chug more. I’m no bitch, so I down half of it before pushing back and demanding my autonomy. I fight my disgust and put on a smile, shaking my half-empty glass. “Almost done.”

“Then it seems like you should have another ready to go.” He smiles, and it does something drastic to his face. Perhaps it’s the booze or the uniform, but he’s actually handsome—tan skin, white smile, sandy hair—someone uncomplicated, at least for tonight.

“Sounds like a good idea.” I smile. He leans over me to summon the bartender, and I catch a quick peek of some musky man cologne.

His two friends are now beside him at the bar. The vampire chats up Chrishell, and Mr. Baseball is trying—and failing—to make conversation with Rachel. Chrishell hangs her arms over the vampire's shoulders, and he leans in. Damn, that was easy. Rachel crosses her arms and gives Chrishell a disgusted look as Mr. Baseball carries on a one-sided conversation.

I chug the rest of my drink, just in time for Doctor McDreamy to pass me another. I open my mouth to ask his name, but shake my head, deciding otherwise. Tonight’s about being someone different. I’m not Isabella. I’m Goldilocks. And he’s Mr. Doctor…or something like that.

He leans closer, his lips at the shell of my ear. “Want to dance?”

I nod, and he pulls me to the center of the dance floor. Bodies bump against me as the music creeps through my bones. In theory, I hate clubs, but I always forget that in these first moments, a few drinks in and without an ounce of fatigue, these places make me feel as if I belong somewhere. I’m not alone. There are people all around me, so happy to be in my presence. We’re all here for the same reason—to have fun, and for a blip of time, it seems like a worthwhile cause.

I raise my arms above my head as Doctor Suave puts one hand on my waist and pulls me close. His other hand holds his beer above him, and his head rocks to the music.

I close my eyes, losing myself in everything. His touch slips away from my waist for a moment, but then two large hands grab me on either side and pull me against a wall of muscle. I yell, opening my eyes to a large chest, covered by a black shirt. I scan upward until I meet a Scream mask, the white face looking down at me, haunting black eyeholes pinning me in place.

Once I’m done being confused—trying to remember if I actually was dancing with a doctor or a masked man—I push him back. At least, I try to. He holds me in place even tighter. Panic clears my drink-induced fog, and I search for someone to help me. I catch the doctor giving me a stank eye as he backs away in the crowd. Chrishell makes out with the vampire at the bar, and Rachel is nowhere to be seen. I’m royally fucked. My next plan of action is to grab a dancer next to me and cause a big enough commotion that the masked stranger lets me go. As I attempt to reach out, the man lowers his head to my ear and whispers. “You look so fuckable with fear in your eyes.”

I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Derek!” I yell.

“Who’s Derek?” He growls, his face still close to my ear. “I’m here to make you scream. He spins me around, clamping my backside against his chest, his voice still at the side of my face. “And I know you love to scream.”

“Did you follow me here?”

“Follow you? You practically begged for me to come.” I hear the smile behind his mask.

“I did not!”

“Your words don’t fool me.”

I attempt to lunge forward, but he holds me in place, only making me buck back into his erection.

“Let go of me,” I seethe, thankful he’s keeping me close to him so I don’t have to yell. But even as I state my disapproval, my body betrays me, and I wiggle against him, not out of discomfort, but wanting to feel more. I blame ovulation, of course, coupled with alcohol.

He tsks, releasing his iron grip and trailing his hands up my side, his fingers dancing across my exposed skin. “Stop fighting it, Goldie. Tonight I’m not your stepbrother. You can admit the ache for me between your thighs.”

I don’t reply, caught off guard by his words. Thankfully, he doesn’t make me reply, only flips me around so I’m facing him, trailing down my arms, grabbing my hands, and placing them on his shoulders. I finish the movement, clasping my hands together around his neck. I stare into the dark holes of his mask, and he palms down my back, molding me to him, taking the lead as we sway to the pulsing music. “Good girl,” he says, his voice low but strong enough to penetrate the noise.

I feel the definition of his muscles, his thickening length under his black slacks. I press into him wanting more and soaking in the feeling of holding him in a room full of people. “It’s a good thing you’re behaving,” he says into my ear.

“Why?”

“Every eye is glued to you in this place, and then watching you dance with that loser…” He tsks. “I was close to my edge.”