Chapter 4
Penelope is a force, and like the hurricane she is, she refuses to allow me to wallow after I hang up with Dare.
She drags me upstairs and tosses me in the shower while she gets my outfit ready.
I have every intention of getting blackout drunk and forgetting that this is my life.
I crank the heat on the shower until it’s just shy of too hot and allow the water to fall down my back.
The sting does nothing to dull the sadness.
When I emerge from the shower, I find my best friend ready and waiting with her entire makeup kit.
“I don’t think makeup is a good idea tonight, Pen.
” I’m guessing there will be a lot of tears since I can’t keep my emotions under control right now.
Walking around with running mascara is not a good look.
“Waterproof, babes.” She waves me off with blood-red nails. “Do you need me to dress you, or are you going to cooperate?” I wonder if I can talk her into drowning in a few bottles of wine in my living room. In Dare’s living room, because I won’t be living here soon enough.
“Can we stay in?” I give her my best pout. I have no desire whatsoever to interact with other people. Sweats and a cozy night at home seem like a much better idea. Maybe a pint of Ben we just grind and sway to each song, completely unaware of those around us.
I feel him lean forward and graze his nose down the column of my neck.
This close, I can smell the faint remnants of his soap.
His lips get close to my ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down my spine.
“Can I get you a drink?” We’re still moving when he asks, and his groin presses firmly into my arse.
More vodka couldn’t hurt, so I give another nod.
I don’t see Penelope anywhere as I scan the dance floor when we walk to the bar.
Mystery Man hands me a bottle of water while he downs one of his own.
His shirt is soaked with perspiration, and I notice for the first time that I am also covered in a sheen of sweat, so I drink the cold liquid greedily before pouring a bit over my head.
The sudden cold sends a shock through my system, but it feels so good.
“What are you drinking?” His voice is smooth and deep.
“Something strong will do.” I smile, feeling unbalanced.
Not physically, necessarily, though the club has taken on a fuzzy haze, but emotionally, I’m a complete trainwreck.
Despite the alcohol coursing through my veins, I can still hear Shawn telling me that I have to leave.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear the words that have upended my entire life.
With any luck, another drink will drown that out. I need to forget.
He turns to the bartender to place an order for two vodka tonics.
Shifting, he pulls me close while we wait for our drinks.
The bartender returns, and Mystery Man hands her some cash before steering us out of the throng of bodies.
Luck is on our side because a couple exits a booth.
I slide in quickly. Rather than sitting across from me, the man with no name slides in on my left.
“I keep calling you Mystery Man in my head, but that feels rude. What should I call you?” Words feel heavy on my tongue, making my speech slurred.
His smile turns almost predatory, and I feel things.
I discreetly shift, making room for my growing erection.
“Are we doing names, gorgeous?” Trying to focus on his face is hard, so I look at my lap.
Confusion muddles my thoughts. Trying to make sense of how he is making me feel, plus everything else, is difficult.
I take a sip of my drink before I answer.
“I have a boyfriend,” I state quickly. Mystery Man doesn’t seem deterred as he gets closer, placing a hand on my knee.
A niggling voice tells me that I should remove it, but the contact feels comforting, and that’s what I need right now.
Realistically, I know his touch isn’t about offering me comfort. I meet his eyes again, and he smirks.
“Is your boyfriend here?” He doesn’t attempt to move his hand any farther, just holds my gaze with his intense stare, forcing me to look away.
“No, he travels a lot for work.” It’s hit or miss if I’m recognized, but it appears that this stranger is not familiar with my billboards. It also means he won’t realize that Darío Molina, star center fielder for the Brooklyn Sea Scorpions, is my long-term boyfriend.
“You always dance with strangers while he’s away?” He strokes my knee gently, if a bit suggestively. It causes chills to skitter down my spine, and I shiver.
“No. It’s been a weird day. I’m here with my best friend. She wanted to get me drunk, so I’m not sad.” Why am I talking? Am I about to unload my whole story to this man while we’re both trashed at the club?
“Can I help you not be sad?” I down the rest of my drink without flinching, taking in this man who is crowding my space and my senses.
His arm rests behind me on the back of the booth, and he moves just a bit closer.
I don’t retreat—and blame it on the alcohol—but I lean in.
His hand moves to the back of my neck, and my skin feels prickly and tight.