“You’ve got a deal.”
His grin doubled, eyes lighting up with my permission as he held my hand a little tighter, tugging me through the crowd again and back to the bar. When he found a space to squeeze in, we were pressed together, my chest hitting just under his as he placed a warm hand on my lower back.
“I’m Trey,” he said, leaning in to yell over the music.
“Cooper.”
“What’s your drink of choice, Cooper?”
I balked, glancing at the rows of bottles lining the shelves behind where the bartenders rushed around filling orders. I’d never had a drink in my entire life — how the hell was I to know what my drink of choice was?
“Um…” I pulled a curl over my shoulder, twirling it in my fingers. “You know, I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You sure?”
I nodded. “I trust you.”
“Famous last words.”
I laughed at that, and he watched me a moment with that same sexy grin before knocking on the bar, grabbing the attention of the next bartender who whizzed by.
“Two Manhattans, please. Bulleit. Oh,” he paused, eying me mischievously and holding my gaze as he finished the order. “And two Vegas Bombs.”
The bartender nodded and got to work, pulling bottles from the shelf, her hands flying faster than I could watch.
“You said one drink,” I reminded him.
“Vegas Bomb is a shot, not a drink. And you also said you were having whatever I was.”
His smile was infectious, and I mirrored it as I leaned in a little closer. “Sneaky.”
Trey shrugged. “Or innovative, depending on how you look at it.”
He slid me two shot glasses as soon as the bartender set them in front of him, the larger one filled with Red Bull and the other with two types of whiskey. When our Manhattans were made, Trey told the bartender what name the tab was under before turning to me with a devilish grin.
“Drop the shot glass in the Red Bull, then chug. Ready?”
Excitement swirled with fear low in my stomach as I laughed, shaking my head and lifting both of the glasses. “As I’ll ever be.”
“One… two…”
But before Trey could say three, a hand snatched the whiskey shot glass from mine, and Emery slid right between us.
“Hey!” I squeaked, frowning as I tried to grab the glass back. Emery held the shot right out of my reach, his eyes hard on mine, those two lines creased between his brows, jaw set.
“What the fuck, bro?” Trey stole the shot back, but Emery still didn’t move.
“You don’t drink.”
His entire body was pressed against mine, his breath hot on my lips as he stared down the bridge of his nose at me.
“We’re in Vegas,” I reminded him.
“So now you drink?”
He was challenging me, his chest puffed out, fists clenched tight. Trey tried to move him out of the way again, but even though he was taller, Emery was solid. He didn’t budge.
I narrowed my eyes. “What does it matter? Seemed like you had your hands full over there.” I nodded toward the other end of the bar where he’d been sitting before. “Maybe you should worry about whether or not she drinks instead of me.”
“I don’t give a fuck about her.”
“Oh,” I mocked. “And you give a fuck about me?”
He blinked, as if my cursing surprised him, or the fact that I’d called him out. And since I’d finally shocked him silent, I reached around him, taking the shot glass from Trey’s hand. Then I leaned over the bar enough that I could see him behind Emery, raising my glass to his.
“To Vegas.”
Trey eyed Emery, a little pissed, a little confused as he tapped his glass to mine. Then as he took his, I stood straight again, my chest still touching Emery, and with my eyes hot on his, I dropped the shot in the Red Bull and chugged.
All my senses were attacked violently in that next second, my eyes and throat burning in sync from the whiskey, but I didn’t cringe against the fire. I let it consume me, let it slide all the way down into my stomach as I wiped the corners of my mouth and stacked the empty glasses on the bar. Trey stepped around Emery, though we were still staring at each other, at least until Trey’s hand slipped between us with my Manhattan.
“Wanna dance?”
“Love to.” The words were like arrows lashing from my lips, and I aimed them straight at Emery as I snagged my clutch from the bar and tore my eyes from his, following Trey out to the dance floor.
I chugged half of my drink before Trey stopped, pulling my body flush against his. I was completely at a loss for why anyone actually enjoyed drinking as another burn sliced its way through me. I shook my head, eyes squeezed shut, my hands holding tight to Trey’s arms for balance.
“I take it that was the person you were supposed to meet?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, still fighting the roll of my stomach as I added more alcohol to it.
Trey smirked, pulling me even closer, the hand not holding his drink sliding confidently down to my ass. “I think that’s our theme for the night.”
“We should get tattoos.”
He laughed at that, but then his eyes fell to my lips, and neither of us were laughing anymore. “I think I want to leave my mark on you in a different way tonight, Cooper.”
I swallowed, my heart thumping against my rib cage like it wanted to flee, like it didn’t want to see what would happen next. Trey squeezed his hand, bunching my dress with it, and then our bodies were moving, his leg between mine as we rolled and dipped. I’d never danced before — not unless you counted the times I was alone in my bedroom with a fake microphone and Taylor Swift on the radio — and this was definitely not that kind of dancing.
Sweat rimmed the roots of my hair the longer we moved, and I drained the rest of my drink, abandoning the empty glass on a nearby table as Trey followed suit. Then we had both hands to touch, to roam, to pull, to feel. Trey’s hands were enormous, his thumbs nearly touching above my navel as he gripped my waist, swaying me with him.
The alcohol buzzed through me like a lightning storm, hitting me in flashes along with the laser lights streaming from the DJ above the dance floor. I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of the music, the base, the hands, the night. Trey leaned in, his voice barely audible as he spoke over the music and told me he’d be right back, he was grabbing us another drink. I nodded, eyes still closed, my hands lifting above me once Trey wasn’t there to hold onto anymore.
It was surreal, dancing in the middle of a crowded club in Las Vegas, the music vibrating through every vein as I moved in time with the rhythm. A week ago, I was just a little girl in Mobile, Alabama, serving pancakes to the same people I had since I was sixteen. Now, I was a vixen, sexy and confident, wearing a dress that showed my most sensitive scar.
And it was the last thing on my mind.
Trey’s hands slid around my waist from behind and he pulled me back into him, his hips matching my rhythm as he molded himself to me again. His abs were hard against my back, and I arched into him, running my hands through my hair and pulling it all to one side to cool my neck. But when he ran his nose along the skin I’d just exposed before sucking my earlobe between his teeth, my eyes shot open.