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But now that he mentioned it, why the fuck was she there?
Shrugging a shoulder, I take a sip of my beer and swallow it down.
“No clue. She was with some other chick who yelled at me for spilling a drink on her.”
Damon chuckles. “You spilled a drink on someone?”
“Wasn’t my fault. The bitch ran into me and then went psycho because she got wet. I offered to help clean her up, and she still stayed mad. I can’t be blamed.”
Another laugh from Damon before he narrows his eyes more on the dancer.
“Wish I would have paid more attention at the party. That girl is someone I wouldn’t mind getting to know better.”
Wrapping a hand over his shoulder, I shove him forward.
As it stands, we’ve already caused a traffic jam just by standing on the top step of the stairs so long. A line has formed behind us—which doesn’t bother me, the assholes can wait—but Damon’s interest in the dancer makes me want to move closer into the room.
“You were busy chasing Emily’s ass,” I remind him.
Damon’s expression drops, but he quickly recovers as he walks with me to the center of the room.
“But fuck Emily, right? I say you go find out why blue-hair over there was at the governor’s place. Strike up a conversation. I’ll wait for you over at the bar.”
Damon runs his top teeth over his bottom lip while considering the suggestion. Mind finally made up, he nudges my shoulder with his.
“What about Paul?”
Paul is not my concern at the moment.
Getting Damon past this funk with Emily is.
“I’m not worried about Paul. Hell, I doubt he’ll even show. But if you hear some shit coming from the bar at any point, run over to help out. Deal?”
His smile widens.
I never have to beg to get Damon or Ezra in the mood for a fight. They just naturally gravitate toward it. They can’t help themselves.
“Deal,” he agrees before bounding off in the direction of what is hopefully his new female obsession.
I smile at that before turning to head to the bar.
Apparently, bringing him to Myth was a damn good idea. You never know who you might run into.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not patting myself on the back yet for a job well done.
Damon could very easily bang some chick tonight and then go back to crying over Emily tomorrow, but at least an attempt was made, and I seem to be the only fucker making one.
But that’s all part of that plan, and as I slam what’s left of my beer before tilting my chin to signal the bartender for another, I refocus on another plan.
I’m not done with Hillary or Paul. That’s where Damon was wrong. Breaking them up by fucking her was simply step one in my bid to destroy them.
Steps two, three and possibly four are still left to reveal.
It would be stupid of me to think I’ll ever be as good at strategy as Tanner, or even Gabe, but when it comes to fucking up a person’s day, I’m not entirely inept. I know a lot of people want to look at me and dismiss me for the tattoos on my skin or the grease on my hands from working on cars, but they always forget I’m a smart son of a bitch beneath that.
Just like the rest of the Inferno, I graduated from Yale and can navigate a courtroom with ease. The thing is that I hate doing it.
It’s not my vibe, and if given the option, I’d spend my entire life in a garage turning wrenches with Priest.
