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“Yeah, and why did they do mommy instead of mom?” Daphne shudders. “That makes it weird!”
Dustin howls with laughter. Apparently, that part was his doing.
Nick is wholly unperturbed by our reactions. “I like it, and I can confirm the ladies don’t mind it one bit.”
I reach for my drink, needing a long sip to recover from this conversation, but my cup is all ice. Womp womp.
Daphne catches my eye and holds up her empty glass.
“Another?” she mouths.
I nod and stand to join her. Surprisingly, Sophia hurries after us.
“Leaving your man so soon?” Daphne taunts.
“Gotta keep him wanting more,” she teases as we get swallowed by the crowd. “Besides, I want to have a front-row seat for when the guy from earlier finally makes a move on Tate. I was watching him while we were all over there on the couches. He was totally checking you out.”
I hum in disbelief. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. He was.”
I’m actually inclined to believe her. Sophia’s not one to embellish something like that. Daphne on the other hand…
“So here’s how I have it planned in my head,” Daphne starts.
“Planned?”
“Yeah, I’ve been strategizing all night. Give me your jacket.” She starts yanking it off me before I even have time to react.
“What? Are you crazy? Stop.”
She doesn’t stop.
“It’s part of my outfit,” I insist.
“Yeah, okay, the jacket is perfect if you’re trying to look cool, but you’re not. You are going for sex kitten, aka classed-up lady of the night, so that means we need to show off the assets.”
She points between my boobs to emphasize her point.
I roll my eyes. “Subtle.”
She ignores my sarcasm and continues her mission.
“You’re going to yank my arm off,” I protest. “Jesus. Would you knock it off?”
With a final huff of exertion, she succeeds in getting the jacket off me. Then she folds it over her arm, standing back to assess me. “Fine. You want to give up? Be my guest. I saw some blonde smokeshow sidle up to Mystery Man a few minutes ago. You probably missed your opportunity anyway.”
My neck nearly snaps in two with my attempt to look over at the guy. I’m not kidding; I’m a barn owl twisting my head around to see if she’s serious. He’s not in his corner anymore. I know because I’ve been tracking his every goddamn movement. Yeah, that’s right—Sophia wasn’t the only one stalking him. He’s at the bar now, waiting on his drink. His buddies from earlier are gone. The blonde has left his side too, but she’s not far. She’s chatting with some friends nearby, keeping close watch on him with visions of hot, hot sex dancing in her gaze. She wants him, clearly.
“He’s probably into blondes,” Daphne remarks offhandedly.
I know perfectly well what she’s doing, and yet it manages to stoke my competitive nature all the same.
“Yeah, it was a dumb dare, anyway, Tate,” Sophia adds. “Don’t feel bad.”
Don’t feel bad?
Are they joking? They really don’t think I’ll do it?
Fine.
I shove my empty glass in Daphne’s hand and start toward him. On my way, I tousle my hair, check for anything lurking between my front teeth, and ever-so-strategically tug down the top of my dress. Blondie’s eyes widen when I come into her periphery. I almost feel bad. I mouth a “Sorry” as I pass her, and I truly am sorry on some level. She might be his soul mate and here I am, standing in the way of that. But this is only for one night. After that, she can have him.
When I make it within reaching distance, I tap on his shoulder—his massive, well-defined shoulder that’s in line with my face. He’s at least a foot taller than me. It didn’t seem like such a massive leap from a distance, but up close, I’m suddenly intimidated by his size.
It’s too late to scurry away now though because he’s turning around and my GOD, he’s a vision. His black hair is styled expertly, slightly longer on the top, short on the sides. He has heavenly brown eyes, the color of honey—only honey is sweet, and he is nothing of the sort. He’s a threat personified. Bad decisions morphed into a devilish body. His features don’t hide, they demand attention: chiseled cheekbones, strong jawline, piercing eyes.
Once I find my voice buried deep down beneath the layers of shock and awe, I ask the only question I care about. “Are you single?”
He wasn’t expecting this question, just like he wasn’t expecting me to boldly tap him on the shoulder. His surprise shifts to curiosity. His eyes spark as he scrutinizes me.
“Yes” is all he says before I press up onto my toes and give him a half-second warning: “I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s okay.”
And then I am.
Kissing him, in front of everyone.
It’s brief. Tentative lips meeting a surprised mouth.
