Chapter 12
brIELLE
Okay, sue me. I took advantage of the situation so that I could spend some time with Roman. As if any other warm-blooded woman wouldn’t have done the same.
I’m starting to regret it a bit, though. His surly attitude is making it pretty hard not to, even if I still want to force the car to the side of the road and jump his bones. He doesn’t have to talk to fuck me.
At this point, I’d actually prefer if he didn’t.
The entire ten minutes we’ve been sitting in this fancy-ass, perfectly scrubbed car with the sickeningly perfect stitching on the seats, he hasn’t spoken a word.
With every direction I give him, he grunts and moves the steering wheel.
There hasn’t been one single thank you uttered or grateful smile. Surprising, I know.
And holy shit, who drives without music?
He’s had the long, thin screen stuck on the home page instead of the music app I’ve been itching to press since doing up my seat belt.
The silence has made it that much more awkward.
I’ve debated rolling the window down and having terrible wind-blown hair just to get a break from the thick tension.
I tap my nails against the door and turn my head toward him. The sharp line of his jaw looks deadlier in the dark. Dim light from passing streetlights casts shadows across his face, illuminating only enough to emphasize his heaviest features.
His hair is black enough that no amount of light can brighten it.
It’s styled professionally with a sheen of what I assume to be gel keeping the longer pieces swept out of his face.
And then there’s the firm, tight pull of his lips that I can’t tell is natural, or something he’s just done so many times it became the norm.
There’s a third possibility, but I don’t want to think that he’s actually that annoyed with me.
Not when his presence is still somehow so appealing to me.
It’s a curse, being this physically attracted to someone who looks like they’re too busy contemplating tossing you out of the moving car to strike up a conversation.
This is new territory for me. Usually, I’m the one who’s pursued.
Whether that’s for genuine reasons or, more commonly, the ones that I’ve been dealing with more and more these last few years.
As much as I wish Roman were making the moves on me, I’m almost intrigued by the switch in roles.
“So, you don’t just not like rock music, then?” I ask, fighting past the awkwardness.
“What?”
“Clearly, you don’t like music at all.”
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “I prefer the quiet when I’m driving.”
“That feels a bit pointed.”
“It was meant to.”
“Right. Well, I’m the opposite. I like it loud.”
“That isn’t surprising,” he mutters.
His lower body shifts in the seat, and I stare like a fucking creeper.
Spreading his left thigh, he drops a hand to it while keeping the other tight around the steering wheel.
The green traffic light we pass beneath reflects off the black ring on his finger and the black butterfly tattoo spread across the back of his veiny hand.
I throw my right leg over the left and pinch the hem of my skirt where it pinches high on my thigh. Even with the movement, he doesn’t look at me.
“Turn left up here.”
Another grunt is his only response as he flicks the blinker on.
“Did you only go to the concert tonight because Evie was too busy to sit at home with you in silence?” I ask a bit harshly. Guilt jabs at me, making me pull the cattiness back in. “Or . . . play chess or something.”
“How old do you think I am, exactly?” His voice shifts, growing deeper.
“The first time I saw you, I guessed forty. But I’m starting to think it might be younger.”
I watch the corner of his eyebrow lift. Then, finally, he flicks his gaze across the car. “Why younger?”
“Yeah, I should have assumed older. You’re too grumpy to be young. Let’s go with forty-six.”
“You’re a brat.”
My pulse skips with anticipation. “And?”
“And what?”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
Tension tugs at his throat, and I almost giggle when I see his temple pulse. “Nothing.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
And it really, really is. I’d have crawled right into his lap for a decent spanking.
My mouth dries as moisture builds between my legs instead. I give my thighs a squeeze and distract myself by staring out the window, beginning to count the seconds until we get to the bar.
The air grows tight with unspoken words as we sit in silence once again.
My teeth dig deep into my tongue as I trap the words that want to spew across the cab.
At this point, I’m positive not a single one of them would lead to anything.
I could tug my skirt up and beg him to touch me, and he’d probably open the door for me and leave me on the sidewalk.
My ego can’t take another hit tonight.
“It’s just up here on the right-hand side,” I say a minute later.
Again, he grunts before pulling in front of the empty spot between two other cars. Dread fills me instantly. I tip my head back and release a rough, annoyed noise when he flips the car into reverse and guides it into the parking spot in one fluid motion.
There are few things sexier than watching a man parallel park with utter confidence, so of course Roman can do it.
“You can stay here,” he declares.
That’s all the warning I get before he’s exiting the car.
His door closes at the same time I scoff and shove mine open.
The night air is a bit chillier than it was when we left the arena, but I ignore it.
My outfit nearly blends into the fluorescent pink lights fanning out across the sidewalk.
The glowing sign above the Pretty Little Pout doors sends a pulse of excitement through me that I willfully ignore.
“Fat chance I’m staying in the car!” I call after him, already rushing my steps when I realize he isn’t going to wait for me.
He climbs the three cement stairs up to the door with ease and then pauses, surprising me. His head swivels my way, eyes drifting down my body for all of a second. The annoyance that lights his gaze frustrates me more than his cold shoulder.
We’re far from the only ones outside, yet he doesn’t look away from me.
Regardless of how annoyed he is, he keeps those deep, dark eyes on me and not the group of three women staring at him from the corner of the entrance.
I force myself to move quicker, needing to reach him before they stop checking him out and make a move of their own.
It’s not like I could blame them, either.
“You’ve got to stop giving me that look before I start thinking that you want to fuck me right here, right now.” The instant widening of his eyes yanks a laugh from my chest. With a roll of my eyes, I reach him and draw a quick line down his forearm with the tip of my finger. “I’m kidding.”
The concrete vibrates beneath our feet when he says, “We’re finding Evie and then leaving. If you wander off, you can find a different way home.”
