At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)
“Son of a bitch. Are you kidding me?” the man mutters, his deep, gravelly voice making butterflies flap in my stomach, even though he doesn’t seem to be too pleased that we’re standing here.
Even with his rudeness, failure to welcome us, or even hold the door open so we can enter, I can’t stop staring at him.
Clearing my throat, I hold out my hand and smile, since Ariel and Isabelle seem to be in the same lust-filled daze as myself, both of them standing stock-still next to me with their mouths open, staring at the man in the doorway. It’s not like they haven’t seen him before, but clearly being in such close proximity to him again has turned them mute. And since he made me forget my own manners the night of the party, I figure now is a good time to be polite, since we’ve been invited to his home.
“We never got a chance to exchange names. My name is Cynthia, this is Ariel, and Isabelle, and we’re your entertainment for the birthday party!” I chirp brightly, wishing my voice wasn’t so high-pitched and nervous.
“JOHN! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!” the man bellows over his shoulder, his eyes still staring daggers into mine as I slowly lower my outstretched hand.
“You know, it’s awfully rude not to shake someone’s hand when they offer it,” I inform him, which earns me a punch in the arm from Ariel, who finally decided to stop being catatonic.
“Stick. Ass,” she mutters.
“I don’t care. He’s being rude,” I tell her in a low voice, narrowing my eyes at the man before addressing him again in my normal voice. “You’re being rude.”
He opens his mouth to say something, probably another undignified shout, when John comes running around the corner and stops in the doorway.
“Thank God you’re here! It’s getting crazy in there,” John tells me before giving the man next to him a pat on the back. “I see you’ve already met my friend, PJ, I told you about. Now the party can really start!”
John throws his arms up in the air with a cheer, a bottle of beer I didn’t even notice clutched in one of his hands splashing out onto him and the floor as he turns and heads back inside, screaming at the top of his lungs that the entertainment is here.
A loud chorus of shouts and whistles comes from another room as PJ lets out a long-suffering sigh and finally moves back from the doorway and gestures with his arm for us to enter.
“They’re serving beer at a children’s party?” I whisper to Ariel as we move inside the house and stand in the foyer while PJ closes the door behind us. “That doesn’t seem very appropriate.”
Ariel shrugs as PJ moves around us and heads down the hall in the direction John disappeared. As we follow quietly behind him, the noise gets louder and louder. I take the opportunity to glance at this man’s home, more than a little surprised that there aren’t empty beer cans littering every surface and take-out containers on the floor, considering he’s behaving like a Neanderthal. The walls are painted a light gray, much like the shirt he’s wearing, with black wood accents around each doorway we pass, our heels clicking against the black hardwood floor as we walk. The hallway walls are decorated with random pieces of black-framed artwork that pop with color, giving the home a beautiful, modern feel.
“I don’t care if they’re handing out meth at this kid’s party, it will be worth it just to stare at that guy’s ass all night,” Ariel mumbles under her breath, making it impossible for me to do anything else but follow her line of sight, right to PJ’s . . . asset, which is currently being hugged quite nicely by a pair of worn jeans that ride low on his hips, just like at the Halloween party the other night.
PJ suddenly stops and turns around to face us, and my cheeks immediately warm with embarrassment when he catches me staring at his behind and smirks at me.
“Go on in, ladies,” he says with a nod of his head toward a room next to him.
Ariel and Isabelle immediately move past him and into the room, where the cheering and yelling reaches a level so deafening as soon as they walk in that I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t called the police, I wonder why I haven’t seen children racing by. The only noises I’ve heard are from what sounds like a bunch of overenthusiastic adults. PJ wraps his hand around my arm when I start to walk by him, pulling me to a stop.
“I can’t believe you guys are dressed like goddamn princesses,” he says with a shake of his head, the warmth from his hand on my arm disappearing as he drops it and crosses his arms over his impressive chest.