A thought occurs to me: Does Hazel have any friends?
When the song ends, I set my empty glass on the bar and gesture to the dance floor. “Would you like to dance?” I ask Hazel.
“I’d love to.” She tosses back the last of her champagne before passing the glass to me, and I set it on the bar beside mine.
Placing a hand on her lower back, I guide Hazel toward the middle of the dance floor. She turns and circles her arms around my neck. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her petite body flush against mine, close enough to feel the heat of her skin burning through the fabric of my tuxedo.
I press my lips to her bare shoulder. “I can’t get over how good you smell.” Trailing my lips across her shoulder, I place another kiss to the delicate skin of her neck. “It’s driving me crazy.”
Her body shudders under my touch. “It’s called Love Spell.”
Moving my lips to the shell of her ear, I confess, “I’m definitely under your spell,” before tilting my head and covering her mouth with mine, kissing her with a mixture of passion and need. “I’m taking you home with me tonight.”
She laughs softly before pulling back to look up at me again. “And what do you plan to do with me?” she teases.
“I’m going to make you mine.”
She bites down on her plump lower lip. “I want to be yours.”
As the song ends, she gently pulls from my arms before excusing herself to find the restroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Before heading back to the bar, I watch as Hazel zigzags through the sea of people crowding the dance floor until she disappears into the restroom.
Troy is back at the bar sans Mirabel, and beside him is my cousin Grayson. I’d recognize that shaggy brown hair anywhere.
Grayson is half perched on a barstool, one foot on the floor and the other propped up on the lower rung, hands shoved in the front pockets of his slacks looking like he couldn’t give a fuck. A tall, dark-haired woman stands at his side, pressing her chest against his arm. Her dress leaves very little to the imagination, as does most of the attire at this party.
“What’s up, Casanova?” I fist-bump Grayson. “What are you doing here?”
“Dad snagged me an invitation.” He grins. Grayson’s dad is my uncle Jason.
“Who’s your date?” I gesture to the woman.
She looks over at me. Rhinestone strands dangle from her mask like a beaded curtain, shielding her face, but her eyes seem familiar.
I narrow mine as I try to recall where I’ve seen her.
Grayson looks over at the woman, then back at me before giving a careless shrug. A devilish grin pulls at his lips. He’s a handsome sonofabitch. “She’s not my date.” He chuckles. “My date went to the bathroom with his.” He jerks his head to the side, gesturing to Troy.
“Where’s your date?” Troy asks.
“Ladies’ room.”
“You brought a date?” Grayson asks, eyes wide.
“I think I need to pay a visit to the ladies’ room as well,” the mystery woman admits, trailing a finger down Grayson’s arm. “See you around, handsome.”
She turns on her heels and weaves her way through the crowd. Troy chuckles, and Grayson breathes out a whistle through his teeth. “Did you see the ass on her?”
How could I not? She wore a simple leotard, low cut in the back, with a sheer skirt showing off the cheeks of her perky ass.
Grayson shakes his head. “Dude, if I hadn’t just spent the last six months groveling at Lindsay’s feet to take me back, I’d have that ass bent over this barstool.”
I chuckle. “Lindsay took you back, huh?”
“Hardly.” He huffs out a single laugh. “I’m still on probation.”
Lindsay was Grayson’s high school girlfriend, whom he dated for a couple of years. I met her a few times when I came home to visit my family. She was a pretty girl, blonde, with that sweet, wholesome girl-next-door look. Then he fucked up royally by cheating on her. She dumped him, of course. Rightfully so.
“You’re lucky she’s even considering it after what you did to her.” I shake my head.
“I was a dumbass,” he admits. “After what happened to Jay, I realized that people we care about can be taken from us at any time and any place. Even a place as simple as a mall parking garage.”
Troy shoots me a look, and I wince.
A year and a half ago, Jay was attacked in a mall parking garage and beaten within an inch of her life. Troy and I weren’t able to get to her in time, and if it hadn’t been for Grayson, she could’ve died.
That day will go down in history as one of the worst days of my life. Possibly Troy’s, too.
Nodding slowly, I say, “Try not to fuck it up again.”
Hazel
* * *
Surprisingly, the ladies’ room is fairly empty when I walk inside. Mirabel is at the counter applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. Beside her is a blonde wearing a lace mask that covers most of her face—lips painted a deep red—fluffing out her long wavy locks.
Mirabel’s eyes flick to me in the mirror.
“Hey.” She smiles, capping her lip gloss and twisting it closed.
“Hey,” I reply, pointing to the empty stall. “Wait for me. I’ll be right out.”
“Of course.” She waves me off.
I slip into the empty stall quickly. Mirabel’s voice echoes off the walls as she gushes over her eighteen-month-old toddler to the blonde woman. In the distance, I hear the bathroom door creak open. Mirabel pauses her story briefly, and the only sound I hear is a pair of heels clicking against the marble floor. My gaze drops to the black stilettos with silver heels as they move past my door and into the stall beside me. The door closes and the lock clicks, but the person doesn’t move. Weird.
Finishing up, I make my way to the sink to wash my hands and reapply some lipstick. Mirabel introduces me to the blonde woman, whose name is Lindsay. She’s young and adorable, dressed in a black leather pencil skirt, a lacy camisole-bustier combo that shows off her midriff, and red strappy heels.
The stall door beside the one I just vacated opens, and a tall woman with dark brown hair saunters out like she’s walking the runway. Her mask is made of rhinestones with strands dangling like a curtain, hiding her face. My gaze falls to her outfit, a black bodysuit that dips low in the front, showing off her ample cleavage, paired with a sheer beaded skirt with slits running up both sides. Her eyes flick to me briefly as she moves to stand beside me at the sink.
“I like your outfit,” I say kindly.
“Thanks. I like your hair.”
“Thanks.” Capping my lipstick, I drop it in my purse and rub my lips together. My gaze flicks back to her, and I catch her staring at me. Her forehead wrinkles, and her hazel eyes narrow as if she’s studying me.
“Hazel,” Mirabel calls from the door. “You coming?”
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah.” I turn and head for the door.
“Hazel,” the woman purrs from her spot at the counter.
Jerking to a stop, I turn to face her.
“What a pretty name,” she adds in a tone that sends a chill running up my spine, causing the small hairs at my neck to stand up.