Chapter 4 #2
He’s working as a bouncer at the club his cousin owns. I blend into the crowd, lingering with groups of women, just close enough to appear like I’m the quiet friend without appearing obtrusive to any of them. I sip my drinks in between dances.
I’m on my third bay breeze when I spot Alejandro scanning the crowd.
Did he notice me earlier?
Did someone notice my behavior and report it to him?
Did they think I was suspicious?
While I keep my gaze sweeping the dance floor and the part of the bar I can see, I force my expression to remain neutral, like I’m just people watching.
When the fourth group of women I’m near head to the dance floor, so do I.
It’s not long before a guy maneuvers himself toward me.
Other men have danced with me tonight which has kept me from standing out.
But this one gets handsy. I attempt to step away, but his arm snakes around my waist and pulls me toward him. When I don’t budge, he yanks harder.
“Don’t.”
“Come on. Shaking your ass like that tells me you’re looking for someone to pay attention.”
I love to dance—not like at the bachelor party. Despite being here to watch Alejandro, I was making the most of this and enjoying myself.
But this douchebag…
“I dance because I like it not because it’s an invitation. Don’t.”
His hand slides down to my ass and grabs it. This time I let him pull me closer. Then I knee him.
“Bitch!”
“Asshole.”
He may have yelled his expletive, but I muttered mine.
“He is an asshole, and he’s leaving. Now.”
I turn my head to find Alejandro standing behind me.
He steps closer, not just crowding me but the stronzo—asshole—who hasn’t let go yet.
When he leans forward, his chest brushes the back of my shoulder.
It’s like leaning against a brick wall. I feel the menace rolling off him as though it were a cloud engulfing me.
The guy lets go and takes a step back, his hand over his crotch, but he doubles down.
“The bitch kneed me in the balls.”
“I’m surprised she could find your huevos. She told you not to touch. Now you’re leaving.”
“Who the fuck are you? You’re not a bouncer here.”
“Are you sure?”
Alejandro kept up the conversation as he slips between the pezzo di merda—piece of shit—and me.
His size looms over the guy, and he forces him to back away from me even farther.
He’s not wearing the black t-shirt with the club logo on it and cargo pants the other bouncers wear.
He’s in a button-down shirt and slacks. He rolled his shirt sleeves back, and his tattoos peek from beneath the material.
He doesn’t look like a bouncer. He looks like he owns the place. He moves with authority that doesn’t encourage anyone to argue with him.
I stay where I am as more space grows between the men and me. Alejandro gestures at someone, and two men who’re clearly bouncers approach.
“échale a patadas y asegúrate de que sepa que está prohibido.” Toss his ass out and make sure he knows he’s banned.
The bouncers crowd the guy, and one of them shoulder checks him as he turns to face the pezzo di merda who now regrets most of his life choices.
“What the fuck, man? I was just dancing with her. She went all psycho on me. She could have told me she didn’t want to dance with me.”
“She did. Twice.”
How the hell did Alejandro know that? I didn’t see him get close enough to hear me. Maybe he’s guessing from my expression or body language. Maybe he’s guessing I told him once, then shoved my knee into his balls after the second time.
“Don’t fucking touch me. Let go. I’ll leave on my own. This is a shitty club anyway.”
Besides the shoulder check, neither bouncer touches him.
They don’t have to. He’s just whining like a piccolo cagna—little bitch.
Neither Alejandro nor the bouncers say anything.
The enormous enforcers hover, intimidating him into retreating.
Rather than shut up and take the smart way out, the douche doubles down.
Hell, at this point, he’s—like—quadrupling down.
“Do you know who I am?”
Alejandro laughs at the cazzo—dick—and it sends a chill down my spine. It must do the same to the man because he finally realizes he’s pushed too far.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are. Do you know who I am?”
He pauses for effect, his voice dropping an octave.
“I’m Alejandro Diaz.”
The color drains from the man’s face, and he stumbles.
I swallow my smirk and my laugh. My unwanted dance partner might pass out from how quickly he’s breathing.
Alejandro takes a threatening step forward, his shoulders pressed back.
I shift to watch him from the side. His shirt strains across his chest, and his sleeves are already tight around his bulging—yes, definitely bulging—biceps.
“My cousin manages this place. My family owns it. You look like you know who I am, so do you want to leave on your own or find out what it means when I throw you out?”
“I—I—I’ll go.”
“Consider yourself banned from any establishment my family owns. I wouldn’t go to any places the Kutsenkos, O’Rourkes, or Mancinellis own either. Smile for the security cameras. I’ll send your photo to them.”
The guy spins on his heel and practically sprints to the door.
He barrels through the crowd; whereas the bouncers part the sea of people like they’re both Moses.
Alejandro looks toward me. His gaze slides down then up until our gazes meet.
