She was gone then, and I downed the first one in about one minute, picking up the second as Mattie found me.
“Dude! You’re drinking death by sunrise. They make the flaming illusions look like soda. I’m super proud of you.”
I snorted, the alcohol already going to my head. “I always wanted a friend who was a bad influence. I’m so glad it’s you.”
Mattie laughed, throwing her arms around me. “I just overheard Zach, the fucking man-whore asshole pig-face, arguing with my bouncers over why he wasn’t allowed in. I’m pretty glad I stuck him on the blacklist. He’ll probably slink off to Drake’s party and bang any chick who will have him, but whatever.” She shrugged like she didn’t care, even though she clearly did. “All in all, Violet Rose Spencer, I think my lingerie party this year is going well.”
“You do this every year…”
My words trailed off as a familiar guy stepped into view. His dark hair was tousled, leading down to that perfect face, broad shoulders, and a pair of tight white boxer shorts that did fucking nothing to hide what he was packing below.
“Jordy,” Mattie shouted, having followed my slack-jawed stare.
Jesus. I was not going to survive. Not with my vagina or dignity intact.
I downed the second cocktail, all the while knowing that was a very bad move. Fuck it. This was my night. One fucking night to escape my shitty reality.
Like it wanted to prove my point, the palm reader lit up on my wrist, and I saw Alex’s name flash across the screen.
Not tonight, asshole.
Heat settled into my veins, the buzz sending me toward the crown prince waiting on the dance floor. He stood there, eyes locked on me, heat in those cognac irises as they traced over my body.
“Wanna dance?” I said as soon as we were close enough to hear over the music. He took my hand, eyes never leaving me as he led me to the dance floor.
The music had a slow, heady beat, and as Jordan laid his hand on my back beneath the silk shawl I wore, tingles chased across my skin. We moved together, and I let every thought leave my head, choosing to focus on the delicious prince under my hands.
Literally.
I traced across the broad planes of his muscled body… Boy was fucking perfection, only superseded slightly by his prickish best friend.
Speaking of…
Heat pressed into my spine, and since Jordan didn’t throw any punches—and I recognized the scent anyway—I knew it was Rafe. They danced with me between them, and when I couldn’t take it any longer, I spun to the Swiss prince.
My breath caught, and all I could think of was fucking him again. “Cinderella,” Rafe rasped, his gaze on the lace panels of my underwear. I’d lost the shawl thing, so he had the full display.
He wasn't in underwear, but he was shirtless, muscles and tatts eyefucking me. All he wore was a pair of black pants, fitted to his body, while the rest was there for my greedy gaze to devour.
He leaned in even closer, breath brushing over my bare skin. “What the fuck are you doing, Violence?”
There was no desire in his voice. It was harsh and abrasive, and this time when goosebumps rose over my skin, some of my fucking senses returned to me.
What the fuck was I doing?
What the fuck?
This was not me. I didn’t parade around in my underwear like a desperate chick needing to attract a prince using lingerie and as much naked skin as I could.
My body went cold, despite the heat of the alcohol still pumping through me. I froze between them, my gaze locked on the ground as a new sense of frustrated anger rose up inside of me.
“I’m hiding,” I breathed, disgust coating my words. “Hiding from the reality of what I have to do.”
It was loud in here, but Rafe heard me. His eyes bit into me, intense, darkly mocking in the way that only he could do.
“What are you going to do about that?” he pressed.
Jordan moved closer behind me. I could feel every hard line of his body, but it wasn’t sexual. He exuded the same intensity that Rafe did.