“I’m not a puppy. I don’t wander.”
His hand is stiff when it falls to my back and guides me through the door he’s opened for us. My skin breaks out in goosebumps while simultaneously burning. I clamp my lip between my teeth.
“Same rules apply,” he grumbles.
Without another word, I keep close to him as we step inside the bar.
Instead of the quiet, pink paradise I’m used to when I’m here during the day, Pretty Little Pour has been completely transformed.
While it’s still pink, the music is loud and fast, and it’s hot and muggy from all the bodies.
The grinding drunks draw my attention instantly, reminding me that as much as I wish I were, I’m not here for a good time.
The steady, still-tense hand that remains on my bare back keeps me close as we move through the crowds.
My outfit doesn’t stand out amongst the dance floor, but I can’t say the same for Roman.
Not only does he look like he should be attending a business meeting instead of pushing through gyrating bodies, but he’s also much older than almost everyone around us, making him stand out all that much more.
Even I’ve begun to feel too old in places like this, and I’m only twenty-five.
If I had to guess, I’d say that most of the women taking shot after shot at the glittery pink bar are freshly nineteen, if not only a couple of years older.
The guys look in their early twenties, but fuck if I know anymore.
With how quickly they’re all drinking, surely they’re not older than me. I have a three-drink maximum before I’m waking with a throbbing head and spending the morning crouched in front of the toilet.
“She’s probably this way,” I shout, tapping Roman’s front to draw his attention.
He presses harder on my back in confirmation before I’m shifting slightly in front of him to lead the way.
Feeling his heat behind me is more distracting than the constantly changing club music.
I sidestep a pair of guys slamming back two J?gerbombs and huff when the taller one sticks his dirty fingers into his mouth and whistles.
My stomach rolls at how disgusting that is. I step on his foot when we pass, refusing to glance his way again. His grunt is swallowed by the sounds of the bar.
Roman’s hand slides to my waist before he’s giving me a push across his body.
I whip my head back to look at him when his other hand finds the same exact placement and holds me at his opposite side, stabilizing my stumbling steps.
He doesn’t say a word afterward. It’s like he didn’t just pull me away from the guys and to the side of his body closest to the wall.
Facing forward again, I let a small smile form.
Evie’s easy to spot once we pass the bar and reach the more secluded back side of the club.
The same booths that I usually gravitate toward when I’m here during the day remain in place against the far wall, just a lot more crowded.
There’s a small group of women standing around the third one, all of whom are digging through the purse that Evie’s gripping the strap of.
It’s the same chunky beige one that I saw on her shoulder at the photo studio.
I pull away from Roman and head her way. Something has the hair on the back of my neck standing up, and it isn’t the thoughtful, protective gesture from a moment ago. It’s those girls and the way they’re leering at Evie.
“Come on. You can’t honestly not even carry lipstick with you! This is a club, not a church. I thought the outfit was the worst of it, but apparently not.”
“Did you run out of tablecloths to wear?”
My chest tightens to the point it hurts to inhale as I listen to them belittle her. I act before I can consider the consequences.
The tallest girl only has an inch on me because of the tall wedges on her feet, so I grip her platinum-blonde hair in my fist and bring her down to my level.
Her eyes are so wide they look like they might fall right out when she notices me and cries out, instantly reaching up to claw at the hand buried in her hair.
There’s a gasp from beside me that I think belongs to Evie, but I keep my attention on the girl whose fingers are still knuckle-deep in her purse.
She’s wearing nothing more than a simple black skirt and a cropped tank top with a heart on it, but there’s an air of arrogance to her that pisses me off. It’s not well placed at all.
“Get your hands out of her purse and apologize,” I hiss.
Her friend is silent beside her, hesitating to intervene. It’s honestly even more embarrassing for her that she’s being such a bitch without even one person to have her back.
Still, she doesn’t release the purse. Her darkly lined eyes look me over. “Who the hell are you?”
“If I have to repeat myself, you’re going to need a wig.” I give her hair a tug.
“Ow! Shit—fine!” She yanks her hand from Evie’s purse and digs her nails into my wrist. “Now, let go of me!”
“Apologize.”
There’s a presence at my side now as a soft voice hits my ear. “You can let her go, Brielle. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s far from okay. You don’t get spoken to like that by anyone.” To emphasize my point, I haul the girl closer to Evie by my grip on her hair. “Apologize, or I swear to fuck I’m going to rip your hair out.”
Her whimper of pain doesn’t do a thing to make me release her.
There’s an almost overwhelming need growing inside of me to protect Evie, even when I don’t know her well.
She’s only four years younger than me, yet there’s a larger gap there when it comes to life experience.
I don’t need to spend more time with her to know that.
There’s no reason to accept being belittled by someone. Especially by another woman. Not in a world where we’re supposed to be able to rely on one another.
She struggles in my grip while muttering, “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
Evie’s watching her nervously, clutching the purse I didn’t see her reach for. My heart pangs, seeing how nervous she looks.
“For insulting you.”
“And touching her things,” I add sharply.
“Yes. Please let go of me now!”
I relax my fingers and drop my hand. The girl takes her friend’s arm and drags her away from us faster than I expected her to be able to move in those wedges. In a blink, they’re disappearing into the crowd.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Evie says, unable to meet my eyes.
“Yeah, I did. I can’t stand women like that.”
Her cheeks are red, but I can’t tell if it’s from what just happened or the alcohol I can smell on her breath. I’ll assume both for now. Especially when she shifts and looks behind me to where I know Roman’s got to be watching and brooding. The colour deepens until she resembles a tomato.
“Come on, we can talk about who those girls were and whether or not I’m going to be chasing them down for a proper beat down once we’re out of here,” I add, taking her hand.
After her uncle reams my ass out for making a scene, I’m sure.