MY HAIR WAS ROLLED with big loose curls hanging down my back. My dress was too damn tight, and my face was painted like a fucking clown. I hated Phoebe. And dancing. And sweating like a pig.
Thank God, I’d refused to wear the heels.
A second ago, I’d been laughing at my bad dance moves, but then Callan’s face right before he left tonight popped into my head and my mood tanked. That had been my whole night. Alcoholic highs interspersed with shit lows. I was ashamed to admit most of those lows were because of a blond Greek god and not a four-year-old angel.
The only time I fell for a guy, he was my stepbrother.
I laughed.
Then I wanted to cry.
Fuck my life.
Already feeling like I could fall over, I waved off Amber and Sky and pushed my way off the dance floor. A stool opened up at the bar, and I thanked the universe for not completely sucking.
A cute bartender showed up and winked at me. “What’ll it be, gorgeous?”
Fuck him. I hated how guys like him would smile at you when you looked like a cheap whore, but if they saw you in sweats studying how to save their ass if they came into an emergency room bleeding, they wouldn’t give you the time of day.
I didn’t smile back at him. “Water.” Wait. Fuck this. “No, Coke, please. With lots of ice.”
He nodded and dropped the I-want-a-big-tip smile. “You got it.” Quick and efficient, he filled a glass with ice and squirted soda from a gun into it. Sliding it across the bar, he made one last-ditch effort for a decent tip. “There you go, gorgeous. Three-fifty.”
I reached in my purse for money and my hand landed on my cell. I swept my thumb across the screen and the contacts list popped up. There he was, right at the top. C. Single initial, then his number.
I’d wanted to call him all night, but Phoebe had said no way. She’d said men liked a chase. When I’d sworn I wasn’t chasing him and said I had no intention of making him chase me, she just rolled her eyes and told me I needed game.
“You want to start a tab, gorgeous?”
“Oh, sorry.” I reached for my wallet and a hand landed on my arm.
“It’s okay.” Another male voice spoke. “I got this.”
I looked up just as a dark-haired man slid a five toward the bartender.
Older, like late-thirties older, custom-cut dress shirt, fancy belt, dress slacks, the man’s biceps strained against the light blue material of his shirt. He held his hand out and smiled. “I’m Javier.”
His brown eyes were hard, but his smile was nice. I shook his hand. “Emily. Thank you for the soda.”
“No problem.” He had a slight accent. “Not drinking tonight?”
I laughed. “I already drank too much.”
“Ah.” He nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes it is best to know one’s limits.”
I’d reached my limit and passed it. Hours ago. Right about the time Phoebe went upstairs to a VIP room with a professional football player. “Yeah, well, sometimes you just have a bad day.”
A seat vacated next to me, and Javier smiled. Grabbing my drink, he moved around behind me to take the now empty stool. “So tell me, what is a bad day for a girl like you?” He set my Coke down and pushed it toward me with another smile.
I swiveled to face him and the room spun a bit. Taking a sip of my Coke before I answered, I hoped to God I didn’t barf all over him. “Fired. Boy trouble.”
Javier nodded again, but slow, as if he were thinking. “Perhaps that is your problem.”
“What problem?” Did I tell him my problem? I took another gulp of the icy-cold soda.
“You should not be with a boy, senorita. You need a man.”
I laughed, but it sounded far away. “Let me guess, a man like you?”
“No,” he said, deadly serious. “Not like me. You need a man that can afford you.” He leaned closer. “So tell me, Emily. Are you a virgin?”
“What?” I tried to push him away, but my hand was suddenly too heavy to lift.
His eyes zeroed in on me. “Your hair, your outfit, your makeup—you dress like a woman.” He glanced at my feet. “But your shoes say you are a little girl.”
I looked down at my favorite pair of ballet flats with little bows on them. Panic crept in, but just as soon as the thought took hold, my bones turned to wiggly Jell-O. “I love my shoes.” My voice slurred.
“Yes or no, senorita? Are you a virgin? We haven’t much time.”
Time? I swayed on the stool. “Shit.”
He grabbed my elbow and his hand squeezed as his voice turned angry. “Virgin or not?”
“Yes, okay,” I slurred. “Virgin.” I didn’t know why I was telling him, no more than I understood why the words were heavy on my tongue. “I need to go…” I had to force another word out. “Home.” My purse slipped from my lap, and I watched it fall to the ground in slow motion before I thought to reach for it. “Oh no.” I tipped forward.
An arm went around my waist, and suddenly I was on my feet. “Yes, senorita, it is time to go.”
My mouth opened, my tongue pushed out, and the word no formed in my brain. But nothing except an indistinguishable sound came out.
“Do not worry.” The man smiled like he was happy again. “We will get you a proper home, virgen.”