Kingsley
Imiss my bed.
Instead of being wrapped in my quality sheets like I planned, my arms are resting on the sticky, brown table, watching the bartender mix drinks like a clown juggles pins. The complete opposite of residing in my room all day.
It especially doesn’t help the situation that I am waiting on the bartender to hand me my screwdriver I ordered ten minutes ago. He’s too busy trying to impress the obviously uninterested women beside me with his mediocre bartender skills to remember my vodka and orange juice.
This is why I only go to my family’s club. It pisses me off when everyone recognizes me instantly, but hey, at least they aren’t pulling stunts like this.
If they let any more people in here, it’ll be a fire hazard. That’s another thing my family’s club would never do—pack people into the place like damn animals. The Beaumonts are too classy to let it get out of hand.
Braids that are brown with streaks of blonde collide with my face, and I’m two seconds from yelling when I realize whose hair smacked me.
“Casper,” my sister sings the bartender’s name, her eyelashes batting as she catches his attention. “Please give my brother his drink before he pops a vein; he needs it. While you’re at it, give me one of whatever he got.”
Casper’s mustache wiggles as he flashes my sister a flirtatious smile. He couldn’t even interest the lady beside me, with her red bob and pretentious mannerisms, so what the hell makes him think he has a shot with my sister?
While he gets to work on our drinks, Odette takes a seat on the barstool beside me.
“So when you ask, he has no problem. When I ask, I get ignored.” I shoot a vicious glare at the bartender.
“It’s because you don’t ask nicely,” she says simply.
Or it’s because I don’t have pretty makeup and tits.
Sweating, I roll up my jacket sleeves. “Are you ready to go yet?”
“Oh, come on, King,” her hands flail as she complains. “We just got here. You haven’t even had your first drink yet.”
“Because Casper hasn’t given me my drink,” I state dryly. “Meanwhile, you’re on your third.”
Odie purses her lips, letting out a breath, already sick of my whining. “I managed to get you out here tonight. Mind you, Ara didn’t think I could do it, so I’m already winning. Can you help me out more by, I dunno, enjoying yourself?”
Unfortunately for Odie, I have no desire to help her continue to prove our sister wrong. I learned a long time ago to stay out of their squabbles because it only ever ended in chaos. It’s like war; picking the wrong side could be fatal. I’m choosing life.
The bartender smirks as he slides two bright orange glasses my sister and I’s way. Odie blows a kiss toward him, and his alluring smile makes me believe he’s getting tingles in places that shouldn’t be tingling. Now I’m imagining ways I can get away with squeezing my hands around his neck.
Her bronze skin glows in the neon club lights as she sips her screwdriver. Wait, sips? I meant gulps. Before I can even grab my drink, she’s already finished half of it.
Having finished most of it, Odette sets the glass on the bar and hops off the chair. The short girl holds my hands tightly, as if that will convince me to change my mind. “Can you loosen up a little? Dance with me!”
I shake my head, aiming for a sympathetic look, but suspect it seems like I’m bored.
She pouts, eyes darting between the drink, me, and the dance floor. If she were only doing her usual pouty thing to get her way, I wouldn’t have even noticed. But instead, my sister’s eyes flash with the dejected, helpless glint all my family has with me lately.
Like I’m fucking hopeless.
I frown half-heartedly. “Go have fun, Odie.”
Her eyes nail me as her tongue flicks over her teeth, and she smacks her lips. “Alright, whatever. At least I got you out of the house, right?”
Her braids hit me one last time as she spins around and vanishes into the crowd.
I wasn’t trying to kill my sister’s mood, but she’s so persistent it’s hard not to. She means well, like everyone else, but I wish they’d all quit to avoid letting themselves down.
This R&B sound is blasting, but I don’t have the urge to dance or sing along like the rest of the crowd. My last good time at a club was my bachelor party with Mateo, Shawn, and Ryland, more than a year ago. Now I barely leave the house, let alone get sloppily drunk and high with those guys.
I’ve tried, believe me, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel much at all, actually.
I figured going tonight would get Odette off my back for at least a month. The best-case scenario is that tonight she’ll meet someone special who’ll take her mind off me.
“Two gin and tonics, thanks.” A distinctly British voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to put a face to the accent.
I follow his tattooed arms up, each one carefully and thoughtfully done until they vanish under his sleeve. His dirty-blonde mullet is all messed up, like he attempted to tame it but failed miserably. But honestly, the disheveled look works in his favor.
He’s sitting there all puffed up and smirking, like he thinks he’s the best-looking guy in the place. He flashes a toothy smile at the bartender.
As soon as our eyes connect, I shift my gaze. I have a goddamn staring problem, and it always gets me into unnecessary conversations.
“Rough night?” I don’t have to look up to know he’s speaking to me.
Always. “No. I’m just ready to go.”
He hums. “I’d be ready to leave, too, if I spent my time at the bar sipping on a drink by myself.”
I shrug my shoulders while swirling my straw in the drink.
My stomach’s doing that buzzy thing, so the drink is working, but I’m shocked because I usually need at least three to feel it.
