Speaking of which…

I glanced behind me and noted the previously long line at the bar had dwindled.

“I gotta grab a new drink, Hallzy.” I held up my empty glass and rattled the mostly melted ice.

“Oh sure. No problem.” Second line center Jake Hall lowered his phone. His eyes glistened with disappointment.

Too bad all I could think as I turned on my heel was, thank fuck, I’m free.

The opportunity presented itself and I booked it, unable to get away fast enough. Another clutch of p

eople I didn’t want to talk to had gathered around the bar. Thankfully, most were immersed in their own discussions. Probably about more shit I was one hundred percent certain I didn’t want to hear about. Aside from the impromptu family slide show, it was my lucky night, because I squeezed between two people unnoticed and had another Jack and Coke in my hand in less than three minutes.

Christ, my head ached. Pounded into submission by inane small talk. I despised small talk. Give me Evvy and a couple rowdy friends, a pitcher of beer, and a game on TV to argue over, and I was content. Ask me to stand in one place for more than five minutes and discuss traffic, gardening, or someone’s mother-in-law’s second bunion surgery, and I went catatonic.

I took a sip, turned, and leaned back, elbows propped on the bar. I made sure to tilt my body away from the crowd so no one would approach, but positioned myself so I could still check out the room. If I finished my drink fast enough, I could order another without having to move.

I did just that and it wasn’t long until a pleasant warmth trickled through my veins and my muscles relaxed. A half-hour later I was thoroughly buzzed. Enough to think I might actually have a sporting chance to survive the next two hours without clawing my own eyes out. I didn’t drink to excess often. Not only did it remind me of my useless parents, but it always seemed to lead to fists flying and blood spurting. A few Jack and Cokes wouldn’t get me sloshed, but damn did I feel good.

Starting that very morning, we had an unheard of six days off in a row, so naturally, management went and fucked it up by deciding it was the perfect time to hold the team’s annual dinner, or as I liked to call it, “A night of forced torture that happened to involve fancy clothing, inane chatter, and thank fuck, alcohol.” The restaurant they booked was decent, run by the owner of a local brewery, which stood next door. It was a popular place, and I’d eaten there before. A lot of my teammates and most of the higher ups brought wives or dates.

Which reminded me… I scanned the room and exhaled. No Amanda, yet. If there was anyone looking out for me, she wouldn’t show. I really didn’t want to see her. Not after the ugly way I left things a month or so ago. Plus, no way did I want my personal life anywhere near my bosses. That was why I didn’t ever bring a date to these things. I lifted my glass to my lips and snorted.

Date? I didn’t even need a reason to not bring a date. Why the fuck would I want to bring a woman? Not only did I not date, I’d have to deal with her boring chitchat. It would be my job, and mine alone, to entertain her ass and introduce her to everyone. That meant more small talk.

No fucking thanks. Even the possibility of a quickie in the restaurant crapper wasn’t temptation enough to make me endure the misery of bringing a date.

I spotted Evvy halfway across the crowded room, chewing the fat with one of our corporate managers. Per usual, Evvy’s hands gesticulated wildly as he spoke. Even though I’d much rather sulk alone at the bar, I decided that joining Evvy was my best option if I wanted to keep people from approaching me and, at the same time, remain somewhat sane.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed off the bar. As I took my first step toward Evvy, out of the corner of my eye a cascade of gold hair caught my attention. I sucked in a breath and held it.

No fucking way.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my gaze glued to a blonde woman on the far side of the room. No, not a blonde. The blonde. Kylie. Hot Blonde. The very same Hot Blonde I sent the gift to. The one I’d propositioned. The one I had a near-religious experience with. A spark zapped my momentarily still heart and I exhaled.

Kylie was at the Comets’ dinner. Stood only a few yards away. But why? Who did she come with? She wasn’t an employee. I knew that for sure. I’d asked around in what hopefully came across as a non-creepy, non-stalkery manner. In retrospect, I should have realized Kylie’s front row seat meant she knew someone in the organization. Seats that good didn’t hand themselves out.

I twisted around to check out the rest of the room, not that I’d figure out who Kylie came with that way. I didn’t see her arrive, therefore, had no way of knowing which bastard I’d have to maim in order to get her all to myself.

Again, just the thought of some slimy douchebag putting his hands on her flawless skin made my pulse thunder in my ears. The one important detail I did notice, was the lack of a ring on her finger. Any of her fingers, actually. If she came with a date, they weren’t married. That meant I could, and would, do whatever necessary to ensure the mysterious Kylie didn’t want anyone but me by the end of the evening.

I returned to my spot leaning on the bar and waited for the perfect moment to present itself. My gaze never left Kylie’s stunning face. When she excused herself from a conversation with one of the wives to slip out a side door, a door I happened to know led to a sprawling stone patio, I made my move. A few people tried to stop me, pull me into some inane conversation. Good thing I didn’t mind being rude. I refused to be deterred. I was a man on a mission and no one would get in my way, not unless they wanted a knuckle sandwich to the eye socket.

Without looking back, and disregarding a woman who muttered unflattering comments about me under her breath when I wasn’t wowed by her flirting, I pushed through the crowd and exited the same door as Kylie. Blood thrumming and stomach fluttering in anticipation, I stepped out into the crisp winter night to claim my prize.

Except… shit! I didn’t see her. To my knowledge, there was only one way in and out of the patio area, so Kylie had to be somewhere. I stalked to the far end of the patio, turned the corner, and sucked in a lungful of icy winter air. Saint cibore, from far away Kylie was gorgeous, so how did I forget how beautiful she was up close, without a half-inch of scratched plexi between us?

She was positively stunning.

Kylie stood, alone, with one hip resting against the twisted metal railing, which meant that, thanks to her amazing dress, the exposed, bare expanse of her spine faced me. My breath hitched. That fucking low-slung dress would be the death of me.

She would be the death of me if I didn’t stop obsessing.

I wondered what would it be like to have the liberty to walk over and press right up against Kylie’s body. To feel the searing heat that came off her skin. To rub my stiffening cock against that fantastic ass. An ass that looked even better with my bright red handprint across it.

I approached casually, not hiding my presence, but not announcing it either. Kylie must have been deep in thought, because she didn’t notice me until I put my hands on the railing next to her and even then, she didn’t so much as twitch until I spoke.

“Nice evening, don’t you think?”

Tags: Heather C. Leigh The St. Clair Brothers Romance
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