Chapter Two #2
The bartender slides the beers over. Isla grabs them and nudges the girl lightly with her elbow, still talking, still grinning like playing match maker is the goddamn highlight of her night.
Then they start walking toward us.
I straighten without meaning to, and set my empty beer down slowly on the table.
Omen exhales through his nose with a laugh. “You’re fucked, bro,” he mutters.
“Fuck you,”
When they reach us, Isla sets the beers down with a satisfied little smile.
“Boys,” she says, gesturing dramatically, “this is Echo.”
Up close, she’s even more distracting.
“That’s Draygon,” Isla explains, nodding to me, “and this is Omen, he’s mine.” she adds, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Echo’s lips twitch. “Hey, nice to meet you guys.”
“You too,” Omen adds.
“Babe,” Isla chimes, pressing a kiss to his cheek playfully, “come dance with me. You haven’t danced with me all night and we have to leave soon.”
Omen doesn’t argue. He never really does when it comes to her.
He finishes his beer, stands, and lets her pull him toward the center of the small dance floor where the music’s the loudest as he throws me a look over his shoulder letting me know just how fucking amused he is by his girls little plan to set me up.
Echo stays seated across from me, one leg crossed over the other. Her wedge heel swinging lazily as her pretty eyes study the room briefly before flicking back to me.
“You’ve got a lot of ink,” she says, like she’s been meaning to comment on it.
I glance down at my forearm where my sleeve’s pushed up just enough to show the edge of the tiger.
“Yeah,” I smirk. It's something I’m used to hearing. My tattoos are always an easy conversation starter, they tend to draw a lot of attention, especially with women.
She leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, yes narrowing as she studies the ink more closely. “A tiger,”
Before I can answer, her fingers brush over my skin. The contact is light, and casual, but my body doesn’t treat it that way.
The simple touch sends a sharp awareness straight through me, heat tightening low in my stomach. I don’t fucking move but I feel it.
The tattoo runs from my wrist up my forearm. A tiger mid-stride, black ink bold, woven through with Korean calligraphy that curves along the muscle. The tiger’s jaw is slightly open.
Her fingers trace the outline slowly, following the spine of the tiger, then the curve of the script. She doesn’t look up right away, just studies it like she’s reading it through touch.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Fitting.”
“Think so?” I ask, watching her instead of the bar now.
“Yeah.” Her thumb drags lightly over the calligraphy again. “You look like you’d bite.”
My mouth twitches. “That what you’re hoping for?”
Her eyes lift then, sharp and bright under the low lights. Playful and curious.
“Maybe I just like knowing what I’m dealing with,” she says. “Isn’t it smarter for the prey to figure out what kind of predator they’re standing in front of?”
I smirk at that.
Predator.
It shouldn’t hit the way it does, but something about the way she says it makes it land differently. She sounds fucking amused. Like she thinks she’s in control of the narrative tonight.
And shit, maybe she is.
Her thumb drags lightly over the ink again, tracing the curve of the script like she’s testing whether I’ll react this time.
“You always label men that quick?” I ask.
“Nah. Not always. Only when they look like they’d enjoy the chase,” she replies.
She finally leans back, withdrawing her hand slowly, and the absence of her touch registers immediately. I pick up my beer to give my hands something to do, taking a slow drink while watching her over the rim of the bottle.
“So,” I say, voice casual again even though the air between us isn’t, “what brings you to Tampa?”
Her head tilts slightly, just enough to signal she knew the question was coming.
“What makes you think I’m not from here?” There’s no defensiveness in her tone, just honest curiosity.
“You don’t move like you’re from here,” I say.
“Oh?” She folds her arms loosely, clearly amused. “And how exactly do Tampa girls move?”
I let my eyes drag over her once, not hiding the fact that I’m checking her out.
“Anyone local knows this place isn’t exactly safe after dark,” I say. “Especially not looking like that.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you,” I answer, voice even. “Too pretty, and showing that much skin when walking in a place like this? Alone?”
It’s not criticism, it’s fact.
“Girls from around here don’t stroll into a dive bar in this neighborhood solo unless they’re meeting someone. They know better. They know how quick attention shifts from harmless to, well, not.”
My jaw tightens slightly at the thought.
“And if you were here to meet someone, then you wouldn’t have accepted Isla’s invite to join us.
Plus, not going to lie, you look like you’ve got better places you could be,” I add.
“Like this isn’t your usual scene you just needed to let loose tonight.
Destress a bit and forget all the bullshit going on. My guess, this was the closest option.”
Her lips curve, faint but real.
“You’re awfully observant, Draygon,” she says.
“I try.”
She studies me for a long second, then shrugs one shoulder.
“Family stuff,” she says finally.
There’s more there. I can feel it. But the way she says it makes it clear that’s as far as she’s willing to go.
“You always dodge questions like that?” I ask.
She picks up her bottle, takes the last sip, and sets it down with quiet finality.
“You always interrogate tourist girls in bars?” she counters.
Touché.
I smirk, lifting my beer to my lips before taking a swig.
She stands before I can respond.
“You dance?” she asks.
The redirect isn’t subtle.
“For you, pretty girl?” I say, pushing to my feet. “Yeah, I dance.”
She doesn’t wait for me to get up. Instead, she smiles, grabs my hand and pulls me into the crowd.
Echo slowly turns to face me and steps in closer.
Her hands land on my shoulders first, fingers curling slightly like she’s testing the weight of me.
Mine settle firmly at her hips and the moment she brushes up against me, I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her top and the slight tension in her muscles as she adjusts to the closeness, fuck it does something to me.
She moves first. A slow sway as she moves in closer.
Her hips roll forward, brushing against me in time with the music. The friction isn’t subtle, and my body responds before my brain even gets a second to fucking catch up.
Fuck me.
My hands tighten just slightly, thumbs grazing that strip of bare skin between her top and shorts. Warm and soft. She exhales against my neck. A small gasp that’s barely noticeable, but I feel it like a goddamn spark.
Her hands slide down my chest slowly, dragging through the fabric of my shirt like she’s mapping it out as her thigh presses between mine for a just second before she shifts again, grinding closer.
The tension doesn’t just spike. It fucking explodes.
Every roll of her hips sends another pulse of heat straight through me and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of where my hands are, where hers are, and just how fucking close our mouths are.
My jaw tightens when she presses in again, harder this time, and I have to steady my breathing so I don’t give away just how much she’s affecting me.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, and fuck me do I feel that look right down to my cock. Then, before I can even think, I lean in, and press my lips to hers.
The kiss isn’t soft.
It’s controlled fucking heat in that dangerous way where neither of us is pretending this is innocent. Her mouth moves against mine with confidence, and when her fingers fist into my shirt and pull me closer, something in my chest snaps tight.