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“Let me just tell me friends where I’m going,” I say, gesturing toward them.
“Oh my god,” Sabi says, throwing an arm around my neck when she spots me. “This is our American friend,” she says to the guys she’s talking to.
“Isn’t this fun?” Vivi screams, grabbing my hand.
The guys turn and nod at the DJ, who’s now standing next to me.
“So. Much. Fun,” Vivi screams again, now yanking on my arm. “Let’s go!”
Let’s go where?
To my surprise, the DJ pries her fingers from me, separating us. “Sorry, honey. She’s coming with me.”
Okay, now people are fighting over me?
“Come on, Abby. Let me show you the DJ booth,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me. Hard
The sisters’ eyes widen at his forcefulness, and they glance at the guys they’re talking to.
“Hold on,” I say, trying to pull away.
But I can’t.
And how did this guy know my name? We never exchanged names.
“Let her go!” Vivi says, pulling me again, this time to wrest me from the DJ.
While she does this, one of the guys steps up and gets in the DJ’s face. “Hey. Looks like she wants you to let her go.”
A strange look passes over the DJ’s face, so different from his expression of just a few minutes before when he bought me my beer.
What the hell’s going on?
He juts out his chin and steps closer to the guy confronting him. But the DJ is no match for him at several inches shorter and about half as wide.
“Fuck you,” he spits, and takes off, disappearing into the crowd.
Well. Dodged a bullet there. And so much for my vacation romance.
“Oh my god,” Sabi says with a hand to her chest. “Thank you so much. You saved my friend.”
She takes my other arm and runs her hand up and down it like she’s stroking a cat. “Abbay, these handsome gentlemen invited us to their boat. It’s docked in the marina just down the street.”
I lean close to Sabine’s ear. “We don’t know them.”
Although being on a boat in Ibiza does sound fucking cool.
She apparently doesn’t notice my whisper. “Oh,Abbay. They are super nice. I can tell. And they just saved you from that terrible man!”
The guys look at me, smiling, now that they know I am opposed to going on their boat.
One of them, the taller, extends a hand my way, and damn if his chin dimple doesn’t make my heart skip a beat. “Hello, Abby. I’m Ilya.”
Ilya? What kind of name is that?
He continued. “And this is Fedor.”
Fedor? Russian?
