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I frown at him. “You are my dad’s friend.”
“Right,” he mumbles.
“What else did you want me to say?” I ask as I glance between him and the road. What’s his deal? He is the one who is always reminding me that my father is his best friend.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and stares out of the window.
I sigh inwardly. I feel like I can’t win with him sometimes. “If I’d said you were my friend then he would have gone and finished that sentence, and neither of us wanted that.”
“About you going out to chase dick tonight?” he snaps.
“Exactly.”
He stares out of the window and the tension in the car becomes unbearable.
“Are you mad at me for something?” I eventually ask.
“Not at all, Lucia,” he replies with a fake smile.
I shake my head and go back to focusing on the road. Asshole!
Archer lies on my bed, his muscular arms behind his head as he watches me try on every dress in my closet.
He has dismissed almost every single one. Too frumpy. Too flowery. Too frilly. Too old. Too pink.
“Argh. I have nothing,” I groan as I take off the green halter that even I hate. I have no idea why I allow it to take up space in my tiny closet.
“Yes you do. That hot little black number you tried on a half hour ago.” He flashes his eyebrows at me before taking a sip of his Cosmopolitan.
I shake my head. “It’s too revealing.” I shake my head.
“Lucia Montoya!” He stands and places his drink on my nightstand before picking up the tiny black dress and handing it to me. “You have a rocking body. You are twenty-one years old. We’re going to the hottest freaking night club in California. Show a little skin, baby.”
I take it from his hands. The fabric is so thin it’s almost sheer. I haven’t worn this dress in over a year. Not since the night I got drunk on tequila and Jax had to come rescue me from a dive bar.
I hold it up against my body. “I’ll have to wear a G-string,” I sigh. “They’re so freaking uncomfortable.”
“Oh for the love of God!” he snaps.
“You walk around with a wedgie all night then. See how you like it,” I challenge him.
“Girl, if it would get me the dick that dress is going to get you, I would. Now put the fucking dress on.”
“Okay.” I relent and go to my underwear drawer to find a G-string.
“If you are ever going to get over Jackson Decker, then you need to get under someone else. And fast,” he reminds me.
“I know,” I sigh. He is the only person who knows about my Jax obsession and the poor guy has had to listen to me talk about him for the past hour and a half.
He wraps his arms around me. “He is a damn fool not to want you, baby girl.”
I lean back against his hard chest. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Then he slaps my ass. “You’re welcome. Now get dressed so I can go act all rich and important in your daddy’s club.”
Putting my empty glass onto the bar and with a wave to Archer, who winks at me to signal he is more than happy to remain chatting to the muscular blond at the bar, I follow the guy I’ve been chatting to for the past five minutes to the dance-floor. His name is Chase. He works in security and he has sandy brown hair, blue eyes and tattoos all over his forearms. He might be just my type.
We worm our way through the crowd until we find ourselves a space. It’s so packed in here, we are already pressed up against each other before we even start dancing. But that is fine with me. Archer is right. I need to get me some action and forget all about Jax. And Chase is hot, right? I mean he’s not Jax-hot, but he’s got that tall and mysterious thing going on. I bet he has some hard abs under that shirt of his, too.
