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“Well, next time you are about to get gang-raped by a band of pigs, I will leave you to deal with it,” he says. “Perhaps I will watch.”
I gasp. “Watch? Who’s the pig now?”
“Show some respect for the man who saved you.” He gets right in my face and my senses ping on high alert. Before I realize what I’m doing, my arm swings up, about to deliver a stinging slap. I stop short as he catches my wrist in a grip like a steel band.
Bastard!
Though I really should remember that he did just help me out of a tight spot. Still, that doesn’t give him the right to be an asshole. I spin expertly and slip out of his grasp with a skill I’ve honed since I was a kid.
He stares down at me, cocks his head, and raises an eyebrow.
“Interesting,” he says.
“Whatever,” I say. “But thanks,” I concede. “For…you know…getting rid of them.” I should be gracious. I know I should. But there’s something about this man that just rubs me up the wrong way. “Still… I can hold my own against jerks like that.”
“That is so?” He’s smirking at me.
“Yes, that is so,” I mimic his accent. “I can match any man in this place, you included.”
He all-out laughs. Flings his head back and bellows with laughter. He really is a jerk.
“You want to fight me?” He’s still chuckling when he eventually stops laughing.
I run an eye up and down him, which is a bad idea for two reasons. Firstly, on closer examination, I’m pretty sure he’d crush me like a bug. And secondly…holy shit, he’s built like a god! Broad shoulders, tapering hips, long muscular thighs encased in black denim. I’d be all over him like a rash if I didn’t want to kick his ass.
“Maybe not,” I reply as I consider my options. “What’s your poison?” I say before I could change my mind. I really shouldn’t be getting acquainted with anyone, but a moment of weakness makes me brush my worries aside. It might be careless of me, but dammit I’m not used to being locked in a motel room for so long.
“Poison?” he frowns. “You want to poison me?” He’s taunting me again.
“No. Your drink. What do you like to drink?”
“Ah,” he says, understanding dawning. “Vodka. That is my poison.”
“Lena,” I call over my shoulder. “Get us a bottle of Stoli and a couple of shot glasses.” She scuttles off and I turn back to the stranger. “Take a seat.” I nod at a pair of bar stools.
He shakes his head wryly, chuckles, and then slides smoothly onto one.
God, he’s got a great ass.
I’m still gonna kick it, though. I sit down next to the man. Lena is back, and sets a bottle down, then a glass in front of each of us. I twist the lid off the bottle, throw it over my shoulder and fill our glasses.
“One,” I say, then empty my glass. Jerk thinks he can make fun of me? I’ll show him something. This is my game. My dad used to brag about it to all his friends. His little Scarlett with the hollow legs. By the time I was twenty-one, I could drink anyone under a table. And I’ve had five years to become an expert.
“One,” he says, and empties his glass, too. I fill them up again.
“Two,” I say. I down the liquor and smack my lips. Lena’s brown eyes are huge as she stares from me to Jerkface and back again.
“Two,” he echoes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It takes us less than twenty minutes to empty the bottle, without sharing a word of conversation aside from the countdown.
“You get the next bottle,” I tell him.
Jesus, Scarlett, what are you doing?
The man levels me with a steady stare, then reaches into his back pocket, extracts a wad of notes, and slaps them onto the counter.
“Another,” he says to Lena who dashes off. We already gathered a small group of onlookers who seem to be placing bets on us now. Probably not great for my plans to stay anonymous, but I guess it’s too late to worry about visibility at this point.
This time, it’s he who unscrews the bottle and throws the lid away.
