We walk up to the bar where there’s an actual bartender manning the station.
His green eyes sparkle with interest as he checks me out. “What can I get you pretty ladies?”
Ainsley smiles. “Give me a screwdriver.”
Bartender guy turns to me. “And you, beautiful?”
“I’ll have a screwdriver as well.”
“Coming right up.” He grabs two red Solo cups and pours a generous amount of vodka into each before adding some OJ. His fingertips graze mine as he hands me a drink, and I blush. “I’m Kyle. You just let me know if you need anything else.” Kyle looks to be in his early twenties, so I’m guessing this might be a part-time job for him while he’s in college.
I bite my lip before taking a sip. “Thanks, Kyle. I’m Jazz.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You come here for someone in particular? Or with someone?”
Ainsley smiles knowingly. “You askin’ if my girl here is available?”
Kyle laughs. “Maybe I am.” His eyes never leave mine as he answers her question. “So... are you available, Jazz?”
“Oh, um... I guess you—”
“I’m fairly certain you’re being paid to mix drinks, not pick up women,” an all too familiar deep voice growls from my right.
Kingston has wedged himself between me and Ainsley, looking far too good for my comfort. His navy t-shirt is molded to the muscles that lay beneath and his dark fitted jeans hang low off his hips. He’s wearing a pair of white Jordans that don’t have a scuff on them. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just pulled them out of the box.
Kyle straightens his spine and clears his throat. “What can I get you, man?”
“Macallan.” Kingston levels Kyle with a glare. “And make it fucking snappy.”
“Stop being a dick!” Ainsley smacks her brother’s arm. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?”
Kingston ignores her and scowls at the bartender while he’s fixing his drink. When Kyle passes the scotch over to him, Kingston doesn’t even acknowledge him. Just downs the shot and slams the cup back down.
Kingston grabs both me and Ainsley by the elbow, leading us away.
“Hey!” I shout.
“What the hell?” Ainsley gripes at the same time.
He releases us once we’re a good twenty feet away. “The better question is, what the hell are you two doing here?”
Ainsley crosses her arms over her chest. “We were invited.”
Kingston’s lips curl as his attention turns to me. “Well, look at that; the trash is playing dress up.”
Insult aside, he’s right in one respect—I definitely don’t look like myself right now. By the time Ainsley was finished with me, my eye makeup was all smoky sex kitten, my long hair was pin-straight, and my clothes were... well, they’re kind of toeing the line between skanky and sexy. But if I’m being honest, I like the idea of getting out of my own skin for a night. I thought maybe if I didn’t look like myself, I could temporarily forget about all the depressing shit in my life.
My eyes narrow into slits. “Fuck you.”
His face lights up in a mocking grin. “Not if yours was the last pussy on Earth, sweetheart.”
Really? my eyes say. It didn’t seem that way the other night.
I didn’t hear you complaining, his eyes retort.
I have to remind myself not to shrivel under his scrutiny as his gaze leisurely runs the length of my body. I have no doubt he’s doing it to make me uncomfortable, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction. When he pauses on my chest, I look down to make sure nothing is popping out. My boobs aren’t big—slightly less than a handful—but the tight black tank Ainsley convinced me to wear has a low neckline and cut outs which expose a little side boob.
The muscles in his neck tighten. “Was your little pet project also invited?”