35. Arlo
“You’re in full stalker mode.”
Celeste practically shouts this from the other side of the table. Luckily, the speeches are done, the food eaten, the auction items bid on, the drinks drunk, and the music is in full swing. People dance around in their finest, surrounded by decadence, their cares forgotten for the night.
She hangs on her husband’s arm and leans her very pregnant belly over the table to grab a water glass. Her cheeks are rosy from dancing and carrying around a human inside her.
Wild.
“From what I can tell.” Karris shoves a lock of nearly white-blond hair from his forehead and offers Celeste a smirk. “She likes it.” He’s reclined in his seat with one elbow propped on the table, a glass hanging loosely in his hand, a half finger of whiskey left in his tumbler.
“The devil speaks the truth,” Dobson agrees in his mild Scottish accent. He sits a couple of seats to my right on Karris’s left. He looks like a grizzly bear who fooled the lady at the door into letting him inside the party by wearing a nice suit. “She’s been giving him bedroom eyes since she left the table.” Bedroom sounds an awful lot like bedrum.
I’m proud of my friends. I know it’s crazy for them to see me touching someone and allowing them to touch me. Thankfully, they’ve kept their damn loud mouths closed about it.
Celeste finishes her water and sets down the glass. “Who can blame her?” She grins, her red gown suddenly matching the color of her cheeks.
Her husband, Wyatt, yanks his wife into a low dip. She shrieks on the way down, clutching his lapels. He growls something in her ear, then plants his mouth over hers.
“If I vomit, you can blame it on the alcohol.” Karris’s already narrow cheeks suck deeper, puckering his wide-set mouth as he looks at the display. He hates nothing more than displays of vanilla monogamy.
“But it’d be a lie.” Dobson pushes from his chair.
“True.” Karris concedes.
Dobson’s gaze is homed in on a set of double doors to the balcony. Usually, my friend fits into city living like a bear in Yosemite, a really fucking big one. He’s made friends with the locals. He’s learned all the best spots to eat, hunt, and fuck. He’s kept everything in balance. Until recently.
I’ve begun to wonder if the bear is outgrowing his surroundings. There’s a restlessness to him that hasn’t been there before. Then again, things are changing all around us.
“I’m taking my wife home to remind her who she calls Daddy.” Wyatt grabs Celeste’s nape in one hand, her clutch in the other, and turns her toward the exit.
“Please tell Hailey it was, once again, a wonderful event.” Celeste waves goodbye and squeals when Wyatt smacks her ass to hurry her forward.
“Maybe they’re keeping the kink alive,” Karris says wistfully.
“I’m sure they’re managing,” I say, keeping a close eye on my siren. Hell, Celeste was a regular at Crave not all that long ago and met her husband, a rather established service top, there.
“You’re not the only one in full stalker mode,” Hota whispers to my left.
“I know,” I snarl.
“Holy shit, he speaks,” Karris razzes. “Almost.” He backtracks. “It almost counts as speaking.”
“I’m even better at signing.” Hota flips him the bird.
“Oh, I’m fluent too.” Karris makes an o with his free hand. He holds it up by his mouth, which he opens wide, and then uses his tongue in the side of his cheek to mimic a blow job.
Hota’s eyes roll.
“Hey.” Karris siphons off the last of his drink. “You offered.” The devilish smirk rises to the surface, and his blue eyes sparkle. “I’m just reciprocating.”
I ignore the rest of their back-and-forth ribbing. My gaze locks on the millionaire bastard who put his hands on Hailey earlier in the evening. Twice. Once he’d congratulated her a little too much on a wonderful gala and worthwhile cause. Then he’d propositioned her for a dance, grabbing her around the waist.
Both times, she’d expertly maneuvered out of his hold and redirected his attention. Both times, I maintained my composure because I’m a fucking adult. I know Hailey can handle herself. I know she wouldn't like me stepping in as her white knight.
Yet my fucking pulse beats so fast my heart might shoot out of my fucking chest. My hands form fists.
“He’s a leech. Not a stalker,” I amend.
“True.” Hota flips the toothpick in his mouth. After all these years, I still don’t understand how he hasn’t choked on one of his post-meal toothpicks.
“Your girl’s aunt is hot.” Karris stares blatantly, drooling at Natalia.
The older woman’s hips sway back and forth, bracketed by two hands with slender fingers attached to the lean body of her model boyfriend, Laurent. The guy surprised her by showing up at Hailey’s apartment before we all headed here for the gala. Of course, I’d known he was coming.
“She is,” I agree. “She’s also taken.”
Karris’s lips purse. “How taken?”
“She’s moving to the South of France next month with the man currently groping her ass,” I say this, but my eyes remain tuned into the leech watching my siren.
At least three empty glasses litter his spot at the table even though waiters dressed like upscale penguins walk around constantly clearing away used items. He’s leaning heavily to one side. A sheen of sweat covers his otherwise perfect Ken doll face.
“He’s the reason you flew to France, Hota?”
Hota stares at Karris for a long beat. His mouth finally opens to speak, but as usual, Karris beats him to it.
“Forget I asked.” Karris holds up a sleek hand. “You flew to France because your Daddy asked you to.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, not needing these two to get into it right now. Before they can really dig into each other, the leech stands. I’m up in an instant. Hota tries to call me back, but I’ve scented blood. I push through the crowds, only chancing a look back to make sure he’s not following.
Of course, he’s up and ready to cover my back.
“That’s right,” Karris goads. “Go fix all Daddy’s problems. Why don’t you blow him while you’re at it?”
It’s enough of a barb that Hota steps toward Karris instead of me.
I take full advantage, weaving through the tables and chairs and drunk revelers. Still, the piece of shit is closing in on Hailey, sauced eyes locked on what’s mine. My intestines knot as though someone is trying to knit a fucking sweater out of my insides. A deep and heavy sense of foreboding weighs me down, making it hard to walk and even harder to breathe.
“Excuse me.” I push through a group of drunken women, weighing the pros and cons of some kind of facial plastic surgery. I’d go around, but there are just too many of them.
“Oh, hello, handsome,” one of them chirps. “No excuse necessary.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome to crash our party any time.” Another garbles the words any and time to be one mangled word.
I don’t even glance in their direction. My gaze is locked on Hailey and the fucking creep about to grab her.
Something inside me is unleashed. Whatever temperate manner I’ve maintained throughout my adulthood is gone in an instant. As though it never was. What takes its place is molten, bright, and screaming for retribution, though nothing has happened…yet.