This. Sucks.
Tonight was supposed to be a fun girls’ night out with my best friend, but she’s too heartbroken to enjoy this awesome party. Which really blows, since it’s being thrown for her mopey ass.
Okay, so technically it’s for like seventeen other girls too, but whatever. She’s still one of tonight’s stars and she should fucking own that shit. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
If I had the balls to get in that ring and beat up some girl, I totally would. But I’m a pussy and the odds of me actually winning a fight are slim to no chance in hell.
Plus, my parents would shit a brick if they found out, and—let’s be honest—they absolutely would when I came home looking like I got mugged.
“What about her?” I point to a tall redhead walking by. “Could you take her?”
Savannah laughs. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“C’mon.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “You’re supposed to be this badass fighter now. Act like one. Go over there and punch her in the tit.”
I’m trying my best to cheer Savannah up, but I don’t have any profound words to offer. Humor’s the best I’ve got.
Well, that and the open bar.
We’ve been knocking back drinks like they’re water. It’s only seemed to make her sadder and more withdrawn. All it’s done for me is warm my chest and make me zero in on all the eye-candy at this party, but that’s not what tonight is about. Tonight it’s chicks before dicks, and if homegirl here wants to get shitfaced and sulk over some jackass, then it’s my sisterly duty to commiserate over fruity cocktails.
Sighing, I stand from the bench we’ve been parked on all night. “You want another one?”
Savannah nods before dejectedly watching everyone else have a good time.
I scowl and start towards the bar.
This is such a waste of a killer dress and a night off. Normally I’m waitressing these shindigs instead of attending them, so I’m not really free to enjoy myself.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad gig and it pays ridiculously well, but come on. . . These parties are overflowing with decadence and debauchery. Between the occasional celeb, the open bar, and the roster of fit fighters they rotate through these soirees, it’s basically Disneyland for adults. And on the one night I’m actually allowed to ride Space Mountain instead of working the turkey leg cart, I’m stuck with Debbie Downer back there.
If I ever see Declan again, I’m nut-punching him for ruining tonight—not just for me, but for Savannah. She’s worked so hard for this, and now she’s too torn up to enjoy it because of that asshat.
I want to be mad at her for it. I want to ask her what the hell she was thinking when she got involved with her boss, especially considering that he’s her roommate too. That seems like a recipe for disaster and—shocker!—it all blew up in her face.
I can’t completely fault her for it, though. She’s only human, and Declan’s hotness is near mythical levels. Us mere mortals don’t stand a chance.
Still. . . You don’t shit where you eat, and the same rule applies to jobs and roommates—you should never, ever fuck someone you live or work with.
That’s like Life 101.
By the time I have our drinks, I see Savannah talking with a cute guy and I perk up a little. I seriously doubt she’s going to marry him, but hey, maybe a little rebound would do her good. There are other fish in the—
Nope, she told him to fuck off.
I kind of feel bad for him. It’s got to be scary to put yourself out there like that and risk getting shot down. I’d sure as shit never be able to do it.
Handing Savannah her drink, I take my seat next to her, trying to play dumb. “Who was he? He’s cute.”
She wrinkles her nose like I’ve said something gross. “Cute? I don’t think so. That guy’s a troll.”
If he’s a troll, then I’ve got a bridge he can live under. . .
The thought makes me giggle-snort, and I take a sip of my cocktail. Sort of. It takes my mouth a few too many attempts to locate the straw sticking out of my drink.
Wily bastard keeps moving on me.
I finally catch the sucker and take a deep pull of the neon liquid, absently noting that it no longer feels like I’m swallowing fire.
Savannah snatches my drink and downs the rest of it in one gulp. “I’m officially cutting you off. Your vagina will thank me for it tomorrow morning when you wake up alone.”
I’m pretty sure it won’t, since the most action I’ve gotten in seven months is from my battery-operated boyfriend. The amount of money I spend per month on batteries is obscene.
The struggle is real.
I glare at her for cock-blocking my future self, but really, it’s for the best. I’ve never had a one-night-stand and I probably shouldn’t start when I’ve had this much to drink.
Sighing, I try to make light of my sad state of affairs. “I don’t know, my vagina’s been pretty lonely lately. I think it’s got cobwebs.”
