Serves Me Wright (Wright #9) - K.A. Linde Page 0,25
the merrier,” a guy said, tugging on Chester’s collar and dragging him toward the bar to choose a drink.
“What am I seeing?” I whispered to Julian.
He laughed. “A bar.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“A fancy bar, but that’s all,” he added.
“Do you think they clean this place?”
He snorted and covered his mouth as he walked us around the room to look at the drink menu. “I’m sure it’s been scrubbed clean.”
“I’m glad there aren’t black lights.”
He stopped and turned to face me. “What? Prudish?”
“In public? Yes!”
“This is mostly private,” he offered.
I shook my head and then checked out the drink list. There were amazingly bubbly and elaborate concoctions that I’d never heard of before. Most of the ingredients didn’t even look familiar.
I shrugged. “Just pick one out for me.”
Julian nodded and wrote down our orders, stuffing the slip of paper into a slot that must have taken it back to the bar. Only a matter of minutes later, our drinks were rolled in on a gold trolley by a man in the shortest shorts I’d ever seen and nothing else.
I blinked and tried not to stare. Everything about him was exposed. Though not much more than Chester’s friends lounging in the sunken tub with soaked boxers or thin lace panties and bras, revealing practically everything underneath.
I thankfully took my drink and downed most of it in one long gulp. I needed to be drunker for this.
“Whoa there,” Julian said with a laugh.
“It’s delicious. I’ll take another.”
He shrugged. “Okay, but do you normally drink this much?”
“She doesn’t normally drink. Isn’t that right, sis?” Chester asked, appearing at our sides. His shirt had been removed, and he was surprisingly built with long, lean muscles. The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been the scrawny chess player I had known.
“I drink,” I countered. “Just…not a lot.”
“What do you think of the Lounge?”
“It’s…different.”
Chester snorted. “In the best way.”
“Do you come here a lot?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. We’re celebrating.”
“Where’s Margaret?”
His face soured at the mention of his girlfriend. “Not here.”
“Are you all right?”
“Peachy,” Chester said with a sigh.
I opened my mouth to ask more, but Julian touched my elbow. I was pushing Chester’s buttons the way he pushed mine. But I should let it go for now. It clearly wasn’t helping anything.
“Is that a number seven?” Chester asked, looking at the yellow drink in my hand.
“Yes,” Julian said. He held his drink up. “And a number five.”
“Good choices. Try a number twelve,” he said, his smile returning. “It’ll loosen you right up.”
“Chester, get in here!” the same guy who had pulled him into the room called. He was sitting in the tub in nothing at all.
My cheeks heated, and I quickly averted my gaze. I guzzled the rest of my drink. Yep. More alcohol.
I dropped the drink down. “I’ll take a twelve.”
Julian looked at the menu and frowned. “There’s eight shots in that. You’ll die.”
“Oh, wow. Eight?”
“Why don’t we go somewhere else?”
“What? Why?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“You’re not comfortable here. I’m starting to think Chess brought you here, knowing you’d be uncomfortable.”
I met his dark gaze. “You don’t seem uncomfortable.”
Julian smiled, the look he gave me was licentious and inviting. “I can’t say that I mind being here with you, Jen.”
“Oh?” I whispered as the drink I’d finished buzzed around in my brain, slowing my response time.
“Can you honestly say you don’t feel it?”
“Feel what?”
He sighed. “Anything.”
I blinked at him. What was he asking? Whether or not I felt something for him? Wasn’t it the most obvious thing in the world? Could I be any more obvious about my feelings for Julian Wright? I didn’t think anyone in all of Lubbock was unaware that I’d been into him since the day I’d met him. That couldn’t be what he was asking.
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head, disappointment clouding his handsome features. “Nothing. Do you still want the twelve?”
“Share it with me?”
“All right.”
He wrote it down on another slip of paper, and our drinks appeared again. He’d gotten me the twelve, as promised. Another number five sat on the tray for him as well.
That last drink must have been stronger than I’d thought because, suddenly, everything felt very warm. Very heady. My legs wobbled, and I could feel every one of my fingers, like little pins were pricking them. I blinked slowly and picked up the twelve.
When was the last time I’d been this drunk? I had no idea. I wasn’t really supposed to drink on my anxiety medication. They interacted in some way, so