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I nod, and he continues.
“Okay, I promise no penises around your neck, in your drink, between your legs, or in your mouth. And you’re officially the most boring person I know.”
“All right, let’s do this,” I say, ignoring his jab. Rubbing my hands together, I take a step toward the door just as JJ wraps a hand around my wrist. “What?”
“You are wearing underwear, right?”
I shrug, and he lets go of my wrist. A slow smile spreads across my face. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“I want you to be safe,” he says firmly. “Knowing Jacob, this place will be swarming with his frat brothers.”
“Oooh… I like where this is going. Maybe I’ll enjoy socializing after all,” I tease. “What were you just saying about me being the most boring person you know?”
His face goes stone cold. “That’s not funny.”
“Chill, brother bear. We’ve already established my lack of socialization skills; I highly doubt I’ll be shacking up with some stranger in the bathroom.” Although ending my two-year drought sure would be nice.
Reaching around me, JJ opens the door. “Trust me, I wasn’t worried about you doing that at all,” he mumbles.
My steps falter as I walk through the door. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“We need more shots,” Erin yells as she throws her hands in the air and shakes her ass. We’ve only been here a few hours, but Erin is already half tanked—as she should be.
“I’ll get them,” JJ says.
But I quickly wave him off. “It’s my turn to buy a round.”
“You sure?” he shouts.
Music blares through the speakers, the bass thumping so loud I don’t even bother trying to yell over it again. Instead, I just nod.
JJ grabs Erin’s hand and twirls her around. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he dips her low, and she busts out in a fit of giggles.
I push my way through the writhing bodies, grateful that Erin is enjoying her special night—and that I decided to take JJ’s advice to let loose for once.
Of course I can’t tell him he was right. The boy’s head is big enough as it is.
Squeezing through the crowd at the bar, I shove my way to the front and collapse on an empty stool. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, and surprisingly, my cheeks hurt. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard as I have tonight.
The bartender slides a beer to the person on my right and points to me. “What can I get ya?”
“One shot of Crown, a shot of chilled SoCo, and three screaming orgasms.”
The bartender nods and turns away.
“Did you just order a screaming orgasm?”
Turning to my left, I follow the sound of the deep, raspy—and all too familiar—voice. A tall man in a perfectly pressed navy suit leans against the bar, and I instantly recognize him as the stranger outside the strip club my first day back in Chicago.
He looks so much better than my memory gave him credit for.
Right hand tucked in his pocket, he exudes confidence. His tailored suit hugs his lean body in a way that has my non-existent panties incinerating in my drawer at home. He has a straight nose, full lips, and square jaw that looks as if it’s been chiseled from some sort of fine granite. There’s a dusting of dark stubble casting the faintest shadow, as if he left it there on purpose, too lazy to worry with it this morning. I’ve seen his type before. Dozens of times. Tall, dark, handsome, and dangerous. Those four traits could be devastating to a girl like me.
Because to a girl like me, that’s exactly what he is.
Dangerous.
“I did. They’re mind-blowingly good. Have you ever had one?”
