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My eyes bore into him as my body turns rigid. “Where are they meeting?”
“Um, Lupine, I think.”
“Fine. Let’s eat there.”
He frowns, his brow creasing nervously. “Um, you sure?”
The snarl that leaves my throat takes us both aback. “I insist.”
* * *
I hear Brackson, another colleague who joined us, speak words to Tom and me, but my mind doesn’t process them, focused as I am on the pink-haired girl who is audacious, foolish or outright insane enough to be sitting at the corner of the bar next to some sweaty asshole I vaguely remember from Tom’s wedding.
Her back is to me, her hair tied into a high ponytail, the tips of it brushing against the exposed skin of her back above a tight burgundy top. As she lowers her head to stick a fork into some food, I swear I see the greedy fuck who is delusional enough to think he has a snowball’s chance in hell of fucking her glance down at her tits which must be nice and pronounced in that tight top.
The more I look, the more I realize that it’s a miracle that his eyeballs are still intact and he doesn’t currently have a large fork rammed through one of them.
“Grey?”
My eyes slide to our colleague Brack, and only then do I spot a waitress standing next to him at our table.
“Ready to order, sir?”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” I respond tersely with a tip of the head towards Brack, turning my attention back to the couple at the far side of the bar.
I spot the man asking Indigo a question only for her to shake her head. He smiles in response, and asks the barman for something, putting up two fingers, making me wonder whether the dead man walking is making her take more drinks than she wants to.
My fist clenches around my glass as the barman puts two glasses of white wine down next to them, and the poor unfortunate whose life I may just have to destroy bit by bit seems to insist that she take a sip.
“Grey,” says Tom, drawing my unwelcome gaze. “Looks like they’re having a good time.” He signals over to the couple, one of whom I’m about to permanently cremate with a smile.
“What do you know about this guy?” I ask, my body still tense.
“He’s a good guy. Bit intense but he’s alright.”
“Intense?”
“Yeah. Or just focused, I guess. He kept asking about her, so—”
I can’t look at his ruddy neck without wanting to sever his carotid with my teeth.
“Hey, you didn’t really have a thing for her, did you?” Tom asks. “I asked Carrie and she said you didn’t hook up or anything. After you left so quickly, I assumed—”
“I don’t want her set up on any more dates with your fucking friends, Tom.”
“What?” he sniggers before his features turn more serious. “I asked Carrie. She said she was single.”
I consciously loosen my grip on my glass before it smashes in my hand as the man leans his stocky torso into Indie’s slender body.
“Yeah, well, not for much longer,” I decide, reaching for my wallet. I draw out a hundred-dollar bill and place it on the table. “Sorry, gentlemen. I’ll be calling it a night.”
“Grey… what are you up to?” asks Tom, a half-hearted warning drawing the words out.
“You’ll find out,” I mutter as I slide my wallet into the back pocket of my pants and put on my jacket.
“Oh fuck,” I hear Tom mutter, but before I can get to my feet, a little face turns, and then more… and startled green eyes lock onto mine…
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