Stoking the Fire (Salus Security #1) - Teodora Kostova Page 0,7

hesitation.

Me: Sure.

The music thumps like a sledgehammer to my brain. It doesn’t help that I’ve already had a few cocktails and my vision is starting to get a little blurry. With a jerk of my chin I indicate to my friends that I’m going to the bar and make my way through the dance floor. Instead of streamlining it to the bar, however, I find a less crowded corner and take my phone out of my pocket. No text from Alec. I let him know I’ll be at Cameo, and I’ve added his name to the list if he wants to come, but that was two hours ago and he still hasn’t even seen the message.

My other notifications are multiplying by the second. Messages, tags, mentions, comments. I go through them, the words blurring on the screen into one big wave of negativity, the pictures I posted and got tagged in merging into a wall of faces, indecipherable from one another.

I scroll through the pictures, looking for imperfections, for any faults in my appearance, pose, or angle. For anything that would warrant some of the nasty comments underneath.

Selfish bitch.

Spoiled.

Privileged brat.

Slut.

Ugly.

I don’t even bother reading most of them or reporting any of them. It’s like playing whack-a-mole—report ten comments, and a hundred more pop up.

I need another drink.

The thought of more alcohol in my system to dull the intrusive, anxious thoughts is more and more appealing as I make my way to the bar.

I manage to find a spot between two people wide enough for me to squeeze in. I try to get one of the bartenders’ attention, but they seem busy mixing drinks and chatting with customers. Propping my elbows on the counter, I unlock my phone again and post another picture on Instagram. I choose it carefully, making sure I look good and my friends Reggie and Patrick are smiling happily at the camera.

“Hey, gorgeous.” A voice I’d recognize anywhere drawls in my ear. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I turn around, placing my forearms on the bar and leaning back against it, tilting my head up to look at Alec. He’s standing in front of me, beautiful as ever in his black t-shirt and blue jeans tucked in biker boots. His hair is falling freely over his forehead, still a little damp at the ends.

But what gets me is his smile—a seductively charming smile that makes my heart beat faster and my cock fill in my jeans.

“You better not,” I say. “My boyfriend won’t like it.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And he’s not a guy to mess with.” I lick my lips, my eyes widening innocently. “Very jealous, too.”

Alec takes a step forward and crowds me against the bar. My breath catches as he leans down, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me flush against him.

“Is that so,” he growls in my ear. I whimper, clutching at his arms. “Your boyfriend, huh?”

I stiffen, realizing too late that I’ve taken this roleplay too far. I didn’t even think of censoring myself; it just came out. But we haven’t talked about it. We haven’t discussed our relationship yet or even decided to be exclusive.

I haven’t been with anyone since meeting Alec. All other men seem insignificant next to him. But that doesn’t mean he feels the same.

“Is that okay?” I whisper.

He pulls back to look at my face, then grins. “It’s more than okay,” he whispers back, lips brushing mine. “It’s what I’ve wanted for a while now.”

When he kisses me, it’s slow and deep, as if he’s sealing our words. As if he’s claiming me in a way he never has before.

My damn phone chooses that moment to vibrate in my hand. I groan, and Alec releases me, arm still around my waist. I’m thankful for it. I need the extra support after that kiss.

He eyes the phone. “Why don’t you turn it off?”

“I was waiting to see if you’d text,” I lie.

“I’m here now. Let’s go have some fun.”

He eases the phone from my hand, glaring at it as he turns it off, and then stuffs it in my pocket.

I feel as if a weight lifted off my chest and I can breathe again.

My mood improves dramatically after that. The cocktails we get at the bar help with that, but mostly, it’s Alec. He’s looking at me as if I’m the only person in the club. I notice people staring at him, whispering, giving him appreciative looks. But he doesn’t seem to realize how irresistible he