Meanwhile, Carson’s still grinding his teeth murderously as he grabs his phone from his pocket and stabs out a message.
Gabby’s phone dings from within her clutch. I frown as I watch her pull it out, glance at it, then slip it back in with a scowl.
“Let’s go meet some new people.”
My brows knit. “Who was that?”
She shrugs, looking away. “Just my brother checking in on me like an overprotective psycho. C’mon!” Her eyes dart past me for a fraction of a second before she grabs my arm. “Let’s go dance and meet some guys,” she says loudly.
I let her pull me away from the bar. We’ve got a wholecrowdof men hovering around us within minutes of hitting the dance floor. Despite the dress and the new “non-virgin” status, though, I’m not ever, in any situation, “the sexy one”. I’m too awkward to flirt. Too shy. Too naive. It’s also blatantly obvious that all the guys only have eyes for Gabby.
I lean into her ear to ask if she wants to go get more drinks. She says I should go ahead, but that she wants to stay and dance.
I’m halfway back to the bar for a second drink I one hundred percent donotneed when something across the room catches my eye.
Someone.
Someone with piercing, icy blue eyes that stab across the entire party from the front door he’s just walked through.
Instantly, it’s as if the whole party goes on mute. Like everyone pauses around me. His eyes narrow on me, and I can see the “what are you doing here” in his gaze clear as day. His jaw grinds, and when he tilts his head slightly and lets his eyes slice into me, I find myself backing up a step, trembling.
“You must be the new plaything.”
I turn to see a pretty woman around my age with dark hair, sitting primly in a wheelchair, looking up at me.
“I’d make a big show of being embarrassed that I can’t remember your name…” The brunette says in a lyrical French accent as she smiles coldly at me. “But I’m not.”
Okaaaay.
I’ve never been the confrontational type. But Ididgrow up with the queen of slaying petty bullshit herself, Milena, so I can spot it a mile away.
Butjeez.What’s this girl’s problem?
“Evelina,” I smile politely, holding my hand out. “Or just plain Evie.”
She ignores the hand. “Plain is certainly a word.”
Okay, what thehell?
I keep smiling as charmingly as I can. “I don’t think we’ve met?”
“We haven’t.”
The girl picks up her phone and ignores me as she types out a quick text. The phone's in an elegant, lux-looking case. But it’s also got the “Hot Wheels” toy car logo engraved into the back, below a silhouette image of a wheelchair.
I laugh. “Love the phone case.”
“Yeah, I got it specifically to amuse girls I don’t know,” she drones. “Mission accomplished.”
My brow furrows. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”
Her lips twist as she puts the phone back in her lap and looks up at me. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stand while you're talking to someone in a wheelchair? You’re supposed to be at my level. Way to lord your ableist privilege over me.”
I blink quickly. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” I smile at her as I awkwardly squat down next to her, trying to make sure my scandalously short dress doesn’t ride up over my butt.
She eyes me coolly. “I’m Sabine.”
I smile. “And you’re with the Syndicate?”
