The drink puts a stop to all that when a bubble of laughter explodes from my mouth and I almost choke on my tongue.
“My love,” Megan sing-songs loudly as she boundsthrough the crowd to join us. Practically jumping on Mateo’s back before he can turn and catch her. I’m grateful for the interruption as I neck the rest of my drink to soothe my dry throat.
“I smell my drink, but I do not see my drink.” She guffaws playfully between planting nipping kisses to his neck.
“Ebs and I are currently wearing your drink, babe.”
Her gaze heats as she hauls herself up his back and glances over his shoulder at the wet fabric moulded to his sculpted muscles. I look anywhere else, as their PDA, while adorably cute, threatens to suffocate me.
‘No family and no boyfriend – sucks to be you right now.’
“I bet we could find you a spare t-shirt upstairs,” Megan coos as she hugs her arms around him a little tighter. They give me the‘will you survive on your own’tilted head stare that I think was created from the dawn of time for every third wheel to ever exist in a relationship. I wave them off like a parent ready to day drink and chuckle to myself when Megan squeals excitedly, jostling around on Mateo’s back as he takes the stairs two at a time, likely to remove clothes, rather than find new ones.
“Head in the game; operation big dick is a go,” I say a little louder than intended and hurry out of the kitchen as those closest to me question my sanity level with confused expressions twisting their features.
If ever there was a time to keep my conversations relegated to that annoying little voice in my head, it’s now. The last thing I need is the rumour mill churning out variations of how mentally unstable I am; we can let them find that out for themselves in due course.
Chandler Leighton’s“When you say my name” pounds from the speakers as I shuffle between writhing bodies, my hands held high so I don’t accidentally accost anyone or spill what remains of my drink. I finally see an opening that leads out from the main area to a dimly lit hallway. Pushing through, I finally have the space to breathe without rubbing my breasts against some drunk guy’s back. Filling my lungs with air from the open patio doors, the scent of sweat, hormones, and bad decisions fading away as the tang of bleach from the outside pool hits me. I search out the bathroom and join the queue to wait my turn. The cloying sweetness of the strawberry liquor on my skin has started to dry, the tips of my hair hardened with the syrupy drink. Waiting patiently, my bladder fit to burst, I finally get to the head of the line with only one more person in front of me. My heart stammers in my chest, every even breath now ragged. I didn’t recognise the guy in the cowboy hat with one foot resting against the doorframe of the room across from me, his face in silhouette as he sips amber liquid from a glass. My lips part with a breathy exhale as I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the dusting of hair along his strong jaw making me want to reach out and run my fingers through it. I can’t see his eyes as the wide brim of the hat covers them, but the lazy smile, broad shoulders, and the muscles pressing against the shirt material trying to contain them, have me mesmerised enough that I sway forward in his direction. The audible reaction to him is loud enough that the girl ahead of me turns to face me. I offer her a nervous smile, praying that the noise hadn’t reached anyone else. Prayer had never been my thing, and when I glance up throughmy lashes, I realise he’d heard me because his shadowed gaze is trained solely on me, his eyes almost black as he assesses me.
I look away fast, admiring the crown mouldings of the ornate sconces on the wall above me as I gingerly sip what’s left of my drink, spluttering like a fool when it goes down the wrong pipe. I think I hear someone chuckle darkly, likely at my expense, and I glance down at my feet.
I don’t dare look up, my fingers pulling at the frayed edges of the soaked napkin I’ve been using to clean my dress. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the tattoos on show as he pushes his folded sleeves further up his big tanned arms. I feel the intensity of his eyes still boring into me, and my body tenses. I refrain from fanning myself as the blush creeps across my chest.
Tall, dark, and dangerous with a side order of cowboy daddy—I certainly have a type.
Of the three relationships I’ve had that could even loosely be called serious, one of them being with mySpiderman-themed vibrator—a gag gift from Caroline last Christmas after catching me devouring one too many filthy books with masked male leads—none have managed to scratch the particular itch the Knox brothers left behind. And out of all the guys here tonight, he’s the first one who even comes close.
The girl I’ve been waiting on stumbles out of the bathroom, mumbling dramatically about her friend Lucy who eithershotorsuckeda guy named Paul. I don’t wait about to find out whether Paul is still alive as I barrel through the bathroom door and lock it behind me, leaning against it as I swallow down a full breath that burns my lungs.