She chokes mid-drink and starts coughing, her eyes watering as she pounds on her chest. “Oh my god.”
I feel bad for almost making her drown in her drink, but that doesn’t stop me from laughing just a little. I’m about to ask her if she’s okay when the crowd behind her parts for Declan.
My smile instantly vanishes, but it has nothing to do with Declan and everything to do with the guy walking next to Declan. The one who looks so much like his twin that I have to do a double take.
Sweet Mary and Joseph, that is one gorgeous man.
Struggling to find my voice, I sit here with my mouth hanging open like some kind of friggin’ lobotomy patient. Fuck. Blinking, I lean over to Savannah, lowering my voice. “Holy shit, why didn’t you tell me there were two of them?”
I’m not sure if they’re actually twins or not, but they’re definitely brothers. When they stop in front of us, Declan starts to say something to Savannah, but I’m not listening. I can’t get over how uncanny their resemblance is.
My eyes roam over the pair, noting their subtle differences. Declan has vibrant green eyes, but his brother’s are more of a muddled green. Almost hazel. And his brother’s hair is just a bit shorter.
The most obvious difference between the two is that Declan has full sleeves of tattoos on both arms and his brother has none, from what I can see.
They’ve got the same shade of dark, inky-colored hair and the same strong jaw that looks just. . .uhnf. His jawline is covered with a couple days’ worth of scruff, and I can’t help but imagine what it’d feel like against my cheek, my neck, between my thighs. . .
I know what I’ll be thinking about tonight when I’m with B.O.B.
Ugh, drinking this much was a bad, bad idea. If sexual frustration was a fire burning my loins, then I’ve just added a shit-ton of lighter fluid.
“Will you be okay by yourself for a bit?”
Savannah’s question rips me from my dirty thoughts and I wave her off, embarrassed that I’ve been staring at him this whole time. “I’m fine. Go.”
“Don’t worry, Kitten, I’ll keep your girl entertained while you’re gone,” Not-Declan says. He’s wearing a hint of a smile so dangerously sexy and explosive that even a nun’s panties would melt.
Fortunately for me, I’m not wearing any since I forgot to do laundry. Again.
Declan scowls and turns to whisper something to his brother, but I can’t hear anything over the music.
Savannah uses the opportunity to set our empty glasses on a nearby table. That’s when it occurs to me that I may just have an epic case of beer goggles right now.
Shit. Savannah said the last guy who hit on her was a troll, but I thought he was cute. . . Of course compared to Declan and his brother, he was a troll, but still.
How many drinks have I had now? Three? Four?
Damn it, it’s too hard to keep track of them when they’re free.
Declan’s brother takes Savannah’s seat. I suddenly wish she hadn’t taken my drink from me, because now I have no idea what to do with my hands.
Do I lay them in my lap?
No, that looks weird.
“What’s your name, Duchess?”
I forget all about my hand crisis as soon as I hear the words leave his mouth. His perfectly pouty, kissable mouth.
Fuck, I’m staring again. I force my eyes back to his, struggling to remember his question.
My name. What is my name? “Macy,” I finally say.
Good Lord, he smells good. Like leather with just a touch of cologne.
“Macy.” He rolls it around his mouth, like he’s getting a taste for my name. “You got a boyfriend, Macy? Anyone that might want to kick my ass if I told you that you have the most beautiful goddamn smile I’ve ever seen?”
Waitressing these parties, I’ve heard my share of bad pickup lines. They’re usually annoying, but then again, they’re usually coming from middle-aged millionaires who think a fat checkbook is the key to getting between my legs.
Coming from him, a cheesy line like that is oddly charming.
“Wow.” I’m glad it’s kind of dark in here. My face is probably bright red right now. “You got some wine to go with that cheese?”
The way his smile lights up his face is truly something to behold. I bet he could rob a bank armed with just that smile.
“No, but I can get some.”
Is it just me, or did it suddenly get ten degrees hotter in here? I look over the crowd, lamenting that a smile’s got me so worked up. Christ on a cracker, I think if he were to actually touch me, I’d spontaneously orgasm. “I think I’ve had enough for the night. I still have to drive home.”
“Is it too early to ask if I could take you home?”
Laughing, I hold up my index finger and thumb. “Little bit.”
