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I wanted a man. A big, strong man who knew what he was doing. Who could look after me…
“Whatever. We’re inviting them over.” Lucy got up, adjusted her dress, and walked slowly over to their table. From where I sat, I could see her butt peeking out as she leaned over the table, probably resting her chin on her hands and giving the boys an eyeful, no doubt. Their boisterous laughter and lewd compliments rang out from the table.
I inwardly cringed, knowing this was going to be awful. If one of them so much as touched me, I hoped Cruz would break his hand.
Lucy returned with the five guys in tow. “Okay, so this my friend Olivia and my other friend, Alexandra. She hasn’t had it in a while.”
One of the guys, wearing a low V-neck t shirt, whispered something in another’s ears, loud enough for all his friends to hear. They all laughed.
I frowned at them, my face burning in frustration and anger.
“Pleased to you meet you, ladies. What a nice surprise to find three beautiful young women so near our table. Let’s get some drinks, shall we?” the guy in the V-neck said. He was clearly the ringleader. He had an odd accent, a mix of French, British, and American. Though he was trying to sound like he had class, he just came across as a sleazebag.
Lucy scooched up next to me, and Olivia stood up to let the douche in. H
e slid around to sit next to me, entirely too close. I could smell alcohol on his breath and liberally applied aftershave on his skin. I took a large gulp of champagne, uncomfortable and wanting to be literally anywhere else.
“Hey, Alexandra. I’m Jordan.” He held out a manicured, spindly hand.
I shook it as quickly as I could. “Hi. Look, don’t listen to my friends. I’m not looking for anything, I’m afraid. I’m just here to have a quiet evening,” I said, hoping he would get the message.
“Oh, we’ll see about that!” He winked. I shuddered.
“Don’t worry. A few more drinks and I bet she’ll be well up for it!” his equally disgusting friend said in a strong British accent. So much for the stereotypical British gentleman.
“Excuse me?” I said, incredulous.
“Don’t worry, love. I’m just pulling yer leg.” He smiled crookedly, revealing bad nicotine-stained teeth.
I was fuming. One of the guys ordered a few more bottles of champagne. Crude conversation surrounded me. Jordan tried to chat me up, but I wasn’t remotely interested and tried my best to ignore him. Yet, he wouldn’t take a hint.
A while later, I felt a hand on my thigh. I looked at Jordan to find him grinning at me. His hands were small and feminine, his muscles were out of proportion to his skinny body, and he had a poor attempt at a beard growing in his childish face.
I pushed his hand away in disgust, rising to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, annoyed.
Olivia and Lucy chimed in, almost in unison. “We’ll join you. Won’t keep you waiting too long, boys.” They were having the time of their lives.
I hurried to the bathroom, the girls behind me. I was tempted to go and get Cruz, but I knew it would piss the girls off, so I considered just leaving them in the restaurant.
“What’s your problem, Alexandra?” Olivia said as she followed me into the bathroom. “They’re just being nice. Why can’t you lighten up for once?”
Lucy had her arms folded, looking annoyed at me. “He’s nice. And I bet he’s damn rich as well. Why don’t you give him a chance?”
“Because he won’t take no for an answer, that’s why! You think he’s going to let me go back to my room alone when you’re each taking one or two back with you? You’re disgusting, sometimes.”
“Whoa. Hold on there.” Olivia held her hand up. “Don’t be annoyed at us because we like having fun. It’s not our fault you’re a stuck-up bitch!”
I stared at them, stunned. They had certainly had shown their true colors, and I hated what I saw. I felt like I’d been wrong about them actually being decent-hearted people.
I sighed, almost feeling sorry for them as I left the bathroom. I was going to tell Jordan in no uncertain terms where he could shove it, and then I was leaving.
Cruz
My hand froze, my whiskey glass halfway to my mouth. A few minutes ago, I’d seen the leader of the douches scoot in next to Alexandra, leering at her. Seeing how disgusted she looked, I had tried to shrug off my jealousy, only to find my heart beating faster and my hands clenching.
I tried to calm down, fearing I would crack the whiskey glass. I took a measured gulp, my hands shaking. And then I drained the whole glass.
“Would you like another, sir?” the barman said, appearing at my side. I looked at him, my eyes burning with poorly controlled anger, a visage of rage combined years of suppressed emotion rising to the surface.
