“Wooo!”
“I need more water.”
Caroline yells it into my ear, grabbing my hand, and I nod as she tugs me back to our booth. She’s become my favorite person tonight, probably because I’m wasted, and she’s rolling hard, but my favorite nonetheless. She uncharacteristically plops down into the plush maroon booth and leans over, grabbing another bottle of water after tossing her empty one onto the seat. She twists the top and chugs it back, also uncharacteristic of someone usually so pristine. I like her better when she’s grimy. Her bad and my bad get along just fine.
I grab the bottle of champagne from the table, realizing it’s not champagne but vodka, and begin to look up for the ice bucket, but it’s decidedly missing.
“Yes,” Caroline moans, as she rubs her back over the fabric, enjoying the hypersensitivity from the molly, and closes her eyes.
“Where the fuck is the ice bucket?”
Leaning over the table, I search through the bottles, coming up empty. I look over my shoulder, a realization beginning to take root.
“What’d you say? Oh my God, you have to feel this, it’s amazing. Like a million tiny hands giving me a massage. Come here, you need this.”
Her arms outstretch, reaching up for me, her hands opening and closing and trying to coax me over, but my eyes survey the table again, a giggle escaping. “Care. Holy shit. I think we’re at the wrong table.”
“You are.”
A deep voice from behind me makes me jump with a squeal attached, almost dropping the Grey Goose bottle, but whoever the voice belongs to reaches out and grabs it, using the other to steady me. I turn around, embarrassed, immediately staring into a set of bright green eyes. The handsome stranger leans in, making me stumble back in reaction, my ass hitting the table right as I grab hold of the edge of it.
“Easy,” he laughs, placing his hand on my waist, and keeps some space between us. “Where are you going?”
He’s hot. Nice smile. Beautiful eyes. And the absolute last thing I need. I already have two of those I can’t stop thinking about. Dammit, I did it again.
“Sorry. I’m turned around. We’ll go. Because there’s champagne at ours.”
He smiles down at me, and I feel so dumb. I’m not sure anything I just said even makes sense. Fuck, I’m wasted. I point my finger toward the direction I need to go and reach back behind me, tapping the table for Caroline’s attention.
“If I get champagne, will you stay?”
I blink up at him, not answering, and giggle. His persistence is cute.
“No? No drink, huh? Okay.” A ginger guy with killer blue eyes walks up behind him, staring at Caroline likes she’s his next meal. My head swings back to see Care smiling back at him, with a ticker tape of naughty ideas written all over her face.
A finger under my chin brings me back to the green eyes standing in front of me. “Would you like a case of champagne? How about this bar? Name it, stunner, and it’s yours, so long as you stay.”
I wrinkle my nose and laugh. “Do you typically buy random girls a bar?”
He leans in and touches my chin with his finger. “You aren’t random. You’re the kiss that got away.”
My eyes narrow, trying to make sense of what he’s saying, because the alcohol has made me super slow to the uptake. But the more I search his features—the sharp jawline, the broad rower’s build, the cocky look in his eyes… Oh shit. Shocked recognition must play out on my face because he smiles big and nods.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Donovan. I’m Paul Hearst.” He jerks his head to the side. “And this is Troy.”
Shit. Paul Hearst, the guy I almost kissed and the one who Grey and Liam hate. I only got a quick look at him before the race, but it’s definitely the same guy. Caroline stands and looks between Paul and his friend before smiling as she grabs Troy’s drink and takes a sip. He grabs the slim Gucci belt around her waist and begins walking backward out toward the dance floor. My eyes widen as she follows his lead, leaving me standing alone with Paul. What the fuck, Care? My hands come up to Paul’s chest as I push him back, because he’s leaned in closer, but he holds his ground.
He stares down at me, smirking. “Hey. Hey. Come on, Donnie? I thought we were getting to know each other.”
Donnie? No. I run a heavy hand through my hair, looking away. He’s too close, and I’m too drunk. This is all a bad idea. The voices I was drowning out earlier are back and in full operatic tenor. I straighten my shoulders and look him in the eyes.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. My friends aren’t big fans of yours. So—”
“So? I don’t see Grey or Liam here. They must not be big fans of you either.”
My brows furrow, a scowl growing on my face, as words begin warring in my mind.
Paul’s right…no, Grey would kill you.
You don’t owe Grey shit. He made that declaration today… Doesn’t matter, you care even in the absence of him.
You hate who they hate… First, last, and only, bitch.
I try and squirm out of his grip, irritated by what he’s said, but he steps in closer, bringing his leg between mine. His hand is warm on my waist as his fingers knead it gently. It makes my stomach turn.
“But I’m a fan. You want to make me work for it?”
Drunk or not, I’m not loving this. “What? No. Okay, back up, Paul. We are so done here.”
I try and push his hand away, but he pulls me in toward him, smashing our bodies together.
“What the fuck, dude? Not interested.”
“That’s not what your body said when we were dancing.”
Oh fuck. No way.
“Or maybe you need a third?” His face dips down close to my neck. “Tell me, Donovan, are the rumors true? Are you a dirty girl?”
This isn’t happening.
“Fuck off, Paul. They’re going to break your fucking mouth for what you just said.”
“Big talk for a whore.”
I can’t help but laugh. Loud and in his face. If this is his arsenal of insults, he’s going to have to do better.
“A rich, pathetic asshole calling a girl a whore because she’s said ‘no’ is about as standard as peanut butter going with jelly. I am a whore, a dirty one. The things I’ve done would blow your mind. But I draw the line with you…that’s too low to stoop.”
“Consent’s optional.”
His lips close in on me as my hand raises to block him, getting sandwiched between our mouths. But he presses into my hand anyway as my fingernails dig into his face. It happens in the blink of an eye, and it’s done just as fast, but my eyes blink against what I swear is the flash of a camera as I push his face away.
“Get the fuck off of me.”
Paul stumbles back, his ass hitting the floor, and I’m shocked at my own strength until Kai is in my face, saying words. So many words, but I can’t focus. My eyes are blinking rapidly, and I bring a hand to wave at him to stop talking.
“Donovan,” Kai repeats, grabbing me by my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
My head nods as he asks again, making me blurt out, “Yes. Yes. I’m fine.”
Movement behind Kai has my gaze fixed over his shoulder as I tap his chest. Paul steps up as Kai pivots, bringing them face-to-face. Kai looks him up and down and laughs before saying something that makes Paul’s face pale, and his hands go up in retreat.