Chapter 1 #2
Meanwhile, Mr. Suit and Fucking Tie goes on and on, rehashing every moment of the entire ninety seconds the fight lasted before I knocked my opponent out cold, like it was the highlight of his life because he sat in the second row.
Now normally, I’d be eating this shit up.
Normally, I’d spin his attention to suit my needs and use it to get the kind of attention I wanted. The kind that only comes in the arms of a beautiful woman. Somewhere I’m not sure this dude has ever been. Doubt he’d know the first thing to do with a woman even if he had.
But I’m not spinning shit.
Something’s off.
And it isn’t just tonight.
No . . . this shit’s been building for months.
I just can’t place whatever the hell it is as the last of my beer sours in my mouth.
Fuck this.
I push my bottle away and catch my brother’s eye as Lucky tucks a napkin in the back pocket of his jeans, smiling.
One more year . . . maybe two, and this kid’s whole world is going to change.
He’ll be playing in the NFL. Living his best life like the rest of my family, and where the hell will I be?
Right here.
Doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing.
I shove back from the bar, blowing off the guy still droning on next to me as Lucky grabs my empty bottle and replaces it with another.
“I’m heading home, brother,” I tell him with a shake of my head.
“You sure?” he asks, eyes darting around me, no doubt shocked I’m leaving alone. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, man. Just tired. It’s been a long week.” I throw a fifty on the bar and grin. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, shithead.”
He looks over my shoulder, his grin growing a mile wide, and I follow his eyes, catching what they’re caught on.
Dillan Ryan.
Fuck.
Crossing the room to a booth at the back of the bar, she’s wearing a short black dress with long, soft-looking sleeves and an open V-neck, her skirt swishing loosely around her legs and stopping right above the knee-high, black-heeled boots that boost her a few extra inches.
Damn . . . she looks good.
Wait.
She looks pissed, and a grin tugs at my lips.
I know that look. She gives it to me all the damn time.
“Hey, princess,” I call out, and her head whips my way, her long, sun-kissed blonde hair falling around her shoulders before her body follows and she’s standing in front of me, annoyance shining brightly in her eyes.
“Hey, psycho.” She smiles, a relieved look playing across her pouty pink-glossed lips before she quickly glances at the booth I’m pretty sure she was headed to.
A douche in a suit and tie sits like a yardstick is crammed up his ass, his eyes fixed on his phone instead of the beautiful woman who’s no longer walking his way.
What is it with assholes in suits tonight?
“You got a hot date?” I nod toward the ass, annoyance flaring hot. I’ve been trying to get this woman to go on a date with me for fucking months, but she keeps shooting me down. “Didn’t realize finance bros were what you’re into.”
The green flecks in her blue eyes flame with heat.
Nope. Wait . . . Not heat. Annoyance. “Hardly. I let Lilah set me up.” She looks at the guy, then back at me.
“And I swear to God, it’s the worst date I’ve ever been on.
” She steps closer, the hint of citrus on her skin making my mouth water.
Goddamn, this woman always smells good. “This is why I don’t date.
” She eyes the beer I hadn’t even realized I picked up and takes it out of my hand and sips before straightening her shoulders and pushing her hair back. “Wish me luck.”
“Should have said yes the last time I asked,” I tease, covering my complete seriousness, and Dillan flashes me a playful smile that doesn’t reach her eyes before she purses her lips.
“You don’t ask, Rome.” She plants her hands on her hips and arches a brow. “You tell me I have a nice ass.”
It’s my turn for my eyes to roam. “Can’t fight perfection.”
“I should go back . . .” Her voice sounds defeated or maybe disgusted.
“Have fun,” I tell her, sarcasm thick like honey on my tongue.
Her eyes sharpen, and she flips me off as she walks back over to the finance bro.
Asshole barely looks up from his phone as Dillan sits back down, one leg crossing over the other, causing her black dress to shift and showcase a few inches of toned thighs.
She reaches for her glass, looking at him, and I fight off the urge to introduce his face to my fist when he doesn’t even look at her.
Dillan’s eyes fall, dejected, as she sips her drink and looks away.
This woman should never feel that way.
Yeah . . . Fuck this.
“Dude. Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t. Not with Dillan Ryan,” Lucky warns.
“Fuck off, little brother.” I stand as energy crackles along my skin like it does before a fight. “I’m not doing anything.”
“I know that look, Rome,” he groans, like somehow we’ve swapped spots, and he’s suddenly the older brother. “She’s—” He cuts himself off, but not before he’s pissed me the fuck off.
“She’s what?” I push back.
“Complicated. All the Sinclair girls are.”
Ahh. There it is. Lucky’s been half in love with Dillan’s cousin most of their fucking lives. At some point, maybe he’ll man up and tell her. But that’s not what this is. I’m not in love with Dillan Ryan. Just in the mood to have a little fun.
“Guess it’s a good thing she’s a Ryan, not a Sinclair.” Before he has a chance to remind me her mom’s a Sinclair, I push away from the bar, a slightly fucked up plan forming as I cross the room.
Finance bro holds up an empty glass as I walk up to the table. “I’ll take another scotch and a water for the lady.”
I see a slight shake of Dillan’s head, like she didn’t even ask for water before she laughs.
“Dillan,” I say with an urgency coating my words. “Your pussy—” I announce, as if I’m out of breath, having run here.
Dillan’s turquoise eyes triple in size, and finance bro finally looks the fuck up. “What?”
“Your pussy cat,” I tell Dillan, no longer bothering to give her date the time of day. Why would I when she’ll be leaving with me? “She’s—”
“My cat?” Dillan asks, confused because she doesn’t have a cat.
I nod my head, trying to get her to play along. “Puss—”
“And Boots,” she cuts me off before I have another chance to torture her with a word I know she despises. We might not exactly be friends, but thanks to our families, we’ve been around each other enough for me to pick up on that little nugget.
“Yeah.” I smirk, enjoying this more than I should. “Puss and Boots was just hit by a car.”
Her eyes glow as I bite back a smile. “Puss and Boots . . . was hit—” she repeats slowly, and I think she’s starting to pick up what I’m putting down—“by a car?”
“Yeah. They sent me to get you. You’ve got to come with me.
I’ll take you to the vet.” I hold out my hand and wait as she looks between her date and me, silently deciding whether this can work or not.
It’s clear the moment the decision is made, and fuck me, the fire in her eyes is something to behold as she slides her hand into mine.
I shouldn’t notice the way it fits there or how soft her skin is.
And I really shouldn’t like the way her head barely comes up to my shoulder, even with those boots on when she stands. But I do. More than I want to.
“I’m sorry, Kevin. I’ve got to go,” she tells finance bro saccharinely sweet.
“I can take you to the vet,” he offers as he pockets his phone for the first time since I came over here.
“No,” she quickly rushes to reassure him. “Thank you. Rome knows the way.”
“I’ll call you then,” he tells her, but she’s grabbing her bag and coat and turning away from him before the words leave his mouth.
“Let’s go, I need to see Puss and Boots before it’s too late,” she tells me dramatically, putting on a show for the guy as she squeezes my hand.
I don’t bother to acknowledge the douche before I tug her behind me through the crowded bar with a shit-eating grin.
This night just got a whole lot more interesting.