But then again, I haven’t drunk in over a year, so I might not handle it well now.
Does it work like that? Or it could be that I ate too little before coming tonight?
The man’s gaze is piercing right through me. All the open seats at the bar, and he chooses to sit next to me. Fuck, this is what I get for coming out.
“I’m guessing you aren’t here by choice.” And he keeps talking.
“My sister begged me to.”
“Ah. I usually have to convince my brother to come out with me, but he was more willing to tonight.”
I nod, warming my hands on my glass while looking into it. Hoping that’s the end of our brief interaction, I sip the rest of my drink. How much longer will Odie be?
I’m na?ve for thinking he was done. “This is our first time in Louisiana. Seeing what the clubs are like is high on our bucket list.”
“Wow.” I hope that sounded enthusiastic.
“We’re from England,” he adds.
My eyes flicker to his, and suddenly I’m wondering why I hadn’t been looking at him before. His blue eyes are pretty as the ocean—or maybe that’s the way he was looking at me and the alcohol talking.
Blinking to stop staring, I say, “I can tell.”
His lips twitch into a grin. “How so?”
How couldn’t I tell? “Besides your accent? You ordered a gin and tonic.”
The guy leans forward, and the smell of body wash and cologne hits my nostrils. “What’s wrong with a gin and tonic?”
Only then do I see the tongue piercing in his tongue, and I can’t help the lingering of my gaze. “It’s really British.”
His pink lips open to protest, but he stops himself. “I can’t argue there.”
I sip at my drink again while the man’s fingers tap against the bar table rhythmically.
Seriously, why is he speaking to me now?
I mean, I don’t exactly scream “talk to me.” I know I was staring like a complete freak, but it’s been forever since anyone’s held my gaze for more than a second, and I couldn’t look away.
“You don’t talk much, yeah?”
I slide my empty cup forward. The bartender should get the hint. “I do when I need to.”
His head tilts, and I swear he’s slightly offended. “So now isn’t a time you need to?”
No way this is a random stranger who wants to strike up a conversation with me. He must know who I am. I’m not trying to hide, but I get recognized less out here, so I didn’t think he’d know who I am.
Shit. Is he with the media? I can see the headline now: “Kingsley Beaumont spotted at a club for the first time after the incident.”
My shoulders tense. I told Odette this was a bad idea, but she doesn’t fucking listen.
Casper slides him the drinks before I have time to respond. He then takes the lime from a drink, positions it between his lips, and sucks on it. And shit, I’m staring again.
He swings his legs off the barstool, drinks in hand. “Anyway, I’ve to find my brother. It was nice meeting you…”
“Kingsley,” I fill in the gap.
“Nice name. I’m Rip.”
Odd. “Cool name.”
Rip waves goodbye and disappears into the crowd.
I frown, unease stirring in the pit of my stomach. It’s a small part of me wishing our conversation, although meaningless, hadn’t ended. That, or it’s the drink catching up to the emptiness in my stomach. But at least his leaving means he probably wasn’t part of the media.
I’m unsure of how long I sit at the bar. It’s long enough for me to get the bartender to make me another drink, so a pretty long time. I wouldn’t call myself drunk, but the way the room lags means I’m not sober. Thank God for our driver waiting outside for us.
A hand slaps my shoulder. “Alright, Kingsley. We can leave. Once some guy made us make a circle so he could try to breakdance, I knew the night was over.”
Odie hooks her arm in mine, and we move through the crowded bar toward the door.
We’re almost out the door when someone dancing absentmindedly bumps into Odie, knocking her purse out of her hand. The guy immediately apologizes, and they both bend down to pick up her spilled items.
When I glance up, my eyes fall on a certain foreign man. Rip is leaning against a wall, arm resting above his head as he talks to a girl.
Or, I guess I should say, flirts. The shorter girl is giggling at his jokes as if he’s a comedian, her smile so big it reaches her ears. Maybe he has a way with words, or something.
Rip leans down to her ear and whispers something, and her face turns the brightest shade of red I’ve ever seen. I roll my eyes. Nothing’s that damn funny.
“King.” Odette nudges me, and I snatch my gaze away from Rip as if I were caught doing something I shouldn’t have. “What are you staring at?”
I grip my chest when something unfamiliar squeezes inside it. I need to get out of here.
“Nothing,” I reply.
She looks at me funny, but if she sees something’s up, she drops it. She links arms with me again, and we head to the door. “That guy asked for my number.”
I hum in place of a verbal reply.
“He said he’d apologize over coffee. It’s like he already knows me. I love coffee!”
Odie rambles about the cute guy and their spontaneously planned date, but I only half listen. I’m too focused on the tatted British man leaning against the wall away from the crowd, still making the woman before him laugh and blush.
I hold the door open for my sister when his eyes meet mine. The girl before him has her hand on his chest, and his arm is around her waist, but that’s not who he’s focused on.
He offers a sly grin, and I return a small wave.
Then he laughs, and I don’t know if it’s because of her or me.
I leave the club feeling better than when I came, but that all goes away once I make it back to Beaumont Grand.