Page 4 of Daring Enzo

They're all pretty. I'm sure they get loads of looks wherever they go, but the one who blew me away at first glance was the rude girl who said she wasn't pleased to meet me. I make my way over to the other side of the round bar, sitting opposite so I can watch her. I’ve never wanted to touch someone so badly. She’d been checking me out too, right before she found out who I was.

I sip some whiskey.

It seems Alessia's friends don't like me. I wonder why.

The blonde laughs, and my eyes follow her every move. I can’t look away to save my life. She has a light tan, unlike her tall friend, who is more olive-skinned. She’s glowing under the light.

Did she dust some glowy makeup over herself or something?

Her face, her shoulders, and even her arms are exposed in that shimmery dress… she’s glowing all over. I’m obsessed with the slight bit of her ample cleavage I can see from the low neckline of her dress… even her feet in those strappy heels.

Her hands move animatedly as she speaks, completely oblivious to my observation. Her full lips part in a smile, and my hand tenses around my glass. How would those lips feel around my-

I shake my head, surprised at the turn my thoughts have taken. Stop it, Enzo. What the fuck are you doing? I shake my head again to clear it and look back at her again. Her long lashes and when she blinks… they touch her cheeks.

Shit, they are not real, are they? They probably aren’t. No, there’s no way they’re real.

I want to get to know her. I want to speak to her again… maybe get back some of the hunger I’d seen in her eyes before she had heard what my name was and glared at me like the rest of her friends.

I want to know her name too. Dad had taken Alessia away before she could tell me their names, and they had left before introducing themselves. Honestly, I care little about the names of the others. I just want to know her. I grin to myself as I imagine her moaning my name.

I know it’s probably the worst thing I could be doing — deciding to talk to her of all people. I rarely like disagreeable women. She’s not shy about being rude, and will probably give me a hard time… but I can’t help it.

I frown. What’s this connection? Is this a challenge? Since when have I become the kinda guy who likes to be challenged?

I shrug without a care. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. The thought makes me grin. My eyes remain focused on her as I sit there, trying to plot a way to separate her from her friends so I can speak to her.

And would you look at it? It seems the universe is on my side.

Right as I’m thinking, as if by fate, her friends all stand up together. They’re tittering loudly, holding on to each other as they head to the bathroom.

There’s my chance.

She pulls their drinks closer, shaking her head as she watches them go. It seems she’s been tasked with watching over their drinks while they go to the bathroom. To do whatever it is girls do takes them several minutes. I can only hope it’ll be the case and I’ll have enough time to talk to her before they return and focus their glares on me again.

I take my drink with me, sliding off my stool and going over. I left the empty seats to her left where her friends had been and slid onto the stool on her right. She’s focused on her phone as I approach and turns to look at me when she feels a presence near her. Her eyes narrow in slits when she sees my face. She looks down at her drink before looking back up to focus and glare at me again.

“What the fuck do you want?” she growls at me.

Damn. Even her voice is sexy. What was she saying again? Ah, that’s right, she was being rude. I don’t even care.

“Woah, feisty.” I blurt out and grin at her. My grin widens when she glares even harder. I expected she would. “I mean, I like it, but I would like to know what exactly I’ve done to deserve it.”

She turns and slaps her hand down hard on the bar in obvious frustration. “You’d like to know why? Really? You’re kidding me, right?”

I look around the bar in confusion before looking at her again. “No, I’m not?” My words come out like a question. Have I met her before? Slept with any one of them without remembering them? Somehow, that thought doesn’t seem right. They wouldn’t act so surprised to find out who I was if I had slept with one of them. So, what is it?

“I’ve never met you before. What did I do?” I ask when she says nothing and only watches me with quiet disgust.

“What did you do?” She laughs and adds, “Sure, you’ve never met me, but I’ve heard more than enough about you.”

Realization hits and I cringe. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier. They’re friends with Alessia — the ones she met when she ran away to France. It makes sense I don’t have an excellent track record with them.

I try to think of one thing that could be construed as good. She could have said about me that’ll soften this, but nothing comes to mind. Everything had gotten so out of hand without Dad and me realizing how far we’d gone. The long list of things we’d done wrong, however, sticks in my head. The very recent assault I’d launched against Michael when I found out about the pregnancy comes to mind, and I cringe. Yes, they must have a lot of reasons to glare at me.

Still, I let her elaborate. “You are the overprotective piece of shit with the most backward view in the twenty-first century I’ve ever seen on a man,” she points a perfectly manicured finger in my direction.

My eyebrows raise so high, they almost disappear into my hairline. I knew they felt strongly about this, but not so strongly she’d cuss to my face. I cross my arms over my chest, forgetting my whisky as I give her my undivided attention.

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