want anything?” I asked him. He shook his head, never removing his eyes from the crowd. The bartender nodded, taking my card and quickly returned with my drink. I sipped from the glass, relishing the burn alcohol always brought. Instantly feeling warm, I remembered I hadn’t eaten today. I might regret this later. Oh well.
“Why so glum all the time, Grumpy?” I asked, leaning closer to Dean. By the death glare he was giving me, I knew I wasn’t going to get an answer. I smirked. I’d break through his surly exterior eventually. I was patient. Crossing my legs, I turned my stool to watch the crowd with him.
Three refills later, I was sporting a good buzz. A couple of cute guys tried to approach me, but with one mean look from Dean, they spun on their heels and moved on. My head fell back laughing the second time it happened.
“You are the definition of a cock block,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye.
Dean eyed me soberly.
I shrugged. “Works for me. The last thing I want is to be bothered by men. Especially since the ones already in my life like to hurt me.” I winced, realizing everything I'd just spewed. Thankfully, he made no comment.
The music was amazing. Dean refused to dance with me. He also refused to let me go out onto the dance floor. Too many risks. His words, not mine. Therefore, I decided to go easy on him and dance in front of him by the railing that protected people from falling onto the dance floor a few steps down from the bar. I had a great view of the stage and the band, who performed a mixture of covers and a few originals. The crowd ate it up by singing along and dancing to the beat. I closed my eyes, letting my body move to the music. All the tension from today seemed to fall away with each sway of my hips. I danced until the current band ended their performance and they began to set up for the next group.
“They were great, weren’t they?” a man standing next to me asked.
Feeling like the question was directed to me, I glanced to my right and found a gorgeous man staring down at me. He towered over me by a foot or maybe even a foot and a half. I wasn’t short either at five feet six inches. He had the most striking bluish-gray eyes I’d ever seen and dark brown hair that made them pop.
Even in my buzzed haze, I took in everything about him from what he was wearing to any possible branding. I'd been raised to be cautious after all. He was wearing a skintight black V-neck tee tucked into black slacks and dress shoes. I could tell right away his shoes were designer and with the expensive watch on his left wrist, I became suspicious. I caught what looked like an eight-pointed star peeking out from under his shirt collar. Last time I checked, Stefan had an alliance with the Russian mafia.
“Yes, they were amazing.” Then I switched from speaking in English to Russian. “But that’s not what you really wanted to ask me, is it?”
His eyes widened for only a second before he quickly hid his surprise.
Along with guns and self-defense, I had also been tutored in French, Italian, Spanish, and Russian. I switched back to English and sighed, “Listen, I’ve had a shit day and all I want to do is have a good time tonight and forget about my shit day. So if you’re here to bring me more shit, then I’m going to tell you to eat shit. Also, I’m too buzzed to have any serious conversations at the moment. Tonight, I’m just Maura. I’m checked out.”
My rambling made his eyebrows rise before a slow smile pulled at his lips. “Why was your day shit?” he asked.
I wagged my finger at him. “I’m here to forget, remember? Ask me something better. Like what my favorite color is.”
His smile grew. “What’s your favorite color?”
I smiled. “I don’t know. You weren’t really supposed to ask me that. You’re terrible at this,” I teased.
Amused, he chuckled.
“Do you know if the next band is any good?” I asked, taking charge of the conversation.
“I only book good bands,” he stated with a cocky glint in his eye.
“Smooth. Owner or manager?”
“Owner,” he said proudly.
“So tell me, Mr. Owner, how’d you know who I am?”
He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “I