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I shrug. “If the name fits.”
Commotion to my left and the sound of metal dragging along the tile interrupts our conversation.
“Listen up, assholes,” Luca says, standing at the head of our table. He brings his fingers to his mouth and whistles when the deep rumble of his voice isn’t enough to catch their attention.
As the son of a Mafia boss, Luca never has a problem getting anyone to listen. It was only natural when he wanted the role of president that he filled the position. No one objected or challenged him. He’s a natural leader, with connections that have kept our degenerate asses out of jail more times than I can count.
Luca holds the mile long check in his hand, looking around the room at all of us, with a beer in the other. “Since this is my last formal as your president, I picked up the tab.”
Interrupting Luca’s speech, the room erupts into a cacophony of clapping, cheering, and animalistic noises. Even a few drinks spill onto the table in the process. Like most students at Strickland University, Luca comes from a wealthy family, except they make their money the old fashioned way.
“All right would you guys shut the fuck up for a minute?” Luca says, irritated.
“Let the man speak,” someone yells.
Luca tips his long neck in gratitude and continues, but a second later, the group starts up again and chants, “Speech, speech, speech!”
“Are they always this bad?” Ella asks, keeping her voice low, though it’s not like anyone can hear her over all the noise.
“They are just getting started. Wait until you see them by the end of the night. That’s why I asked if you were up for it.”
She rolls her eyes and shoots a goofy smile in my direction. “Oh, I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Ella wasn’t kidding about being ready. Three hours after dinner, Ella is drunk off her ass and rubbing her pussy on my leg. Not that I mind, but she’s making it hard for me to think straight with all the friction between us.
She runs a hand through her sweat-matted strands and stares up at me, her eyes finding mine. I haven’t stopped looking at her since the second we got onto the dance floor. Watching Ella come undone in other ways has me grinning like an idiot. This is our last hurrah before graduation, and the only time Ella has completely let go. She thought too much about this weekend, allowing herself to become nervous about spending time with my brothers. But everyone has welcomed her, as I knew they would. As usual, she was nervous for nothing.
My sweet Ella always overthinks everything. At least she’s having fun and dancing on me like a drunken sorostitute. And I’m okay with that because it’s nice to see Ella let loose for a change. I could not let her graduate without having one normal night out with people her age for once.
While Ella would rather spend her weekends reading and drinking tea with Mrs. F, this is good for her. This is good for us. My chances of going pro this year are high. The draft takes place the weekend of graduation in Philadelphia. I’m not expecting first or even fifth round, but I have a good feeling about it. We are about to start a new path that Ella and I will walk together.
“I need another drink,” Ella says, cupping her hands around her mouth. She stops dancing for a few seconds, still holding onto me.
I acknowledge her with a nod. Then, I hook my arm around her back and pull her into me, gripping her tight, as we sift through the crowd to get to the bar. The bar is just as crowded as the dancefloor, with only a few bartenders mixing drinks. For a resort that had come highly recommended, the hotel could use more staff for such a big event.
I stand out in a crowd, catching the attention of the bartender I flag down.
She leans forward and sinks her elbows into the bar. “What can I get you, big guy?”
“Two Miller Lights and—”
“I want another martini,” Ella says, tugging on my sleeve.
“I know, babe. The beers are for me.”
She snorts. “Isn’t it a little early to start double fisting beers?”
I laugh. “It’s never too early. Just be lucky you know Shawn and not Finch.”
“I hope he comes out to play tonight,” she coos with a seductive look in her eyes.
“And an apple martini,” I say to the bar tender, before turning back to Ella to take her ear in my mouth to suck on it. “Be careful what you wish for,” I say against the shell of her ear. “Because you might not like what you get.”
“It’s impossible not to love every side of you, Shawn.” She reaches up to brush her fingers along my jaw, gazing into my eyes. “You were always too hard for me to resist.”
“Right back at ya, babe,” I say, too buzzed to come up with something clever.
After we get our drinks, we’re about to head back to the dance floor when someone unexpected stops Ella in her tracks, bringing us both to a halt. I have a hard time telling Ella’s stepsisters apart, but judging by the extra bitchy scowl on her face, I think this one is Natasha.