“Then I’ll wait till the end of the night and ask again.” His smile never fades. It’s still cocky, still slightly crooked, and still unbelievably sexy.
I have no idea why it’s directed at me, of all people, but it doesn’t stop the corners of my mouth from curling. “You’re good at this.”
I’m not. I’m awful at flirting. Like seriously, the worst. I clam up and get so self-conscious, and I’m afraid if I keep looking at him, I’ll melt.
Or worse, I’ll ask him to take me right here on this bench.
He leans in, lowering his voice. “If you think I’m good at this, then you should see what else I can do.”
My face burns hotter as I look away. This is clearly not his first rodeo, but I have no idea what I’m doing. What do I even say to that?
‘Will you show me?’
Before I can say anything, he scoots closer. “Tell me, Duchess, are you here for business or pleasure?”
I have half a second to wonder why he keeps calling me that, until I hear the way his voice wraps around the word “pleasure.” It sends shivers dancing across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I’ve never been this affected by just a voice before. I’m pretty sure he could read me his grocery list and it’d still sound sensual in that low, gravelly tone.
Swallowing, I try to steady my erratic heart. I’m almost positive he can hear the loud thumping above the music. “Pleasure.”
“So you’re not one of these Xena: Warrior Princesses?” he asks, gesturing around the room.
“No.” God, I’m actually giggling. Stop it. “I usually waitress these parties, but I took the night off to support Savannah.” Needing something to do with my hand other than fidget, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Seriously?” His brows wrinkle. “You’re one of the half-naked chicks walking around with the trays?”
I nod, which makes his frown deepen.
“Huh,” he says, glancing at a nearby waitress.
“What?”
His mouth lifts into a lazy grin. “Nothing. I’m just trying to imagine what you look like half-naked.”
As soon as his eyes meet mine, my face feels like it’s on fire. Part of me wants to hide behind my clutch like some kind of half-assed shield, and the other part wants to tell him he can see me full-naked, if that’s what he really wants.
I lick my lips, about to say something in response, but nothing comes. No witty retort, no snarky banter. Just me, about to burst into flames.
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking over his shoulder at me. “A word of advice? You should never play poker. Your poker face is awful, Duchess. Like seriously, the worst.” Wincing, he laughs. “Even the tips of your ears are turning pink.”
After all this time, I still don’t deal well with people making fun of me. He’s triggering flashbacks to a time I wish to God I could forget, and before I know it’s happening, my eyes are stinging as tears rise like floodwaters.
I grab my clutch off the bench next to me and hightail it through the crowd. I’m sure my whole face is a mottled red now, but I don’t care. I’m just trying to keep these fucking tears at bay. Crying in front of a roomful of people would be the cherry on top of a fantastic night.
Slipping past the edge of the crowd, I make my way down the empty hallway, to the bathroom. I flip on the light, close the door behind me, and set my purse on the counter. Bending at the waist, I grip the ledge for support and stare at the black, glossy tiles lining the floor. My eyes squeeze shut as I breathe in.
Out. In. Out. In.
My throat gets tighter and achier with every second I don’t cry and let it all out. It’s like my body knows I’m trying to shut off a valve and bottle it all up, and in response, my body decides to make it as painful as possible.
Bitch.
When I can finally breathe past the knot in my throat, I straighten and look at myself in the mirror. The second before I see my reflection is always the worst. I’m terrified for half a second that the person I’ll see is someone else. Someone I’ve been trying to leave behind for the past three years.
I’m not the pimple-faced, gawky girl I was in high school. Birth control evened out my skin and gave me the curves I never had. The occasional spray tan keeps me from looking completely translucent, although I’m still on the pale end of the spectrum. Hair dye and Frizz Ease are godsends when your mop of curls looks like Carrot Top’s stylist got ahold of you.
And I am a firm believer that makeup is man’s greatest invention.
But even with all that, I still don’t consider myself pretty. I hate that every time a guy looks at me, my first inclination is to wonder if I have something on my face. I hate that I’m used to being invisible.
And I really hate how stupid I feel for thinking that maybe—just maybe—someone was finally starting to see me.
