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“Fuck and live a little?”
“Cheers to that!” Lacie touches her glass to mine and without ceremony finishes her drink.
We chat about everything and nothing while she keeps a lookout. The waiter comes back a few times with fresh drinks. We’re finishing up the last round when her phone starts going crazy.
“I’ll go get another round,” I tell her as she answers it.
“I won’t be long.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her while I readjust my dress. It’s a pointless task because as I stand, the low back cowls lower, and I feel the AC flutter the golden ivory silk over my ass.
It’s one of Lacie’s good-time dresses—the ones she wears after a breakup and she wants to forget the asshole.
Shouldering my miniature Chanel purse, I head for the bar, trying not to flash my goods. This dress is indecently short and barely covers my boobs.
“Don’t forget the shooters,” she calls behind me.
Pulling up to the bar behind a group of women, I check my own phone. There’s nothing. No surprise given I’ve upset my family. It’s the only remorse I hold over my decision.
It takes the group a while to decide on what they’re drinking. The straight vodka shots they shoot back have them making a choky, giggling scene.
Who even shoots vodka outside of college?
“God help us all.” I look up toward the low, rumbling voice and pause.
Dark eyes peer down on me with a chiseled, dark stubble-framed pout. Heat flares high on my cheeks. All I can hear over the heavy, suggestive beat of the music is my speeding heart.
“Yeah,” I manage to croak with a shake of my head.
What is wrong with me?
The party girls move along with their fruity concoctions waving in the air. I’m not sure what to do. Do I let him go ahead of me? Do I push forward?
Before I can decide, a large, warm hand hovers over the base of my spine. The radiating heat causes goose bumps to prickle up my back, setting the roots of my hair ablaze with awareness.
Without touching me the handsome stranger guides me forward. There’s enough space for him to stand beside me at the bar, but he stays angled behind me so his elbow perches on the bar as he leans forward, his shoulder touching my shoulder blade.
At five foot nine, I’m tall, but he is taller. And when he crouches to my level, his thigh tucks to the back of mine, below my ass, like he’s ready to catch me if my legs fail to hold me up.
“What are you drinking?” Fire licks at my insides at the cool gravel of his voice.
I’m in a mute stupor when a bartender stops in front of us. “Same again?” he asks, looking between the two of us before he settles on the man beside me.
Readjusting himself, Mr. Dark and Handsome skims his body across mine so that he’s leaning on the bar sideways. Taller and broader, he looks down on me.
“Uhhh, yes—” I take a deep breath. “—please. Umm…an espresso martini, an old-fashioned and…” I sigh, embarrassed after his remark at the other women. “And six tequilas. Orange instead of lime, please.”
I don’t even have to look to know that Mr. D and H is assessing my order.
“Celebrating?”
Turning to him, I stagger back a little, bumping into the guy on my other side.
“Sorry,” I apologize over my shoulder before stepping forward again. My cheeks are burning so red that my vision is blurred around the edges.
Dark eyes crinkle at the corners which is odd because he doesn’t look much older than me. But yet, there’s something about him that makes me feel small and young. Like he could wolf me down without even having to chew.
With his eyes smoldering into mine, I’m entirely transfixed. I have to force myself to look the other way. Lacie’s pacing with her phone to her ear, her free hand waving about like she’s schooling some poor bastard. When she finds me, she nods at the stranger beside me and wiggles on the spot.
