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If I had to guess, she’s wet just from the anticipation.
“Move along,” I say calmly but loud enough he can hear it over the music.
He turns to look at me. “This your woman?”
I lean on the table and give him a once-over.
“Nope,” I answer. She isn’t, not anymore.
“Then move along.” He makes a littleshoomotion with his hands, and I swear Ivy nearly chokes on her shot.
“Look.” I give him a hollow laugh. “This can either be fun for me and ugly for you, or you can just walk away and save the lady the show.”
“Fuck off, bro.” He gives me a little shove, and now I’mactuallylaughing. Because now I get to break his fucking hand.
I grab it before he can pull away, and I swing his arm around behind his back. Luckily, it’s dark enough and loud enough that I don’t draw any attention to us.
“What the fuck, man?” he squeals as he tries to fight against my grip.
“As much as I’d like to see it happen,” Ivy says, catching my eye. “You don’t own this bar, Gregory. This isn’t California.”
I look up at her, knowing she’s right, but my temper is blinding me at this point. I squeeze his hand tighter, forcing his thumb to bend in an unnatural way. He gasps out in pain and raises up on his toes to try and get away from it.
I sigh in disappointment. If I break his hand, I’m looking at charges. I don’t own this bar or have any sway with the cops around here. It’s too big and too far away from home. And I’d like to spend the night with Ivy, not in jail.
“We’re leaving anyway,” I say. Ivy’s lips pull into a smirk. “I don’t wanna see you again tonight.”
“Alright, man!”
I let him go and push him away. He stalks off, holding his wrist with tears in his eyes. Ivy snorts out a cute little laugh.
“Let’s go, cowboy.”
CHAPTERFIVE
We barhop for the rest of the night, hitting up almost all of the places on Broadway until we kind of make friends with a group of people who know their way around the area. They’re going off the strip to more local spots, and we’re both just drunk enough to agree to go with them.
Ivy hops onto my back as we walk outside, her laughter infectious as the other girls in the group join her by hopping onto their own men. She’s three sheets to the wind, and if we’re honest, I’m right behind her. I sway to the side, nearly dropping her but gaining my balance at the last second.
The Uber is already there and waiting, and we all pile into this massive van that they’ve asked to take us to the next place. And, damn, they weren’t lying when they said it was a hole-in-the-wall. You’d miss it if you didn’t know what you were looking for, and if you did know, you’d probably still turn around and run the other way.
There’s a single red neon sign above some outdoor seating and a heavy black door. And that bouncer, Jesus fucking Christ. The drunk in me wants to ask if I can pet his shiny bald head, but the reasonable side of me is screaming to keep my hands to myself.
The reasonable side wins, but not for Ivy. She skips over to him and works her magic, leaning up against him and rubbing his bald head like it’s a magic fucking eight ball.
“Ivy,” I growl under my breath, trying my hardest to not laugh in this man’s face as I pull her away from him. He looks very unimpressed, but something tells me by the way he’s fighting a smirk that he’s not as pissed as he should be.
“What?” she squeals, giggling as I lift her off the ground. “He liked it. Didn’t you, baby?”
He just rolls his eyes and lets us into the dimly lit dive bar. The smell of stale cigarettes and beer punches me right in the face, but I’ve been to hundreds of these places, and there’s always something comforting about the way the small places treat you compared to the bigger clubs.
The group we’re with heads straight to the bar, but Ivy pulls me to the dance floor and tugs me in close to her body. She smells like sweat and her shampoo, and I breathe her in as my hands roam over her soft curves.
“Tonight has been fun.” It’s much easier to hear her in here. There’s a band playing here, too, but the crowd is much smaller, allowing us to not need to scream.
“Happy birthday,” I tell her as I pull back slightly to look into her eyes.
She hums, her eyes struggling to stay fully open as we sway to the music. I lean forward and kiss her forehead. It’s the most we’ve done except for the occasional butt slaps and our hands roaming. But the more drunk I get, the less I care that we’ve already tried to once. I want to try it again.
