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“He looks like he likes you too,” she whispers. “Can’t take his eyes off you.”
Swallowing the thickness that creeps into my throat and reminds me that I’m not enough, I press my thumb to my pint glass, watching the frost melt away from the heat of my skin. “Doubt it. Can’t keep my boyfriend interested, wouldn’t be able to keep a guy that looks like that interested.”
Charlee pulls away with a fierce scowl. “What did you just say about my best friend?” She lifts my glass to my lips, jerking my head backwards with a fistful of my hair. She’s forceful and a whole lot scary, but she’s always been this way, so I’m used to it. “Drink this, and then drink four more. I’m not sitting here and listening to you put yourself down. What happened with Aaron has absolutely nothing to do with you. Drink until you remember all the things you love about yourself, which, by the way, should be everything because you’re un-fucking-real, Claire.”
She shakes her head and takes a sip of her own drink before staring at me, her eyes going all soft. “I seriously hate that he made you question that.”
I do too, but how do you climb out of a hole you’ve already started descending at rapid speed? Regardless, I need to snap out of this mopey mood for at least a few hours, so I guzzle my beer down and grin when the rest of our girlfriends make their way to our table. It’s both a blessing and a curse that they sit across from me, blocking my view of that gorgeous man.
Two beers later, Charlee returns from the bar, arms full of brown shots.
“I’m not drinking that,” I say pointedly, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You are, actually, and you’re gonna like it.”
“I’m gonna hate it and you know it.” But I raise it to my nose anyway and give it a sniff. A shudder rolls down my spine and I squeeze my eyes shut. “It smells like gasoline, Charlee.”
Her grin is calculating. “You have two men asking about you.”
“Pardon?”
She points to the shot in my hands. “Drink and I’ll tell you.”
I roll my eyes but comply, because I’m riding that fine line and I know this shot is going to take me right to the edge, be the thing that keeps me dancing the rest of the night away.
“Good girl. So, Mr. Bartender--Chris—wants to know if you’re ready to move on.”
That’s a big n-o for me.
“And Mr…Hmm, I donno. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy? That seems fitting.” She shrugs, gaze sliding across the bar. I know where she’s looking. That’s why I keep my eyes trained on my fingernails, pretending they’re super interesting. They’re not, of course. I haven’t had them painted in half a year, but they are looking nice and healthy right now. Longer than they’ve been in ages.
Distraction works wonders for me.
“Anyway, he had lots of questions about you.”
My head snaps up at that. “What? You talked to him?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her head bobs as she waves her hand around. “I told him he’d have to find out about you himself. He seemed to like that. Got this secret, sexy smile and promised he would.”
She slides me a second shot and holds hers up, waiting for me to clink my glass to hers. When I do, we throw them back and I let her drag me out to the dancefloor.
The music is exactly what I need to forget about everything—Aaron’s wandering dick, the sexy man with the dark hair, and the fact that I normally care about what I look like when dancing in public. Under the strobing lights, music pulsing in my ears, I drown everything else out until all I can feel is the alcohol coursing through my veins, making my hips move and my hands run a sinuous path over my own body.
Charlee’s hands land on my hips and she spins me around, crushing my back against her as we move together. With our friends dancing around us, a group of men descend, trying to cut in. When one reaches for me, I’m about to let him spin me around.
Until my eyes settle on those deep brown, black-as-night eyes over his shoulder, the ones fixed on me.
My heart thumps against my ribcage as I watch him stand. He starts crossing the dancefloor to…to me? No, he can’t be. I throw a slightly frightened glance back at Charlee and she grins, yanking on the hands of the man who’s just grabbed for my waist. He doesn’t object, and the two of them disappear into the swarm of people on the dancefloor. I’m left gaping as this huge man makes his way over to me like an animal on the prowl, all fluid and silk, slipping effortlessly through the crowd, eyes locked on his prey.
My brain searches for one word to describe him, but I come up empty. Sexy is good, but not nearly enough. It doesn’t dictate the need I feel coursing through me with the way he’s looking at me. And handsome? Sure, but also no. It’s too composed, and one look at this man tells me he’s the farthest thing from composed. He’s absolutely feral.
He’s perfection if I’ve ever seen it, dark fitted jeans on his thick, mile-long legs, a light blue button up stretching across his broad chest, hugging his lean waist. I’m not even ashamed when a moan ripples in the back of my throat as I watch those tendons flex below his rolled sleeves.
The air is sucked from the room as this burly man comes to a stop in front of me. He’s unnaturally large, but in the best kind of way. The kind where he’d likely absolutely destroy me if only I’d let him.
Spoiler alert: I would.
My heart thrums so wildly that it draws my fingers to my chest, pressing the tips there in an attempt to still it. It doesn’t work, and his penetrating gaze follows the movement. A tiny smirk curls his lips, alluring in just the right way, making me lean closer.
