Please text me to pick you up and don’t go to another man’s houseis what I mean. I’ve not entirely lost my mind, so I keep the silent plea to myself.
Eliza hits me square in the chest with her cutest smile. “My personal driver. I dig the idea.” She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and it takes every bit of willpower not to jump from the couch and press her against the nearest wall.
It’s a dangerous rush of possessiveness, out of the realm of casual. It’s not what I promised Eliza and certainly not what I need.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ELIZA
The exterior is a real English pub front at the corner of an old red-brick brewery. I’m not surprised Quinn knows this place. The weathered wood bar in the corner is lined with taps of local craft beers more to her taste.
I’m happy and nervous being out. The bar is packed with people who don’t look familiar. Taking a sip of white wine, I notice Quinn winking at a blond guy leaning on the other side of the bar.
“Give me a sec.” She hands me her drink and I watch the scene unfold before me in awe. Quinn’s confidence is counter-proportional to her height and that guy has no chance against her charm. His phone is out in less than sixty seconds and she’s back at my side with a wicked grin before her glass started sweating from the cold beer.
“Cute,” I grin, nodding in the guy’s direction.
“We’ll see,” she says. “Lucky for me, Mike is new in town and badly needs a friend,” she giggles. The man in question abandons his empty glass on the bar over some crumpled bills and heads for the exit, eyes glued to Quinn. With a tip of his head and a crooked smile, he disappears into the crowd and I’m thinking of taking some notes from her playbook.
Quinn leans in. “Anybody catch your eye?”
All I can think about is Carter as I left and how silly I am for wishing he was here. I know we agreed to no strings attached, but my cheeks are still flushed from the way he was looking at me.
“I wouldn’t know where to start.” I didn’t date much before Jared. “I’m kinda rusty after eight years,” I say, a bitter taste filling my mouth.
“Let’s find a seat.” She motions to the red leather capitone upholstery benches along the wall. We talk and laugh. A couple of guys offer to buy us drinks, but sensing my hesitation she shoos them away.
Quinn is so much fun, the type who makes you belly laugh. The night is going great, and I break my rule by getting a second glass of wine which makes me warm and giddy. My head is a colorful merry-go-round of moving bodies reflected in the large, gilded mirror on the other side of the room.
We’re so engrossed in our little bubble of girly fun that the four men dressed in leather suddenly circling our table rattle us.
“You two look like you need company,” the older one says.
Quinn’s smile drops. “We’re good.”
“Don’t play coy. We’re just talkin’.” He plops on the bench, too close for comfort. I can smell the beers on him.
“Then pay attention,” Quinn starts, but another one drops his bottle on the table and sits next to her. “We’re not interested.”
All four snicker, the others blocking us from the rest of the crowd in the bar.
Quinn is close to smashing her beer bottle and jumping over the table at them.
Nobody else notices the uncomfortable exchange.
A bad feeling blooms in my chest and I send Carter an SOS text with trembling fingers, under the table.
Panic claws its way up my body, and I don’t know how long passes with them getting more beers and talking about taking us to another bar where “we’ll have real fun”, the one next to me says with a slimy grin, looking down my dress.
“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Quinn seethes. God, this woman is fearless.
“Ladies, your ride is here,” Carter’s voice booms over the music and the pub’s chatter.
Relief pours through my limbs.
“Fuck off. We’re having fun. Aren’t you, ladies?” one of them says, laughing. “We’ll give you a ride later.”
“They’ll be taken for a ride, alright.” They laugh.
