Diego knew how to throw a good party, I reflected as we stumbled along towards Ritmo. It took a lot to get Russians drunk, yet he had managed it before we’d even reached our final stop for the night. Dima, my younger brother, started singing a bawdy love song in loud, slurred Russian, and half the party—the Russian half—joined in, prompting a flurry of Catalan curses overhead. A woman dumped a bucket of water off a high balcony, narrowly missing the group, and we spun away laughing.

A typical night in Barcelona, surrounded by good friends.

I grinned: and about to get even better, as I saw the line of sexy girls trying to get into Ritmo. If there were this many hotties outside, the inside had to be hopping.

We cruised to the front of the line, one of the perks of being related to the owner. When Uncle Evgeni had bought this place, it had seemed too good to be true: a prime beachfront locale in Barcelona, with interesting architecture just ready to be turned into a hot club with multiple dancefloors,  alcoves, bars, and more. It was a wonder that the previous managers had never been able to turn it into anything.

Evgeni had relied heavily on us for inspiration for the place. Well, on Andrei mostly; Dima and I usually just showed up to his meetings to drink our way through the vodka that he kept stocked there. But Andrei had always been the good kid.

I smirked over at Andrei, my youngest brother, watching as his eyes slid past the girls on the dancefloor and locked on the woman behind the bar. He was totally whipped; I hadn’t seen him have any fun since he’d started dating Sarah. Then again, that was the hazard of fucking a coworker of sorts. He couldn’t have fun at Ritmo anymore; he would have to go elsewhere or else cause serious amounts of drama.

I would never be like that.

“That group,” Dima said, nudging me. It wasn’t hard to see where he was looking: there was an eclectic group in one of the back alcoves. I’d think they were friends except for the awkward way a couple of them were sipping their drinks and looking around before their eyes darted back towards the group. Conversation didn’t seem to be flowing; no one really seemed like they were having fun.

I wondered whether Dima was indicating them because of the three bombshells in the middle of the group, or because he thought that as Evgeni’s nephews, we had a duty to go over there and liven up their night. Either way, I was in.

Especially if it meant I got to go home with the ice queen in the center. I didn’t know her yet, and there was a chance that her personality was better than it seemed, but she definitely had a strong case of resting bitch face. Or maybe she just didn’t want to be there. Whatever it was, her light-colored eyes were narrowed, and as I watched, she mussed up her short, blonde hair, looking longingly at the dance floor.

Oh honey, if you want to dance, you don’t have to ask, I thought.

I nudged Dima right back. “The blonde is mine,” I told him.

Dima sighed. “You always pick the hottest one,” he complained.

“I’m the oldest,” I reminded him smugly. “Now, are you going to be my wingman, or are you going to find your own group to try your luck with?”

Dima shook his head and nodded at me. I nodded to Diego. “It’s been a great night, but I’m afraid Dima and I are not the ones getting married on Sunday, and as such, we are not going home alone tonight.”

Diego grinned at us. “I expected you might make a move once we got here,” he said, looking loose and relaxed, his veins likely filled with more alcohol than blood. I admired him for even trying to keep up with us that night. But then again, he’d had a bit of practice, in the years that we’d known him.

Diego was one of my best friends in Barcelona. I’d met him the week that I’d moved there, when he’d tried to steal my wallet out of my pocket. When I’d questioned why an apparently affluent Spanish man would do such a thing, he’d just shrugged and said he was bored.

Suffice it to say, I’d been able to keep his life interesting since then. Granted, he would never be a full member of the mafia given that he wasn’t Russian, but Evgeni had adopted him into the fold and used his skills over the years. I wondered how much of that would change now that the man was getting married.

But for now, I shook my head to clear it, squared my shoulders, and walked confidently across the bar to the group of women.

“All right,” I said, clapping my hands together as I reached their table, “who’s doing shots with my brother and I? My treat.”

The girls looked at one another, and it was almost as though they each wanted to agree but were, for some reason, nervous about it. What a weird group. “I don’t think so,” one of the women finally piped up—not my blonde one, fortunately.

I sighed and put a hand over my heart. “You wound me,” I said. I slung an arm around Dima’s shoulders, drawing him forwards. “But you see, it’s my brother’s birthday, and it’s my brotherly duty to help him get good and drunk. And to find someone for him to dance with.”

