Chapter Six #2
He leads us to the front and unclips the rope with little ceremony. Winking at Nelly, I lead the way in as the first girl in line starts complaining, “That’s not fair! We’ve been waiting here all night—”
“Take it up with someone who cares,” he grunts.
We’ve hardly entered the club when I feel his eyes on me.
Forest green and filled with a familiar craving for something carnal, even downright primal.
He is very cute, with dimples, a lean muscular build and golden-brown hair curling slightly where it falls over his eyes.
I’d clock him in his late thirties, but clearly keeping himself together and aware of the looks he draws from other women at the bar even though his eyes are laser focused on only one.
Me.
His grin is cheshire wide when he pops up in front of us as we reach the bar, immediately setting down three shot glasses- so very eager to please.
“Bienvenidas bellas damas!” His eyes fix on me as he mixes our drinks and his voice drops an octave when in English he adds, “I was hoping you’d come back sooner.”
I bet he did. The last time I was here I left him with an insult, a little praise, and most certainly a very hard dick. It took all of two seconds to get my measure of this man and my assumptions appear to be completely correct. This pretty boy likes to crawl.
Reaching for one of the shots, I throw it back, licking my lips clean just slowly enough to have his entire focus on my mouth. “Keep making drinks that good,” I tell him, leaning over the bar to set the shot glass upside down in front of him. “And we’ll come back every night.”
His smirk is feral, maybe a little unhinged, but I tend to have that effect on men like him. “I know no other way. Go on, senoritas.” He pushes the two remaining shots toward Clara and Nelly and says my favorite words. “Your drinks are on the house tonight.”
???
Okay, I’ll admit I might have made a mistake bringing Nelly here. While I’m all for her ending her relationship with one of God’s most special children, cheating on him might not be the best way to do that. And Nelly is currently skirting a very thin line between emotional and physical cheating—
And he’s licking her clavicle. Awesome.
“Maldito mamagüevo estúpido…”
I glance over at Graham- we finally learned pretty boy’s name tonight- who is pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly. He tilts his head in the direction of his earpiece and shakes his head again. “Yo tratê de decrile, vale.”
“You better not be saying anything about my friend,” I warn, drawing his attention back to me with a surprised blink. As if he’s surprised to see me standing on the other side of the bar? As if he didn’t clock my arrival the moment I left the dance floor?
So pathetic.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, returning my focus to my drink and Penelope dancing on the bar with a man who is very much not her boyfriend.
There’s a bitchy little war going on inside me- one side wants to snap picture to send to him anonymously and the other wants to preserve whatever fantasy Nelly thinks she’s hanging onto with him.
“I assure you,” Graham says, refilling my martini glass.
“I would never speak ill of her. That stupid motherfucker, however,” he glares up toward Elias who is taking his sweet time tasting the swells of Nelly’s tits.
“Dios ayudame…. The boyfriend?” He asks me.
“Tell me he’s an abusive piece of shit so I don’t feel so bad about this? ”
I raise a brow. “Why would you feel bad? You’re not the one drinking tequila out of her cleavage.”
He winces. “Please? Lie to me if you have to.”
“Sorry,” I shake my head, setting my empty glass on the bar. He eyes it for a beat before meeting my eyes again. “He’s disgustingly punctual, polite, and principled, if a little too controlling for my liking.”
That makes his lips twitch. “You prefer to be the one in control.” It’s not a question and it requires no answer. Leaning toward me across the bar he murmurs, “Do you have plans tonight?”
I lean in too, letting my eyes linger on his lips before finally looking deep into his forest eyes. I can hear the catch in his breath when I open my mouth to whisper, “Stop trying to top from the bottom, pretty boy.”
His disappointment is palpable when I pull away slinking down the bar in search of Clara.
But my eyes never stray too far, and I see the moment the spell breaks between Nelly and Elias.
I see his disappointment, the look he shares with Graham.
And I watch with bated breath as Elias releases her to fall into Graham’s waiting arms. He makes the catch with ease, as if he spends all his time catching women out of thin air, his muscles bulging almost obscenely beneath his t-shirt.
He sets her down carefully on her bare feet.
Meeting his eyes, we share a nod and I rush around the bar to meet her at the service door. She ducks underneath, running straight into my arms. “Nelly?”
Tears are cascading down her porcelain cheeks.
The guilt in her eyes is unbearable and for just a second I regret forcing her to come here.
For just a second I allow myself the bitter taste of shame.
I cover it all up with concern because if I’m feeling guilty, I can’t imagine how she must be feeling.
Shattered? Torn apart? Completely confused?
“Penelope, what’s wrong—”
“Take me home!” She begs over the music. “Take me home- Please, just take me home—”
“Okay,” I pull her closer, rubbing her back. “Don’t worry, P. We’ll get you home. It’ll all be okay.”
I lock eyes with Graham across the bar again.
Yes, I do have plans tonight. It’s a blessing and a curse I suppose.
He’s too eager and I’m too tempted to see how long I can keep him in his place.
But my focus is Nelly tonight, the very reason getting involved with him would be a huge mistake.
This sobbing mess of a girl is going to need all of my attention.
It’s just a shame this leather dress will go to waste.
“Let’s go home, Nelly Belly.”
I rub her arms, leading her out of the club, changing the direction and time of the Uber I had scheduled for later tonight.
Sorry, big brother, my girls come first.
???
It’s Sunday when I finally manage to get away from Nelly’s drama.
Honestly, I love her, but the girl has decisions to make that go beyond me.
I’ve given her all the advice I can. The ball is in her court now.
Will she choose the hunky musician with all the tattoos and Daddy energy, or the bitchy little mama’s boy she can’t take anywhere without ruining the vibe? What to do? What to do?
Per usual, I find myself at The Pink Flamingo dressed in black velvet, enjoying a heavy pour of cabernet with a purple band around my wrist. I allow myself to peruse the room, give a sly grin to a few regulars whom I’ve enjoyed before, and don’t allow myself to look at the door too often.
If he comes, he comes. If not, I have plenty of other options tonight and I’m not sure I want to really start something with someone so… Obsessive.
I clock him the second he walks in- black suit, white shirt, pink tie- but remain distinctly detached at the bar. If he’s as aware of me as he’s been the last two times we’ve met then he’ll—
“I knew I recognized this ass.”
How pathetically endearing. “That cannot truly,” I turn to him with a pitying look. “Be your line.”
“It usually works on mortals,” he smirks and I allow him a grin. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
Raising my wine to my lips I shrug. “I’m not.”
I noticed him last week and the week before that and the week before that.
I noticed him more after we’d officially met at El Rincón, but I never give chase.
If I intrigued him then I would let him come to me and then decide if I was willing to play.
So far all I’m willing to do is tolerate his presence.
He’s attractive, takes care of himself very well for a man pushing forty.
He knows how to wear a suit despite his profession and there’s something both gentle and feral about him that intrigues me in ways not many can.
“How long have you known I come here?” He asks, allowing his eyes to follow the lines of my curves.
“Always.” I turn back to the bar. “And I know exactly what you get up to, Gray. Stupid name by the way.” He’s anything but dull with his bright green eyes and fuchsia tie.
For a moment I think I’ve offended him. Except he doesn’t leave. He leans an elbow on the bar next to me, “And what name do you go by here?”
I take my time to look over his suit and fix his tie clip before answering, “Mine.”
“Really?” He scoffs. “You go by your actual name?”
“I do.”
“And what, pray tell,” I raise a brow. “Gives you the right to bend the club’s rules, which clearly state mandatory anonymity.”