that at one point it had been.
On his hand closest to the tip of the cigar was a gold ring, not on his ring finger, but his middle.
It had a circle and some swirls on it, and I wanted to walk over to get a closer look at it.
Though, I wasn’t sure if it was the man’s ring that I wanted to look at, or the man himself.
He was deliciously tall, very well built, and looked as if he’d be just as exciting as getting a root canal.
His eyes turned to the man that was in front of me. The one saying ‘it wasn’t me, it was him.’
When the older man turned and dismissed me completely, I returned my gaze to the man in front of me.
“What’s your name again?” I asked.
“Uhh.” He paused. “Brighton.”
“Well, Brighton,” I said. “I think you need to lay off the alcohol for the evening. You’re drunk and you’re talking to a woman that’s never met you before in her life.”
“I’m not drunk,” Brighton said. “This isn’t funny, either. Jesus, Linda.”
I was already rolling my eyes.
“Listen, Linda,” I said as I polished off my beer. Yes, I said beer. If I was going to be somewhere I didn’t want to be, I was going to drink. “My name isn’t Linda. It’s Six. I’d appreciate it if you left me alone, k?”
Brighton’s eyes narrowed, and his cheeks went red.
“You don’t have to act like this, Linda,” he continued.
I was already walking away when he said that.
“Linda, don’t walk away from me when we’re talking!” Brighton growled, grabbing me by the hand and tugging.
Training took over—I didn’t tolerate stupidity easily and was trained in mixed martial arts—and I twisted my wrist out of Brighton’s hand. Seconds later, I had his thumb in a lock and his arm behind his back.
Twisting it viciously, I said, “Keep your hands to yourself. Especially when it comes to me.”
“Brighton, dude,” some random man said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to break up with Linda, but she assaulted me and won’t take no for an answer,” Brighton growled.
I snorted. “Yes, you’re trying to break up with Linda. I’m not Linda, you moron. Like I said earlier, my name is Six. I don’t even know a Linda.”
Brighton sneered at me.
The new man walked over and said, “I thought you were kidding when you said Linda was here.”
This other man looked at me like I was Linda, too.
Jesus Christ.
Pushing the man away from me so he wouldn’t get another chance at a grab, I stalked off, hoping that I got far enough away from him before he tried for a third round.
Luck was on my side as I wound myself through the crowd.
I was out of beer, and I needed another if I was going to deal with staying here.
I most certainly didn’t want to be here, though.
I had quite a few other things that I’d rather be doing at this moment in time. Like watching The Witcher for the fourth time. Or alphabetizing my spice cabinet. Folding the laundry in the dryer that’d been there for going on four days. Scrubbing my baseboards clean. Hell, I could even go for pulling the mats out of my outside cat’s fur.
What I did not want to be doing was attending the mayor of Kilgore’s inauguration.
However, despite what I wanted, I didn’t have a choice. It was either be here, or never hear the end of it from my father. And sometimes, just keeping him happy and out of my life, for the most part, was easier than the alternative—him actually paying attention to me.
But, saying that, just because I was here didn’t mean that I didn’t want to mess with him while also being me.
If my father was going to force me to be here, then I’d be here. He didn’t get to choose what I wore, though. Or who I spoke with.
Which was why I wore a corset dress with a deep purple bustier underneath it that was on the shorter side in front, reaching above my knees, and on the longer side in back.
I was wearing four-inch sky-high black heels that were also the same shade of purple at the bottom.
I had on heavy makeup with the same glittery shade of purple eyeshadow, deep purple lipstick to match, and my purple contacts.
I wore the contacts because it pissed my father off.
He liked it when I wore normal colors, so I made sure to put on stuff that would drive him insane.
At least I was wearing the normal eyes today. The last dinner party he forced me to come to I wore the cat-eyed pupil contacts, causing him to turn red in the face and ask me to leave.
But with this dinner party being on the heels of the last one, I decided to be nice and not make his blood pressure rise twice in one week.
At least not too much.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen.” I heard over the loudspeakers. “It’s time to get this party started.”
I rolled my eyes and moved toward the table I knew Dad had gotten for us.
But on the way, I did stop for another beer.
Actually, I got two.
Double-fisting them, I walked to my table, took a seat where my name ‘Six Broussard’ was on my spot, and plopped down.
Then I started to drink.
I was so focused on my task of drinking, too, that I didn’t notice when someone sat at the table with me until a low, deep chuckle had me glancing up.
When I saw the David Gandy looking older gentleman, this time with his whiskey about halfway gone, laughing across the table from me, I took notice.
The man truly was hot.
Too bad he looked too uptight. Too stuck up. Too like my father.
Speaking of my father, he finally took a seat next to me and growled.
“What?” I snapped.
“Do you have to embarrass me?” he asked. “Two beers, Six? Really?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s wrong with beer?”
“There’s nothing wrong with beer,” he grumbled under his breath so nobody would see. “If you allow them to serve it to you, one at a time, in a glass. You, on the other hand, are drinking it like an uncouth child straight out of the bottle.”
I took a sip from my bottle. “It tastes better in the bottle.”
At least, it did to me.
“It tastes no different and you know it,” he countered.
I ignored him as the dinner courses started to be served.
I ignored the plate of what-the-fuck-ever and instead pulled a bag of Classic Lay’s out of my purse.
My dad stiffened beside me when I ripped open the bag, but otherwise didn’t say anything as I happily ate my chips and stared around the room with curiosity.
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