That saying about loving watching someone walk away had to be written for Hayden Marin.
“Y’all help yourselves to the bar while I finish up here.”
Hoops and hollers filled the room as the guys rushed to the other side of the bar I sat at. A dark, sexy bass line filled the room, and exclamations of glee blended in when they discovered the stash of top-shelf liquor.
Moments later, Hayden sat a drink in front of me. “I hope it’s made right.”
I looked up at him with a smile. “Thank you. I’m sure it’s fine. It’s pretty hard to fuck up a Vodka Cranberry.”
I sent off the access cards to the guys and shut the laptop, returning it to the security closet. When I came back, Cameron was lining up shot glasses. My brow lifted when he flipped a tequila bottle like a pro and poured out fourteen shots, as if he did it every day.
“Someone’s tended bar.”
“Nah, just a misspent youth with money to burn and parents who didn’t give a fuck what I did or with who, as long as it didn’t reflect badly on them.”
I knew the type but held my tongue because while the family had more money than Midas and Uncle Matthew could make even the most unsuccessful venture turn a profit, we were all raised to work. I learned to muck stalls on the ranch before I was out of preschool and was working the roundup before middle school.
“Alright, boys, let’s get fucked up!” Priest yelled, holding up two shot glasses.
I laughed, following suit as did everyone else. When we all had our glasses, he said, “Up to it, down to it, fuck those who don’t do it. We do it ‘cuz we’re used to it. Drink up, motherfuckers!”
I tossed back both shots, flipping them over in front of me when I sat them down. Looking at Hayden, who looked back at me, heat turning his eyes even darker and sexier.
I was gonna regret this night.
13
HAYDEN
By the time we left the room, we were all half-wasted. None of us could walk a straight line. Not that we gave a damn. That had been the plan. It was always the game plan when we came to Vegas. We pre-partied in the room because drinks in the nightclubs were expensive as hell.
When we got to the lobby, Marcos approached Declan, whispering something in his ear. Declan shook his head, but Marcos waved a guy over. He had that sexy G-man look going for him: tall, austere, silent but deadly look. My eyes roamed down his frame. And he was packing. The bulk of a handgun made his suit coat hang funny.
“Mr. Holt, Damon will drive you wherever you need to go. The hotel insists.”
The hotel insists? What the hell? And why a bodyguard for a bodyguard?
“We’re fine, Marcos, but give me his number, and we’ll call if we need picked up or change our minds.”
Marcos relented.
“Dude, they treat you like a fucking king here.”
“The company provides their security force. I trained Marcos and most of the upper-level security staff. That’s all.”
Marcos and Damon side-eyed each other, and my Spidey senses went on red alert. I didn’t think that was all, but I had nothing other than my gut to go on. The problem was, although I trusted my gut, it had literally saved my skin and the lives of my fellow Marines more times than I could count; it led me astray with my bitch of a fiance, so I didn’t know if I could trust it with Declan. Did it not work for me romantically? Fuck my life. What the fuck was I thinking? We weren’t dating. This wasn’t some smooth dopey relationship shit. We were fucking. That was it.
I hated it when I got just drunk enough to be philosophical or get stuck in my head.
“I need a shot.”
Several of the guys agreed, and Marcos piped up, “Damon could drive you to a club, if that’s where you’re heading?”
“Is there booze in the car?”
Marcos nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I work for a living, and you’re not my sub. Don’t call me sir.”
