The bartender, who she went home with last weekend, zooms right over, but she loses his attention when Amy squeezes her way to the front.
I don’t know what she orders us, but when something yellow with ice is passed over, I accept.
The girls get through two and are ready to dance, so I retire my half-full cocktail on the countertop and move to join them, but as I step away from the bar, my eyes are pulled to the entrance, right as a familiar sight slips through.
Beretta and Arsen lead the group, and visible over the curve of their shoulders, Ransom.
He never gave his name, but Scott provided three the night they showed up, so that must be his. I guess I was a little too distracted to realize it when he was standing right in front of me.
Their arrival, however, isn’t the familiar I’m talking about.
It’s the girl they enter with, the Sammie chick from the other night, and she’s all smiles, with hair that walks a fine line between I was screwed in the back seat and I didn’t know we’d be in a convertible with the top down. I don’t know what they drive, so who knows the truth. She very well could have been fucked on fancy leather for all I know.
What I most definitely do know is Miss Sammie... is wearing the very dress the boys at her back slipped off of me not ten hours ago.
She leans against the countertop, and when she looks over, she pretends she’s just realized I was standing here. “Oh, hey, Jameson.”
“Sammie. Nice dress.”
A chortled, swallowed laugh sounds behind her, but I don’t look to them.
Sammie runs her hands down the sides of the gray mini. She looks over her shoulder at who, I don’t know or care, and a superior smile covers her glossy lips. “It was a gift.”
That drink I set down, I pick right back up, lifting it in cheers. “It was on sale.”
As I turn away, I mouth ‘what the fuck’ to myself, but I don’t have to question myself or them for long, because the girls are now joined by the guys on the dance floor and Scott is looking mighty fine tonight in his button-up and Balmains. Sure, he’s as pretentious as they come, but at least he’s far too into himself to ever want more from me. And he’s pretty to look at.
He slips right up without invitation, wrapping his arms around the waist of my navy dress, and pulls me in.
We dance for several songs, the crowd growing fuller around us, and partners beginning to blend. The moment Scott is distracted, facing another girl from the group, a hand slides around my abdomen from behind, and hauls me backward, spinning me away from my friends and walking me forward a few steps.
I attempt to look over my shoulder, but pause as, in the same second, Arsen appears before me.
He doesn’t speak, but pushes my hair over my shoulder, and the fingers along my stomach span out.
My core muscles clench in response, causing a small frown to slip over my forehead.
“So, it’s Jameson, huh?” Beretta’s low baritone fills my ear, his free hand landing on my upper ribs and pressing me into his body even more. “I like.”
My eyes flick around the room, but everyone’s so dazed, they’ve yet to notice us among the masses.
“Yeah?” I snap at Beretta, and Arsen swiftly brings himself closer, forcing me to take a deep breath. “Same way you ‘liked’ the dress?”
Beretta’s smile is evident in his words. “I never said I didn’t like it. I said it wasn’t the one for you, and it wasn’t.” His taunting chuckle fans over my neck, his grip teasingly tight. “It was the one for her.”
I tear away, slipping from between the two, only to spin on my heels and face them. “Classy. Now if you’re done with me, go find another toy to play with, maybe one who’s interested. I’m—”
I bump into someone, my head tilting up and to the side.
Wicked blue eyes slam into mine.
Ransom.
His large hands find my hips, and in one swift move, I’m spun and tugged into the firm lines of his chest. Yes, I can envision the hard cuts beneath his cotton dress shirt from the hasty graze.
“You’re what...” he mocks, an arrogant brow lifting as he slowly dips closer. “Otherwise... occupato?”
I swallow, lifting my chin and putting a foot of space between us.