It makes me feel old as hell.
I may also be just the tiniest bit jealous. But that’s crazy, right?
Right.
six
GRIFFIN
“To the futureMr. and Mrs. Graves,” I shout over the din of the club, drink raised.
“To Maddox and Isla,” our friends agree. The clink of glasses punctuates a night none of us will forget.
My best friend is engaged to the redheaded teacher who stole his heart.
I totally called it the first time I saw them together.
Mira pulls Isla in for yet another hug and squeals, “I can’t wait until we’re sisters!”
The women do a happy dance and start talking at hyper-speed about wedding dresses, venues, and what kind of cake is best. I’m thrilled for my friends. They deserve every happiness, and I’m so glad they found each other. I’m sure whatever wedding they plan will be beautiful. Though I still think my earlier suggestion of eloping—because we’re in Vegas and there are 24-hour chapels everywhere—was solid. They could be married right now. But hey, it’s their lives.
Our drinks are gone in record time, and we order a second round for the table. I’m feeling loose and happy, and I’m not the only one.
“Let’s get out on the floor and dance,” Mira shouts.
Her brother scowls. “Can’t we just relax with a drink for now, Mi-Mi?”
“Oh, come on,” she says, unperturbed. “Are you really going to sit here like a bump on a log, instead of getting out there and dancing with your future wife?”
Isla peers up at Maddox with a hopeful expression and bats her eyelashes at him a few times. And that’s all it takes.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But if anyone grinds against you, I’m kicking their ass.”
That earns a giggle from Isla, and I grin when he leads her onto the dance floor. A pretty little brunette with dark golden skin catches Logan’s eye. She nibbles at her bottom lip, offers him a smile, and I know that is the last we’ll see of Byrne for the night. The woman whispers something to her equally beautiful blonde friend, who eyes Bash up like he’s her next meal.
“Come on, Navarro.” Logan tugs Bash to his feet. “None of that priest shit tonight. We’re in Vegas. And you know what they say about Vegas.”
Sebastian sighs, resigned to his fate. “Don’t waste your money on the slot machines?”
Logan laughs as he drags Bash toward the women.
“And then there were two.” Mira levels me with one of those smiles I’ve grown to look forward to. The kind that lights up the whole room. She stands and extends her hand, palm up. “Wanna dance, Griffy?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Mira leads me onto the floor with swaying hips and a bounce in her step. She doesn’t even notice the appreciative stares from just about every guy we pass. Not that she ever seems to. I’vewatched guys on the team try—and fail—to flirt with Mira. But she rarely catches on to the fact that they want her. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s oblivious, she’s just not interested in dating, or she doesn’t understand how beautiful she is. She’s made a few comments about her ex in the months we’ve been living together, but I still don’t know the entire story. It’s possible he messed with her head enough that she has given up on men. At least temporarily.
I hope I never meet the guy, because I’d rather not get arrested for assault. It doesn’t matter if he didn’t do anything terrible, like raise a hand to Mira or break her down emotionally like Isla’s ex did to her. The simple fact of the matter is that Mira’s ex was a douche, and that’s all I need to know.
Only once we’re in the middle of the dance floor does Mira stop. She turns to me with an effervescent smile and begins to move her body. She’s sexy as hell as she sways her hips and undulates to the driving house beats blaring through the club’s speakers.
Shit. I cannot be thinking things like that about my best friend’s little sister.
I’ve held myself pretty well in check in the months she’s been living with me. Of course, I’ve acknowledged that my roommate is beautiful. And sure, I’ve had to fight a few stiffies when she does yoga in the living room in nothing but tight little shorts and a sports bra. I’m not dead. But even watching Mira practice yoga has nothing on feeling her tight little body grinding against me in a skimpy black dress.
Pure. Fucking. Torture.
Still, I keep my hands from blurring the lines between friends and fuck buddies. The last thing I want to do is screw up the friendship we’re building.
