The woman in front of me suddenly yells, “I’m gonna dance!” and disappears into the crowd without waiting for a response.
I watch her go, then glance around again, wondering when we’re actually supposed to meet this owner.
He’s sure taking his sweet time.
I check my watch.
I’m supposed to be at Darren’s later to help Simone’s sister drag a crib up the stairs of their new house. Her husband is some star surgeon from L.A., which apparently means he “can’t risk his million-dollar hands.”
Whatever. He’s kind of a jackass anyway.
But Bronwyn is great. That’s why I agreed in the first place.
Huffing, I glance back at Arnon and the chick currently glued to his lap. If he wasn’t practically humping her in public, I’d tell him I’m leaving.
Getting off the couch, I dodge sweaty bodies and weave my way toward the bar.
“Water, please,” I say.
Ten dollars later, I’m holding a bottle that probably cost fifty cents to make.
Figures.
I drain it in a few gulps and pull out my phone to text Arnon when a voice catches my attention.
“Hi.”
I look up.
A woman steps closer, leaning casually against the column I’d been half-hiding behind.
She’s pretty, really pretty. Korean, I think. Long black hair, sharp features, confident smile.
Younger than me, but not by much.
“Hey,” I say politely.
She studies me for a second, eyes flicking over my face like she’s deciding something.
I clear my throat and raise my left hand, showing her the ring I’m still wearing.
“I’m Hayao,” she says. Then, with a small smirk, “The owner.”
I falter. “Sorry, I… uh…”
“You thought it was a man?” she asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Something like that,” I admit.
“I’ll give you this one,” she says, raising her hand.
I stare at it for a beat before finally taking it.
“Logan West,” I say.
“I know,” she replies, letting out a soft, throaty chuckle.
“Right,” I mutter. “Uh…do you want something to drink?” I ask, gesturing toward the bar.
