And yet here she is innocently worrying about me.
“The bottle, sir,” Jeeves says as he reappears, setting a fresh silver platter on the little table beside me before taking a step back. “Please,” he bows between June and I. “Enjoy yourselves.”
And that’s all it takes to pull me back to reality.
“I’m fine,” I insist as the butler leaves, but my human is still frowning across the table at me with those innocent, concerned eyes.
“You look like you’re really feeling the alcohol,” she says, and her worry is strangely delicious.
Yes! Worry about me, human. Give it to me! Give me all your attention!
I want it all. Every drop.
But I also don’t want her thinking I can’t hold my liquor.
“This?” I ask, holding up my empty glass before pouring myself another. I take a long, slow sip. Savoring it. Savoring it like I’d savor her blood. And the feeling of her body wrapped around mine. “Nah. This is nothing. I can drink anyone under the table.”
“Wanna bet?”
It’s Blondie.
He’s back, and he slings an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.
I push suddenly up from the table as every molecule of my body sparks with rage.
He’s taken his stupid rich boy polo shirt off, no doubt slung over one of the ritzy pool chairs, and the side of his bare chest is pressed up against June’s nearly-equally-bare torso.
And I’m aware that the entire party has gone quiet, watching with bated breath to see what’s gonna happen. They’re waiting for a show.
Fine.
They want a show?
I’ll give them a show.
I stand slowly up from my barstool, stripping my own damn shirt off. I’m ripped and I know it.
I didn’t spend all those years trapped in the void doing nothing, after all.
The blond guy’s tall, but he’s still a few inches shorter than me, and I glare down at him.
“Remove your arm from her shoulders,” I say slowly, emphasizing every word. “Before I remove it for you.”
For a beat, the entire pool goes completely silent. Even the music playing through the speakers seems to quiet.
Good.
Maybe this way he’ll take my threat seriously.
Because I may just be a fake bodyguard, but the business I mean is real.
Only, Blondie just laughs.
“How about this,” he suggests lazily, with that infuriating I-own-the-place smirk while he still has his arm aroundmyhuman. “Let’s have a little contest. If I can out-drink you, I get to ask your client out. And you have to promise not to interfere.”
Client.
Maybe this bodyguard thing has gone too far.
