I tried to shake his tentacles off for a half hour, alternating between dancing, loitering by the bar, and even a trip to the ladies’ room. The girls were helpful to a point, but now that they’d gotten another round and the karaoke was in full swing, they were no longer a buffer to help me get rid of this guy.
I groaned, dancing with my arms outstretched like a zombie to deter him from invading my space. Eventually, instead of avoidance, I tried the polite brush-off every woman perfected in college or the years after, getting them out of situations involving over-enthusiastic mollusk-like men.
“Well, look at the time, Carl,” I said, feigning politeness and glancing at my bare wrist. “You should get going. Perhaps you have a long-haired, award-winning Persian named Princess Donut who needs her litter box cleaned and fur brushed.”
“Oh, you’re funny. And it’s Charles,” he purred, sounding like a deranged feral cat named Gravy Boat in heat. “I’ll walk you out so we can grab a coffee. I must not have made a lasting impression since you can’t remember my name. Let’s change that.”
I groaned, dropping my head forward in frustration, but the noise wasn’t audible over the thump of the bass. The misuse of his name failed miserably, and perhaps a firmer rejection was needed to get Infuriating Charles to slither away.
“That’s nice of you to offer, but no thanks.”
There. There was no way to interpret that as an invitation.
“Don’t be like that, baby. It’s not a problem,” Irritating Charles said, valiantly attempting to be renamed Lecherous Charles as his fingers ghosted up my arm and to my shoulder.
“Not tonight,” I said, gritting my teeth and removing his hand from my person—again. “And please stop touching me. I don’t appreciate it.”
“Oh, don’t be coy. Of course, you do,” Sniveler Charles said, not understanding how lucky he was that there were laws against accosting someone with the intent to cause bodily harm.
I wiggled my shoulders, sidestepping him and backing away toward the edge of the dance floor. If I could make it to the bar or interrupt one of the girls, I know they’d help me shake this clown. It wasn’t their fault he was still clinging to me. They were caught up dancing and hadn’t noticed my plight.
My eyes darted to Jenna and Mark, slow dancing and whispering, even though the music was loud and pulsing, before moving to Addison and Simon, grinding against each other and laughing. Miller and Emma stayed at the edge of the floor, sipping drinks and talking with Magnum and Brooke. Even Mina was laughing, not looking the least bit uncomfortable while dancing with a tall, good-looking guy in a leather jacket.
Then there was me, attempting to disengage from a lecherous crustacean that couldn’t take a hint. He reached out again, gripping my upper arm and turning us toward the exit.
“Come on, now. Let’s get out of here. We can get that coffee and end the night on a high note.”
His words had turned from barely flattering to creepy, and the need to get away from him intensified as an uneasy sensation took flight in my stomach. This guy wasn’t just some drunk idiot looking for a good time. He was a predator taking advantage of the situation. I jerked my arm away, feeling his surprisingly sharp nails scrape against my skin as I stepped to the end of the bar, willing my new friends to look my way.
“Don’t be like that,” Nefarious Charles called, following me. But I ignored him, rubbing the area on my arm that he grabbed.
The bartender caught my gaze and raised his brows. I tilted my head toward Jackass Charles, who was now standing beside me—again, with his hand on my shoulder. I shook it off, and the bartender watched, then nodded, making his way closer. As hedid, Miller must have seen the distress on my face from his perch with Emma at a high-top table, because he elbowed Magnum and they both stood, glaring.
The sinking distress that had overtaken me left as I saw the guys move to intercept, and I let out a harsh breath, relief coursing through me as I pressed a hand to my chest. Thank goodness I hadn’t seen Maverick—the last thing I needed was him rushing in to save the day and then making another smart remark.
Maybe he wouldn’t, though. Maybe he’d just step in front of Douchy Charles and pull me into his arms, enveloping me in the scent of sweetened coffee and smoke. I’d breathe him in, forgetting everything but how well I fit into the soft place between his neck and chest.
“I’ll be however I want,” I hissed, bumping into someone dancing as I kept my eyes on Magnum. Things seemed to move in slow motion as I sidestepped my pursuer again. “But since you can’t take the hint, let me clarify. You need to back off and leave me alone. Now.”
“Aw, baby—” he cajoled, reaching toward me.
I backed away, stumbling into a hard, warm chest. Hands darted out and settled on my shoulders, gripping firmly before releasing just as fast.
“Dude, how about you fuck right off? Didn’t you hear? The lady said no.”
Come on, universe. Don’t be like that.
Deep blue eyes met my scowl as the familiar voice reached my ears. Humiliated Charles’s face drained of color as Maverick stepped beside me. He towered over us, and I met his sharp gaze as he crossed his arms, like he was daring the pathetic little man to touch me again. The place on my arm where the idiot scratched me ached, and I moved closer, my shoulder brushing Maverick’s forearm.
“Really? And you are?” Terrified Charles said, attempting to mimic the intimidating pose, but only managing to look constipated in the pulsing low light of the karaoke bar.
I turned, watching Maverick arch an eyebrow and move to the side to sit at a small, high-top table to the left of the bar. From the tables on the opposite side, his brothers watched, and a sense of belonging bloomed in my chest. I’d been accepted into the motley Hansen crew.
Perhaps having him step in wasn’t so bad.
As if he heard my thoughts, with the barest of touches, Maverick placed one hand on my waist and pulled me tight up against him. With him sitting down, I could meet his eyes, glancing at him from under my lashes. I drew my bottom lip between my teeth as his hand snuck under my blouse, resting on the small sliver of visible skin above the waistband of my jeans.
An air of annoyance, unpredictability, and fierce protectiveness swirled around him like a tangible aura. I felt safe. And instead of pulling away, I stepped closer, until the space between us was paper thin. For a moment, I was pleased that he saw my situation and intervened. Perhaps it meant that he’d been watching me as much as I’d been watching him. But then the petty part of my psyche kicked in, wanting him to see me as a badass bitch who could handle one snively creeper.