“Smooth, Ebs. That was acting cool?” I berate my reflection. I can feel the embarrassment of what has just happened in the tingle of my skin, my cheeks flushed, and the desire to hole up in here for the rest of the party strong. Even in this whirl of madness, where I contemplate all the ways I have narrowly missed social suicide at every turn since I arrived, a reckless part of me—the part that still hopes that life can be kind—that part is thrilled at the idea that maybe, just maybe, the cowboy in the hallway saw something he liked in me. I have no idea who he is or where he’s come from, and yet, I feel drawn to him. Right now, he’s the only reason I’m not sizing up the small window, scaling the wall and trying to escape. Suddenly, heading back to my room and playing a round withPeter Poke-herdoesn’t have the same appeal as it did half an hour ago.
Doing what I can with the warm soapy water to clean my skin, I drain the sink and grip the edge until my knuckles are white as I stare at my reflection.
“You can do this. Talking to a guy isn’t as hard as you’re making it out.” I chuckle awkwardly as I curl my hair around my fingers and swipe at the moisture under my eyes.Tidying up my makeup where it’s needed.
‘Talking? I thought we were getting dick. Hot, cowboy, six-foot-three, muscled man candy that has a big dick and likely knows what to do with it,’the voice in my head demands crassly as my core throbs at the idea of getting pressed against any surface by the mysterious stranger in the hall.
I don’t retaliate but instead take one last look at myself in the mirror and turn to open the door slowly before I can chicken out. With his back to me, I catch sight ofsomething that has me pushing the door closed enough that I can’t be seen. The slither of light from behind me makes her expensive shoes sparkle, her salacious grin wide as she fiddles with the collar of his shirt playfully. I bite back the jealously, my hand gripped around the handle, tightening to the point it’s painful.
“I’m not the hearts and flowers kind of guy. I’m not the one you take home to Daddy,” the cowboy gruffly retorts, a playfulness in his voice that makes my knees weak.
“Aww, but you could be,” she titters in response, her nails raking over his jaw. The urge to fly out there and snap them at the knuckle one by one has me worried. Territorial over someone I don’t know is a recipe for disaster; the last time I let feelings like that take hold, I was being hauled in and questioned over suspicions of the part I played in a murder. It was then that I realised I was better off left to rot in my loneliness.
So why do I feel this way now?
‘You saw him first—finders keepers,’my brain offers unhelpfully, even though the sentiment is the only thing settling my urge to maim Kaitlin right now.
“I bet you would scrub up quite nice. Ever been to the country club? My daddy is on the board,” she presses chipperly while still fucking touching him.
“I ain’t that guy, princess. Now a quick brutal fuck where I hold you down by your throat, cut off your air, and use every hole however I want—that’s more my speed,” he says, his voice rough and brooding as he delivers what I can only describe as the hottest damn sentence I’ve ever heard. The fact that he’s saying it to Kaitlin is something I choose to ignore. It’s the one and only moment I wouldgladly trade places with her, dropping to my knees in those overpriced heels, begging him to do whatever he wants with me.
My body aches with a need to be swathed in him, and that level of willingness to lose myself in someone I don’t know scares me to my core.
The disgust that washes over Kaitlin’s expression at his crudeness, her palm slapping against her chest in horror, has me watching intently for his reaction. The profile view of his cheeky grin has my pulse thumping in my ears as I rub my thighs together to soothe the dull ache that shoots down to my knees. With a pouty lip, Kaitlin shoulder-checks him as she passes in a huff, and the smile on his handsome face only widens as she goes. Pushing the door closed before he can see me snooping, I rest my forehead against the wood as I inhale a steadying breath to pull myself together. Or as pulled together as I can be after hearing those sinful words fall from his lips. I tug at my dress to tidy myself up, raking a hand through my messy curls to separate them before reaching over to open the door. Ready to do what I need to do to make my little fantasy a reality.
My stomach plummets when I see the hallway empty.
“Move it, sister,” a girl groans as she pushes by me and settles her intoxicated friend on her knees over the toilet behind me. I pull the door shut, the sound of her hurling up her guts still penetrating the wood as I weigh up my options.