Again, the girls looked uncertain. “Oh come on,” one of the brunettes finally said, putting her palms face-down on the table as she looked keenly around at the rest of the girls. “I know we said that we were just coming here for a few drinks, but there’s no reason why we can’t do a little dancing as well, is there?”

There were a few reluctant murmurs of agreement around the table. The brunette stood up and came to stand next to me. “Well, if none of the rest of you are game, I am. I’ll see you chickens at work on Monday.”

Oh. The realization suddenly struck me: they were coworkers. No wonder things were so awkward between them. I had to stifle a smile. It was going to be easy to get the blonde woman to leave behind her friends for the night and come home with me. If girls were out with their friends, they always had that pesky sense of protection for everyone else, wanting to make sure that everyone made it home okay at the end of the night. But if they were just coworkers, then it was understood that each person would fend for themselves and that they would see each other on Monday to compare tales of the end of the night.

Not that most of these women seemed like the type to have a rocking end to the night. I started to wonder if maybe Dima and I should have chosen different prey. I knew that we could take them home, of course; I basically never had to worry about striking out at the bar. But it might be more effort than it was worth.

Still, with the brunette firmly on our side, the others started to waver and stand up as well.

“I think I’m just going to go home,” the other brunette said, faking a yawn.

“Oh come on, Rachael,” the blonde girl said, rolling her eyes, and I had to stifle a smile at that. With how game she was to do shots and the way that her eyes lingered on me, I knew that it was going to be no problem taking her home with me.

Sure enough, by the time I got her out on the dancefloor, she was giggly and flirtatious, her hands roaming over my chest and finally settling behind my neck, leaving me with no choice but to rest my hands on her hips—not that I wanted to put them anywhere else. Especially since she didn’t seem to mind as I let them slide lower until they rested on her curved behind.

Mmm, there were so many ways that I wanted to take her already. 

One of the things that I loved about dancing with a woman is that they usually felt like you were getting to know one another, for some reason, even if the only information that you’d exchanged was your names. So amusing…

I let Emily keep dancing for a while, but I knew better than to let her tire herself out already. Instead, I leaned in close to her ear. “You know, I have a very nice bottle of wine back home, if you were interested in moving this to someplace more private.”

To my surprise, Emily froze, staring at me with wide eyes, as though this ending to the night had never occurred to her. She looked around, as though she was suddenly becoming aware that her coworkers were still all around her, dancing with various people or one another. I realized Dima wasn’t with them and spared a thought to wonder where he had gone off to and if he had managed to snag one of the coworkers already. If so, I was impressed.

But for now, I focused on Emily. “You can’t tell me that you don’t want this,” I said, emphasizing my words by grinding against her, knowing that she could feel how interested I had become as we were dancing together.

She pulled away, though. “I’m not like that, okay?” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “What, you never have sex?” I asked, knowing that that couldn’t be true. The way that she’d been swinging her hips on the dancefloor was positively sinful; there was no way she’d never been fucked before. She had to know exactly what she did to men.

“I can’t leave my friends,” she said stubbornly.

I snorted. “Aren’t they your coworkers?”

“Even more reason why I can’t just leave them,” Emily said.

“Why, because you’re afraid that they’ll know you went home with an attractive guy?” I asked. God, women were so ridiculous sometimes.

Emily stood up tall. “If you don’t stop bothering me, I’m going to call security and have you thrown out,” she said frostily.

I laughed. “Go ahead and try,” I told her. “I practically own this place.”

For a moment, Emily looked uncertain, but then she scowled at me. “If that’s so, then maybe I’ll have to quit coming here!” She spun on her heel and stormed out, and for a moment, I actually felt bad, like I had done something wrong.

But that was ridiculous. I had made my intentions clear the whole night, and she had as well. It wasn’t my fault that she had suddenly decided that she had morals and that she couldn’t go home with me.

I shook my head and headed for the bar. If I wasn’t going to get laid that night, after getting all worked up and horny, I was going to need some strong alcohol to put me to sleep. I glanced around, wondering whether there were any other females that I should attempt to go after, but it was getting late, and most of the attractive ones had already paired off.

I knocked back a triple-shot of vodka and then grabbed my coat, heading out into the chilly autumn night.