"Get a shot for Cassidy!" Flick yells to the people at the bar cart. "But not a Slippery Nipple." She cracks herself up. "A tequila shot. Hell, make it a Flatliner!"
I jolt to a stop, my hand suddenly slipping from hers. My cheeks begin to smoulder.
Standing casually behind the outdoor bar table is Max Butcher and his gang. I will my feet to keep moving forward, but they don't. His level of hot is uncomfortable. That is the best way to describe him—hot to the point of physical discomfort. I study him quickly, and both love and hate the way his jeans are tight around his thick thighs and hips, the way the sleeves of his white V-neck shirt are bunched above his elbows 'cause, like, why have long sleeves if you're going to roll them up? Because the sleeves probably couldn't accommodate his thick, tattooed forearms, that's why. I don’t really know why, of course, but?—
"Cassidy?" Flick says.
I swallow hard as I look at her. "Sorry. I just remembered Toni." I do not sound convincing at all. "He needs a Flatline...er or whatever it was called. He'd probably have a Slippery Nipple, actually, if that's a real shot. I don't know. I'm just rambling now. But I should go get him."
Her brows raise, a smirk now plastered across her cheeks. She sees straight through me as she points to a guy sitting down at a table a few metres from where Max is standing. It's Toni.
Frick.
"Oh, cool," I say breathily.
Double frick.
She grabs my hand again. "Come on."
I'm pulled over to the group by the bar cart, but plonk down just short of them, seeking refuge with Toni.
He eyes me and smacks his lips. "You look so awkward right now."
"Stop it. Don't say anything, Toni." I stare out over the grass that is darkened by the night sky. The moon's big tonight—lots of big things here tonight...
Shut up, Cassidy!
Toni wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. "That boy is bad news. Bad. Bad. Sexy." He chuckles. "Sexy, bad news."
I think I like bad news.
He takes a sip of his cocktail and crosses his legs. "Personally, I'm more of a Xander Butcher fan myself. Oh my giddy aunt, he's just yummy. Classic boy next door look. Don’t you think?” He nods his head and grins. "And, well, Max scares the shit out of me. His biceps are bigger than my hopes and dreams for the future... And Jamie just told me that he bit some guy's finger off and swallowed it. I mean, I still think you should purr on his face, but maybe with witnesses, ya know?"
I turn to face him. "Come on, that rumour doesn’t evensound real. No more real than"—I drop my voice—"The Clay Butcher one. You know where he rips a guy's head open with his bare hands? Or the one where Bronson Butcher gets into a bar fight and slices a guy's neck open with a glass. Or the Xander Butcher one where he killed that cop with a taser. They have to be lies."
He shrugs. "Either way. Sexy, bad news. The lot of them."
I pretend to massage my neck from side to side so I can peer over at Max. He's standing with Xander, Stacey, and a few nameless faces. Beautiful girls hover around them, but the Butcher gang is more focused on laughing amongst themselves than paying their spectators any real attention.
Max's eyes are near black from this distance, narrowed and deep, with so much intensity—almost weighed down. A pretty, golden-haired girl circles his bicep with her hand. He flicks her his attention, only to say something that has her grimace and storm off. Her reaction makes him laugh, menacing and gravelly and sexy as hell.
"Cassidy," Flick says, stepping in front of me and handing me two shot glasses with a lemon wedge balanced on top of each. "This is a Flatliner. It's basically just tequila and Cointreau and lime, but with tabasco. See, the tabasco makes a little line in the tequila."
I blink at her. "You want me to have both?"
She grins. "Yep. It's liquid confidence."
After a quick glance at Max and the bicepsI'dlove to wrap my hand around, I nod. "Let's do this." I tip the shot glass into my mouth. The refreshingly cold liquid gives me a false sense of security before the heat rips through my throat. Swallowing it, I quickly drain the other.
When the heat in my chest slowly dies, I turn to my sister. "Tell me about Stacey."
Tell me about Max.
Flick looks over her shoulder at Stacey and smiles. "She's beautiful, hey?"
"She is," I agree. "Beautiful skin. She reminds me of Natalie Portman. So are you two serious? I kinda thought she was straight."
"So did she," Flick states smugly.
