Not giving the two women on either side of me another glance, I shoo them off me and make my way to the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?” I whisper into the woman’s ear as I approach her from behind. She angles her head to look at me then graces me with the most beautiful, shy smile before she shakes her head no.
“No, thank you. I can buy my own…if the damn bartender would ever look my way.” Her face scrunches up in anger, and I have to hold back a laugh. She waves her hand out with a bill between her fingers, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Dark brown hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and creamy, porcelain skin. Her natural beauty stands out like a shiny diamond in a room filled with dirty stones. Amongst all the fakeness in New York, this woman screams, ‘real.’ Of course, that’s what I thought about Fiona and look where that got me.
I raise my finger in the air, and the bartender immediately makes her way over. “What can I get for you, baby?”
I turn toward Brown-Eyes. “What would you like to drink?”
At first, she looks stunned, but then her face contorts into a look of annoyance mixed with anger. “Seriously?” She rolls her eyes, and I shrug. I don’t know why she’s shocked. Everyone knows who I am here in this city. “I’ll take two vodka cranberries,” she says to the bartender then places a twenty on the bar top. The bartender nods, then she turns her attention to me. “What’re you having?”
“Her…I’m having her.” I point to the woman next to me. This time, the bartender rolls her eyes, unamused, while Brown-Eyes snorts in amusement. “But for now, I’ll take a couple shots of Patron.”
“Sure thing.” The bartender goes to grab the woman’s twenty, but I pull out a fifty before she can. She takes my bill—leaving hers—slips it into her bra, and walks away to make the drinks.
“So, two vodka cranberries?” Please don’t let her be here with another guy.
“One is for my friend. She’s somewhere around here. She ran into a guy she knows when we were walking in.” Thank God!
She looks around in search of her friend before her brown eyes come back to me, giving me a once over. This is where I expect her to recognize me, figure out who I am and milk it for all its worth, and believe me, I most definitely will.
But instead, she gives me a small smile, takes her twenty off the bar top, and says, “Thank you,” shrugging nonchalantly.
“No problem. But now you owe me.” I shoot her a playful wink.
“Oh really…even after I tried to buy our drinks?”
“Yep.” I hold back a grin.
“And what is it I owe you?” She cocks her head to the side, a small ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
The bartender comes back over and sets our drinks down in front of us. I grab one of the shots and hand it to her. “A shot.”
She throws her head back in laughter, and I know I’ve got her. And fuck, if her sexy laugh doesn’t have me.
* * *
“Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!” Lifting the shot with my mouth from the middle of Brown-Eyes’ perky tits, I tilt my head back and swallow it in one gulp. The Patron burns going down, the warmth settling in my stomach. I hold the shot glass up for everyone to see, and the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. We’ve been drinking for the last hour, and I still don’t even know the woman’s name. But what I do know is, I’m deeply and madly…in lust with everything about her.
She grabs her shot and downs it, her slim sexy-as-fuck neck on display, begging for my lips to kiss it. Closing the gap between us, I pull her tiny waist into my body. My arms wrap around her backside, and my hands land on her tight little round ass. “Dance with me,” I murmur into her ear. My tongue darts out to lick the bottom of her earlobe. Chills rush down her arms as I feel her physically shiver.
She nods in agreement, and I pull her in closer. Our bodies are flush against each other. Our skin sweaty. I’m not quite drunk, but I’m definitely tipsy, enough that I’m nuzzling my face into her hair and sniffing her sexy perfume. It’s sweet and has my dick twitching, wanting to know what else on this woman is sweet. My lips move to her neck, and I trail kisses downward toward her collarbone. Her head rests on my shoulder as our bodies grind against one another to the pulsating dance music that’s infiltrating the club’s speakers. It’s loud, and we don’t speak, allowing our bodies to do all the talking for us.