or tell my orgasm is more fake than the watch he believes is a Rolex when it’s not.
My attention is so focused on the two taken brothers and the way they are with their women I don’t notice the younger one coming over to stand beside me until he speaks.
“Hey Melody.” Even his voice is attractive, in a way that’s unfair to other men everywhere, and when I turn to face him, he’s grinning down at me.
When did he get so tall?
I swear the last time I saw the youngest Winston he was the same height as me or maybe even shorter. Granted, I have been avoiding him for a few years, and obviously for good reason. It’s not smart for a girl to be infatuated with a boy who isn’t even legal. Pretty sure I’ve seen that Lifetime movie more than once.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Not being as tall as I am isn’t a bad thing… though it does make finding a guy I can be with and wear heels around difficult. I’m five-nine, and somehow most of the guys I meet are around that height too even though they swear they’re inches taller. I still haven’t figured out why all the six feet or taller guys gravitate towards the short girls. Is being with a girl who’s a foot shorter than you are really that much better? It explains why they also think they’re hung like a horse instead of a mouse.
My silence doesn’t go unnoticed. I don’t even realize I’ve ignored him until he asks, “You okay?”
Jeez. Staring at him like an idiot isn’t making a very good impression. Mentally shaking myself out of my idiotic thoughts, I smile up at him, hoping it looks more genuine than it feels. Smiling about anything these days is hard, which is why I’ve had more than my share of alcohol tonight. I’m looking for anything that will numb the pain, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
“Hey Remy. I’m good, just really buzzed.” Maybe if I play like I’m drunk he’ll buy the excuse.
Laughing, he takes the almost empty cup from my hand and sniffs. When his eyes meet mine, the amusement in them is clear. “There’s barely any alcohol in this. It smells like straight cranberry juice.”
“There is definitely vodka in there.” At least, there better be. I’ve been paying cranberry and vodka, so the bartender better not have been cranberry-ing it down. Is cranberry-ing even a word? Eh, who cares?
Remy looks skeptical. “Maybe there was when you first started drinking them, but there’s not much in it now.”
I angrily jerk the cup out of his hands and down the small amount of liquid left. Now that he’s pointed it out, I realize he’s right. I can’t taste much besides cranberry juice at all. Maybe there’s a splash of vodka, but it’s more like a drop. Spinning around in my seat, I glare hard at the bartender who’s been slowly but surely weakening my drinks, tipping slightly to the side and having to reach out for something I can grab to steady myself.
And, of course, what do I grab? Remy’s arm... his very, very firm arm, which tells me he spends a lot of time in the gym. Squeezing gently, I bite down hard on my lip in a poor attempt to keep from moaning out loud. I don’t know what it is about a guy having muscular forearms, but it does it for me in a major way.
A guy with rolled-up shirt sleeves, the veins on his arms standing out when he flexes? Yum and yes, please.
His laugh has me spinning back around. He’s not even attempting to hide his laughter, and at my questioning look, says, “I don’t know what it is either, but I’m damn sure not going to complain.”
Holy. Shit. I did not just say that out loud, did I? Bad Mel! Subconsciously, I’m slapping myself. I swear, I have no filter when it comes to this man, which is a horrible thing for someone who’s as attracted to him as I am.
Trying to ignore the bolts of lust coursing through my body, I turn and head for the bar, gesturing to the bartender with my empty glass when he walks past, though now that Remy’s standing here beside me, he doesn’t seem very interested in getting me a fresh, less watered-down drink.
“Don’t tell me you’re ordering another one. Haven’t you had enough?” The amusement in his voice is gone, and the