“The same reason you are concealing your identity. This is a neutral place. Your money doesn’t mean anything here.” She smirks.
I frown and open my mouth to respond, but she just turns away. The scruffy bartender comes over and she leans close to his ear, ordering drinks. He plops two beers on the counter and she pays for them.
She turns to me, plastic cups in each hand. “Here.”
She hands me my beer and then heads away from the bar, elbowing her way through the crowd as she moves toward the main room. I take a sip of my beer and find it stale but cold. Shaking my head, I follow her as she weaves through the young, hip crowd. There are actually several people in this room with unnatural hair colors, but she’s the only one with her unique frothy pink color.
Against her pale skin and dark little dress, it really pops.
When she finds a place that calls to her, she turns with a grin. She takes a long swig from her red solo cup, throwing up her free hand and swaying along to the insistent beat.
I take a long pull of my beer and shuffle my feet around, hoping she doesn’t realize how much I feel like a fish out of water just now. She grins and grabs a fistful of my hooded sweatshirt, pulling me toward her.
I slide my free hand around the small of her back, touching my hips to hers. She bites her lip and sways against me, her eyes meeting mine. I see a teasing sort of amusement reflected there.
The song changes tempos, slowing down just a bit. I give her a smirk and lean down close to her ear.
“You are playing with fire,” I tell her.
“Who, me?” she says, sliding her arms around my neck. “I don’t know what you mean. Usually I’m socautious.”
I shake my head a little, smiling down at her. “You are dangerous.”
All the while our bodies move together, almost grinding against each other, but not quite. Her small hips fit neatly against mine; my big hands splay out over her lower back. Our bellies press together but I’m hardly aware of that.
No, I’m sucked into her dark blue eyes, full of mischief and daring. We dance like that for another half a minute, then the DJ changes out music again, something faster this time.
Margot puts some space between us and rocks out, her hands going up, her movements rhythmic. Her eyes are closed, her pink hair glowing under the low light, the neckline of her dress dipping low to show off a scant quarter inch of her bright pink bra.
After another few songs, I’m staring at her like I’m a man dying of thirst and she’s the only refreshing sip of water left in my canteen. I’ll admit it; I’m starting to be obsessed with the way that she shakes her hips, the way that her chest rises when she breathes, the plump bow of her lips in relation to her heart shaped face. She slows down, jerking her head to the bar.
“I need another beer. Wanna come with?”
My lips lift. “Sure.”
When she turns and walks away, I follow. I’m staring at her perfect ass and amazing legs as long as I can before it disappears behind other people who cross between us. Margot glances back at me, giving me a knowing smile.
Goddamn.
I find myself walking a little faster to catch up with her. She queues up, trying to pull out her wallet again. I make a face at her.
“Put your fucking wallet away,” I grit out.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m just trying to be egalitarian about getting us beers.”
I lean in close, pushing the hood of my sweatshirt down off my head. “I’m the fucking crown prince of Denmark. The idea of you trying to get even with me by buying me beers is laughable.”
Margot shrugs, rolling her eyes, but there is still a trace of a smile on her lips. “Whatever makes you happy, your highness.”
A blonde girl in front of us overhears a little of our conversation. Turning her head, she checks out Margot, who absolutely looks like she belongs here in this club. When the blonde looks at me, her eyebrows go up. She does a double take, squinting, trying to place me.
Shit.
I turn away, raising my hood. The last thing I need tonight is getting spotted here, and with Margot to boot. Luckily, a few seconds later the bartender comes and asks for our orders. After we grab more beers, we head to an ill-lit corner away from the blaringly loud music.
There aren’t any tables here as such. It’s just a single long red leather booth that contours to the walls, worn and torn and covered in graffiti. Margot plops herself down on the seat beside a few young guys that look at her with wide eyes.
They probably think that their dream girl just came over to make their whole lives a little better. Shooting them a quelling glare, I find a seat beside her and stretch out my long legs.
