Stop making me laugh so much, Steele.
He went on like this, turning my stilted laughter into knee-slapping, breath-catching laughter much too quickly. I had to stop. I had to.
Really. I swore it.
“Oh, shit, Steele,” I said. “I could listen to you break down a bar’s patrons all day.”
“Easy enough when you get a place like this.”
“I don’t know why Tara ever broke up with you.”
Oh, shit.
I did not mean to blurt that out.
I couldn’t even blame the alcohol. I’d had, at most, a quarter of my margarita. It had just…come out. Like I’d kept it inside without ever realizing it, and the moment the combination of laughter, attraction, and a drop of alcohol had mixed together, the inhibition had dropped just enough.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Steele said as he finished his drink. “Oh, look, I finished my beer, and it was terrible. You should finish yours, Elizabeth, so we can go someplace that has good alcohol.”
“You really don’t like this place, huh?” I said, still feeling a bit embarrassed at what I’d blurted out.
Steele shrugged.
“I’m a simple guy that knows what he wants and what he’s going to do in most spots,” he said. “And I would never come here. Too stuffy, too fake, too stupid.”
“Eh,” I said, but I made it a point to finish my margarita quickly. I didn’t chug it; I wasn’t that eager to please Steele, but it was a pretty steady flow down into my stomach.
“Good, let’s go,” Steele said, rising from his chair.
“Wait, where are we going?”
Based on Steele’s smirk, I already knew the answer.
“Why did I even ask?”
He came over to me, wrapped his hand around mine—nowthatsent a chill up my arm, making my hairs stand on their end—and escorted me out of the lounge, his hand never leaving me. It was like he was saying, “I am claiming you now, and you are going to do what I want to do.”
He still smelled like oil.
And for it all, I was still attracted as could be to him.
