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Rude. Nice. I’d never bothered about things like that. The world I was born into didn’t allow me to be one or the other. All I needed was to be brutal and sometimes logical because my brother was the madman. “Sorry to burst your bubble, princess. I don’t care. Now, do you want a drink or not?”
Her chest heaved in and out very quickly as our eyes met. “I want a drink.”
We sat in silence for a moment after the barman served our drinks.
She drank hers and winced. “Today is a year since my mother died, and guess what?” I didn’t ask, but she continued anyway. “I found out my boyfriend—the guy from earlier—had proposed to a woman he met eight months ago. We’d dated for three years.”
Her sob story shouldn’t have interested me as much as it did, but hearing that she’d lost her mother piqued my interest. Maybe it was because I also knew what it was like to lose a mother. The pain and sadness that follows. It wasn’t something anyone could ever heal from.
“I should’ve punched the fucker instead,” I said before downing my drink.
“You should’ve, but it’s more than enough that you protected me from him.” She propped her hand on the bar table. “Have you ever been betrayed?”
I didn’t answer because her definition of betrayal had to be different from mine, and I wouldn’t react to a betrayal by drinking in a club. Traitors in the Bratva are punished in the most gruesome way, and as second in command, my brother put me in charge of dishing out whatever punishment needed to be dished.
“No.”
She stares at me, her eyes wide. “Really? Never?”
I shook my head.
She sighed and took another sip from her drink. “You have no idea how lucky you are. I thought I’d get to marry Aaron, looks like I’m single and ready to mingle again.” She leaned towards me, her breasts brushing against my arm. “Are you single?”
“I’m not going to ask you on a date.”
She nudged me with her shoulders. “You’re not my type. I’m just asking. We can hang out sometimes if you’re up for it.”
“Hang out sometimes?” I bit back a smile. “How can we hang out when I’m not your type?” I wasn’t going to lie, it was the first time a woman had ever told me I wasn’t her type.
Most women I’d met would hurry to get on their knees and suck me off before I even asked them to.
“Judging by your behavior, I think I’m also not your type. Neither of us would develop feelings for the other if we hung out.”
I swallowed more of my drink. Was I supposed to be happy or upset at her? I was even more curious. “What exactly is your type?”
She seemed lost in thought for a moment. “A good guy.”
“Like the jerk I threw out minutes ago?”
She stared daggers at me. “No!” She exhaled and twisted her body to face me. “A good guy. One that is kind, not grumpy or a bad boy. Nothing like that.”
I smiled this time. “And I’m all of the things you don’t like?”
She shrugged and scrutinized me from head to toe and then from toe to head. “You’re handsome and protective at least.”
“And?”
She bit her lips. They were a gorgeous pink, plump pair that made static travel through my cock. I wondered what she would taste like if I kissed her. Maybe Martini and mojito, or strawberries and vanilla?
Fuck. Focus, dude.
“And you look dangerous.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Something about you sets an alarm off in my head. I can’t wrap my head around it, but my instincts tell me you’re trouble.”
I grinned. Giselle was even more interesting than I thought. I loved that she wasn’t the type to drown in sadness for long. Her boldness captured my interest. “Yet you’re offering to hang out. Are you attracted to trouble?”
She finished her second martini. “Well, I’d say I’m good at ignoring my instincts. I wouldn’t have dated Aaron otherwise.”
A smirk quirked my lips. “What are your instincts telling you right now?”