He was probably just trying to keep me company while Savannah and his brother are gone. Guys like him are flirty by nature and I shouldn’t have read too much into it. More than likely, Declan just told him to keep an eye on me. The thought stings, although I’m not surprised.
Guys like him never talk to me. Not unless they want revenge on their cheating girlfriends.
I puff out a harsh breath and grab my clutch. I’m done with tonight. Hell, I might even be done with men.
As I wonder how hard it would be to become a lesbian, I open the bathroom door and turn the corner, where I almost run smack dab into Declan’s brother.
“Jesus.” My hand flies to my chest as my heart tries to restart itself.
He winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t mean to embarrass you out there either.” Glancing over his shoulder, he hitches his thumb toward the lounge area.
“You didn’t embarrass me.” I jut my chin out, suddenly glad I wore my tallest heels. It’s a huge confidence booster, being eye-to-eye with someone.
Well, almost eye-to-eye. He’s still got a good two inches on me, which is pretty damn impressive since I’m five-nine without heels.
He looks doubtful. “I didn’t? So you always run to the bathroom like a bat out of hell?”
“Do you always follow girls to the bathroom like a perv?”
He scowls. “That’s not—” Huffing out a breath, he runs his hands through his hair.
I feel bad for making him flustered. Kind of. “Look, I get it. Declan told you to keep an eye on me while they’re gone, but it’s okay. I’m just gonna go home, so. . .at ease, soldier.” I half-heartedly salute him before trying to step aside.
He puts a hand on the wall, caging me in with his arm. My gaze automatically flits along the toned muscle in front of my face, and I scowl.
Not because he’s blocking my path, but because I like the way he fills out the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt.
Damn it, now I’m the one imagining him half-naked.
“First of all, Declan told me to stay the hell away from you. And second of all, I don’t take orders from Captain Fuckwad.”
“Declan told you to stay away from me? Why?”
He looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because he knows you’re way too good for someone like me.” Removing his arm from the wall, he scratches his chin with his thumb. “I could stand here and hit on you until I’m blue in the face, but the truth is, I think you’re fucking beautiful. And I don’t know how a jackass like me can make someone like you blush, but I love that I do. It’s by far the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen. All I can think about is finding out how far it spreads, but I doubt you’ll give me the honor. And you shouldn’t,” he adds quickly. “I definitely don’t deserve it.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, giving me a hopelessly awkward, self-deprecating smile that makes my knees go weak. “But I also can’t say it won’t be the biggest regret of my life.”
My mouth flops open at his directness, while my stomach flips. There’s no misunderstanding such a bold statement, and my reaction only makes his smile widen.
The way he’s looking at me right now—like I’m some kind of delicious treat—makes me feel desirable for the first time in my life. It’s an intoxicating feeling, and when you factor in the actual alcohol buzzing through me, it’s making me feel. . .bold.
I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and go back to this stranger’s house, where he’ll no doubt show me a night I’ll never forget, but I’ve never done anything like that.
Let me rephrase that: I’ve never done anyone like that. All the guys I’ve been with—all two of them—were very straight-laced and safe. This gorgeous mystery man has a reckless charm that oozes sex appeal. He’s way out of my missionary-in-the-dark league.
At heart, I’m a good girl. I don’t sleep around. I get good grades. I don’t do drugs or smoke, and I don’t get drunk very often. Aside from my tendency to cuss like a sailor and the fact that I’m more sexually frustrated than a fifteen-year-old boy, I’m basically Sandra fucking Dee.
Waitressing these elite parties in a skimpy dress is the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done, and that’s just. . .sad. I’m twenty-one and I’ve never sowed a single wild oat. I’ve never done anything stupid or reckless or fun.
I’ve never lived.
The realization has me closing the distance between us, until my lips brush his and he captures my mouth in a searing kiss. Melting into him, I’m robbed of breath and logic all at once. I don’t have the brain cells necessary to think of all the reasons why this isn’t a good idea when he’s kissing me with this much skill and precision. All I can do is stand here and appreciate the softness of his lips, the boldness of his tongue, and the playfulness of his teeth nipping at my bottom lip.
It’s not the sloppy, rushed kiss of the inexperienced guys I’ve dated. It’s controlled and invasive, and unapologetically so. With just his mouth, he’s showing me how he’ll fuck me.
And I don’t even know his name yet.