I flash Jade a “nice going, bitch” glare, because I don’t want the guy to turn around and strike up small talk with us—which is exactly what he’s doing, by the way—but it’s too late. We’re in their debt and now we have to mingle. The guy’s friend,
another man who looks to be in his forties, with a leather jacket and oily hair, pushes himself between Jade and I and introduces himself as Marco. They tell us—well, more like shout over the loud music—they’re Italians from Jersey. Awesome. We went all the way from preppy Princeton to Williamsburg to bump into Jersey boys. Ha ha, fate. Nice one. I turn my head back to the bar, exasperated, and when my gaze lands on the second floor, I freeze.
Shit.
It’s him.
Graham was not supposed to be here tonight. Even worse, he wasn’t supposed to see me.
It’s Saturday and we’re in Williamsburg. He usually takes care of his high profile, Manhattan joints on Saturday nights. Sometimes he doesn’t even come back home the next day. But he’s here now, leaning against the bannisters in his sharp, tailored suit, his eyes burning holes into my forehead. He doesn’t look pissed, because Graham is incapable of feelings, I suspect, but I know that he’s not happy to see me here. I’m not twenty-one yet, and I sneaked out of the house and all the way to New York to party…and I have a Blue Moon in my hand.
Shit, shit, shit. Did I mention shit?
I grab Jade’s wrist, my eyes still locked in a stare-down with my step-dad. Suddenly, it feels like he really is my step-dad. He oozes authority, and not just because of his money and position. There’s something formidable about a man who is six-two of power in an Armani suit, and the fact that he is good-looking only highlights his authority over everyone around him. He isn’t a pretty boy, but he is hot in an Irish, rough and dark way. With raven black hair, dark green eyes and stubble peppering his high cheekbones. His lips are thin and pink and I know that behind that suit is a man with a body to die for. His personal trainer wakes me up every day at 6 a.m. sharp when he yells at him to punch that bag harder in our indoor gym.
“We need to go,” I croak, my throat desert-dry. Oh God, he keeps staring at me, but he hasn’t moved an inch. I think I saw his flexed jaw ticking once when I reached for the Blue Moon, but who can tell? It’s dark and everyone is covered in a cloud of cigarette and weed smoke. There’s a veil of white mist between us, and I’m hoping it’d help me escape this place easily.
“Are you kidding me? We just got here!” Jade is already flirting with the guys who bought us drinks, swiveling her seat back and forth.
I turn her stool around so she faces me, my eyes finally disconnecting from Graham’s.
“My dad is here,” I growl.
“Your dad? Owen? Isn’t he in jail?” she asks dumbly.
Christ.
“My step-dad,” I clarify, cocking my head upwards, my eyebrows arched.
Her eyes travel up and I don’t need to ask if she saw him, because the minute she does, she exhales loudly like he’d just shoved two fingers into her. I swear she moans a little when she sees him.
I know it’s ridiculous, to run away when I’d clearly been caught sneaking into a club on a Saturday night. I’m a couple weeks shy of turning eighteen, and Graham knows it. We don’t exactly talk too much but he is scary as hell. I don’t wanna know what he’d do when it comes to me. He might be forgiving toward other women who sneak in here before they turn twenty-one, but me…I’m his family. Sort of.
After a round of quick apologies to the guidos we bumped into, Jade and I are running for the door, hand in hand. I just want to get out of this place. Once out, I’ll get the first taxi back to New Jersey. When, not if, Graham confronts me, I’ll just deny everything. I’m not the first blonde-haired blue-eyed girl who walked into his club in a slutty black number. And it was dark and so freaking loud, there’s no way he recognized me.
Maybe he locked eyes with me because he wanted to tap that.
No. Oh my God, Dahlia, what the hell are you thinking about? Filters! Use them!
We’re just a few steps shy from the door. I can already feel the cool New York night hitting the flushed skin on my face. The air is cold and crisp, waiting for me to cool down from my brief encounter with Graham.
I march straight between the bouncers who’d just let us in…and feel a strong hand grabbing me by the waist. It twists me around effortlessly, and my breath is stuck in my throat. I ball my fists up immediately, thinking it might be the creepy dudes from the bar.
It’s not. It’s my step-dad, and he is looking like my worst nightmare, ready to explode.
He scrunches his devilish brows and his jaw tenses. Shit, his suit. His scent. For the millionth time since my mom and I moved in with him, I’m forced to see how hot he is up-close. I always try to ignore it, but it’s hard when he is so tall, so broad and fucking scary. And it’s becoming harder every day since I turned sixteen and started noticing men in general.
I wonder if he has a girlfriend? Probably not a good time to think about that, though, Dahl.
“Dahlia,” he says simply, but his voice sends shivers down my spine. His tone is so gruff and rough, so dry, I feel like he touches me when he speaks to me. That’s why I always make sure we exchange very few words when he’s around.
I clear my throat and look around.
“I was just leaving,” I state, avoiding eye contact. God, I’m such a pussy. A stupid one at that. Why was I so, so sure he wouldn’t be in Williamsburg? It’s not that far from Manhattan.
“You were? Without even saying hello? I’m fucking hurt.” He gives me a once-over, and he’s not being subtle about it, either. Almost like he wants me to know he disapproves of my outfit. His words are light but their meaning isn’t. He is being sarcastic, and my stomach coils with nerves.
Also, I forget to mention that my step-dad swears. A-fucking-lot. Shame he’s still the responsible one out of my two parents.