Within seconds, my eyes find Olivia. It’s like they’re drawn to her. When I see her sitting at the bar with her friends, I know two things are true. One, she’ll be drunk if she doesn’t stop drinking soon. And two, I’ll have that skirt pushed up around her waist before the night’s out.
When her eyes meet mine, I see resistance in them. I’ve seen it before, but I thought we’d pretty much moved past that. I can’t help but wonder what has happened since this morning to set her back.
There’s an explicative resting on my tongue, but I bite it back and keep my face neutral as I walk toward her. When I stop beside her, I watch her straighten her spine and tip her chin up. Yep, resistance. And she’s determined.
Even though it frustrates me, I find it pretty freakin’ hot. It makes me want to make her want me despite all the reasons she thinks she shouldn’t.
So I will.
Again.
“I would ask if I could buy you a drink, but it looks like you’ve already had a few too many.”
“I already have one father. He’s at home nursing a broken leg, thank you very much,” she says with a bit of a slur.
“No offense intended. Just an observation.” I signal the bartender, who is watching me with nothing less than hostility. “Jack. Neat.” I’m in her territory now. She’s among her friends and they’re obviously very protective. The strange thing is that they’d feel the need to protect her from me, even though they’ve never met me.
Damn, I guess she really does have a weakness for a certain type. And all her friends must know about it.
It irritates the shit out of me that she’s pigeon-holed me, as have all her friends. There’s nothing I hate worse than to be judged unfairly. Not one of these people knows the first thing about me, Olivia included.
It would be interesting to see how she’d react if she knew everything, knew the truth. In just a few short sentences, I could give her every reason in the world to run away from me as far and as fast as she can. But I won’t. Because I’m feeling selfish. I don’t want her to run away yet. I need more from her first.
A lot more.
When the bartender sets a glass in front of me, I toss him a ten and down my drink in one gulp. I nod for another and slide my empty glass back.
I make a point to ignore Olivia as I stand awaiting my next drink. Finally, she speaks. I almost smile. I wanted her to make the first move. And she did.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, scooting off her stool to stand beside me. I wonder if it makes her feel more in control, more in charge to be standing.
Or maybe it makes her feel safer, like she can get away quickly. Run.
“I thought you might need some help. So I came to help.”
I see her eyes flicker to her right for a split second before returning to me.
“How did you find me?”
“My brother.”
“No, I mean how did you know I was here?”
“Your father.”
“You went to my house?”
She’s obviously perturbed about that. “Yes. Is that a problem? Are visitors not welcome at your secret lair?”
I watch, fascinated, as anger stiffens her muscles. She props her fists on her hips. Damn, she’s fiery. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should wait until you’re invited?”
“If I was invited, then I wouldn’t be volunteering, now would I?”
Even in her agitation, I see her glance for the second time to a table at her right. I follow her gaze to a guy sitting there with a mousy-looking girl. The way he’s watching Olivia leaves me in no doubt that they know each other. And very well by the looks of it.
I take a step closer to Olivia and lean down to ask quietly, “Is that the guy?”
She jerks her head toward me, guiltily. Angrily. “What guy? What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on. Admit it. That’s the last bad boy, isn’t it?” I look back at the douche who is inadvertently making my life more difficult. “Looks like he recovered from the wood chipper pretty well. Want me to kick his ass?”
I look back to Olivia. A range of emotions flit across her face, beginning with confusion and ending in something close to humor, to a smile.
“No, I don’t want you to kick his ass.”
“You sure? Because I specialize in deassholization.”
This time she smiles. “Deassholization?”
“Yeah. Just think of me as the Orkin man of ass**les—putting ass**les in their place.”
“Well, I appreciate the offer, but he’s not worth it.”
I reach forward to tuck a stray lock of raven hair behind her ear. “If he hurt you, he’s worth it.”
I really don’t think Olivia knows how expressive her face is. I can plainly see that she’s affected by me, that she likes me and probably wouldn’t argue if stripped her down and licked her from head to toe, even though letting me would be against her better judgment. But I can also see that she doesn’t want to feel those things. She wants to be ambivalent, unaffected. She wants to be impervious to me. Only she’s not. And, if I can help it, she won’t be either.
I recognize the lively song that comes on. Ho Hey would never be played at my club, mainly because it is a club, but I like it nonetheless. The words have me feeling a little sentimental toward the confused and gun-shy Olivia.
“Come on then,” I say, taking Olivia by the hand. “Let’s go rub it in.”
I reach for her friend’s hand, too, the lady who’s been watching me since I walked in, like I’m a potential snack. “I’m Cash, Olivia’s boss. Come dance with us.”
“Ginger,” she declares with a broad smile. She wraps her fingers around mine, giving me zero resistance.
As I tow the girls across the bar toward the dance floor, Ginger is drumming up attention, which is perfect for what I have in mind. “Come on, y’all. Let’s give Liv a farewell dance she’ll never forget.”
Within seconds, there are two dozen of Olivia’s biggest fans surrounding us on the dance floor, singing along and showering her with smiles and hugs and attention. I can see her face light up, her demeanor relax.
She only looks back at that other guy one time, and even then, it’s almost an absent-minded kind of thing. For the most part, her focus is concentrated on the people around her. And on me.
I can see the ice melting each time her eyes meet mine. When I smile, she smiles in return. When I reach for her hand, she laces her fingers through mine. And when she turns to me, it’s looks as though, at least for the time-being, she’s stopped lumping me in with the d-bag who she wishes had fallen into a wood chipper.