My heart pounds, worried he recognizes me.
I’m a redhead tonight with blue contacts to disguise my gray eyes. I had brown contacts in on the yacht.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
Ma’am?
How the fuck old does he think I am?
“I’m fine. Thanks for that. He wouldn’t let go when I told him I didn’t want to dance with him.”
“I could tell.”
His expression is speculative, and my worry turns to fear. If he hasn’t recognized me yet, he will if I don’t get away from him soon.
“I should find my—”
“Will you let me buy you a drink? It’s the least the house can do.”
I want to decline, but it’s a club. Practically everyone’s drinking, and so have I. However, I’m clearly sober, so I can’t say I’m cutting myself off because I’ve had too much. I accept, telling myself it’s an opportunity to get in some up-close reconnaissance.
“Thank you.”
We walk to the bar together. As we do, I consider how he dropped his name so easily.
It’s not like I think he lurks in the shadows.
Obviously, he has no qualms about being out in public.
But I wonder how he knew his name would register with the guy.
It’s not a stretch that it intimidated the man once he knew who Alejandro was.
His size wasn’t enough, but those two words turned everything around.
“What would you like?”
“A bay breeze neat, please.”
I hate ice in my drinks. I may sound American tonight, but I’m Italian through and through.
He orders, and I keep my gaze locked on the bartender.
It’s habit. I don’t believe Alejandro’ll have his employee drug me, but I’m always cautious.
Considering I want nothing more than the chance to drug him, I see the hypocrisy for what it is.
“Have you been here before?”
“A couple times.” That’s a lie.
“You weren’t dancing with that last group of women you hung out nearby. You stuck closer to the other ones.”
Fuck!
“I’m in town to visit my grandmother. She goes to bed at eight, so I decided to go out. I don’t mind doing things on my own, but I know to stick close to other women. Men usually don’t harass me when I do.”
“You don’t know anyone in the city?”
We’re in Manhattan, and I know that’s what he means by “the city.”
“Not really. I know the night life is better here, so I came over from Brooklyn.”
I didn’t.
“I hope you were having a good time before this.”
“I was. I am.”
I shoot him a flirtatious glance before staring into my glass.
I angle my body, so I rest one elbow on the bar, and the other arm presses against my left breast as I sip my drink.
The pressure lifts it until it’s practically spilling over the top of my halter dress.
His gaze doesn’t falter, but I’m certain he notices.
“Where are you from?”
“Originally? Near New Brunswick. But I live in Boulder now.”
“Escaped the polluted armpit of America for the wide-open space and mountains.”
“Not a fan of Jersey?”
“Is anyone?”
He grins, and his teeth sparkle.
Motherfucking sparkle!
They don’t look like veneers or like he whitens them.
He was just blessed with great teeth. He was blessed with great everything.
The dim light on the yacht—mood lighting—kept me from seeing how bright they are.
I also thought he had brown eyes, but he actually has hazel-brown.
They have slivers of green and gold in them.
They pin me in place, and I could easily forget my mission.
I could believe he’s genuinely flirting with me.
I chuckle at his nonchalant yet snide comment about New York’s least favorite neighbor. At my lighthearted reaction, his grin turns into a full smile. His eyes crinkle, and a dimple appears in his left cheek.
No man should be this attractive.
Ever.
I bet he was a cherubic child.
He’s the devil now.
Fuck. It’s my turn to say something, but I’m too awestruck. I sip my drink again. Blessedly, he fills the silence.
“Since your dance got interrupted, would you like to try again?”
I didn’t expect that. I shift my attention to the dance floor. Is he blowing me off now? Does he think I’m bored because I didn’t respond.
“It’s gotten even more crowded out there.”
“People tend to make room for me.”
Oh. He wants to dance with me.
I place my now empty glass on the bar and shift away from it.
I take a step, and he moves to walk with me.
His hand hovers near my lower back. He doesn’t touch me, but I sense it there.
Much like it did for the bouncers, the crowd opens for him.
He guides me to a spot that’s not too close to the speakers but isn’t in some corner that would make a normal woman nervous.
We sway to the music, and it surprises me he has such a strong sense of rhythm. He moves like sex on a stick. If this is what he’s like standing up, I can only imagine what he’s like lying down. I bet he fucks like a god.
We dance through three songs before we gravitate closer together. During the fifth song, his arm slides around my waist as my hand rests on his chest and the other is high on his bicep. When the sixth song starts, we’re pressed together. His leg slides between mine, and I grind against him.
“We move well together, chiquita.”
Little girl. He called me that on the yacht. Does he call all women that?
That dampens my mood. I don’t know why I wanted that to be special. It’s stupid for myriad reasons, but it’s especially stupid since he’s my mark.
“Mmm. We fit together.”
“Should we see if we can fit together better?”