Page 22 of Luca

I turn on my heels and brush my long, dark-brown hair over my shoulders. This is going to be so much fun.

The club Bianca and I are at is packed with sweaty bodies dancing along to the loud music. The place is dark minus the light coming from the DJ booth and, of course, the bar. It’s a typical Boston party spot and one I knew would irritate the hell out of Luca. When I called Bianca to have her meet me here after talking to my father, she was more than a little surprised this was the one I picked.

“Girl,” she says, leaning into my ear as we stand at the bar waiting to order our drinks. “Luca does not look happy.”

I look at the man in question and feel a certain sense of satisfaction. He looks just as unhappy now as he did when I met him at the front door in my tight white bodycon dress that dipped low in the front and was held together by silver chains in the back that reached well below my waist. Nor was he happy when I pulled a flask from my small jeweled purse and took a long pull of vodka before leaving the driveway.

“That’s just his face, Bianca. Tragic, if you think about it.”

I plaster a fake pout on my face, and Bianca laughs.

After getting our drinks, Bianca and I toast with the cheap plastic cups and take a sip.

“I’m honestly surprised you wanted to come here. This really isn’t your scene,” Bianca tells me.

“I wanted something a little different.” I shrug a shoulder, not wanting to be honest about why this is where I chose tonight because, honestly, it’s a little juvenile. But I can’t seem to help from acting like the brokenhearted teenager who wants to prove some point to Luca rather than the woman I’ve grown into and recognize he’s just doing his job. It’s never felt like that for me, and I fucking hate it.

“Hi.” A man who looks like he’s spent a few too many hours at the gym and way too much time doing his hair slides between Bianca and me. “I saw you standing here and thought to myself, that girl looks like she needs to dance.”

Ugh.

“Do I?” I say coyly instead of brushing him off like I normally would. You know, if these were normal circumstances. “With whom?”

His too-white smile broadens as he moves a tad closer. “Me, of course. Come on, legs. Dance with me.”

Legs? God, this guy is a douche. Not that it matters right now.

Another man, who seems to have spent an equal amount of time at the gym working on his arms, is trying to chat up Bianca. She doesn’t look impressed.

“Sure,” I tell the guy in front of me. I set my empty cup on the bar and catch Bianca’s gaze before tilting my head toward the dance floor. Seeing my intent, she rolls her eyes but allows the meathead she’s talking to lead her to the floor.

We stay at the edge where Luca can keep an eye on us, the one concession I gave him without argument, as the man wearing far too much cologne grinds against me. Who the hell told this guy, or any other one for that matter, that dancing with a girl like you’re trying to fuck her in front of everyone is attractive? I try to back up, but he keeps pulling me back to him. After a few more songs pass, I’m ready to call it quits since this guy can’t seem to keep his damn hands to himself. He leans in and shouts in my ear, “I’m gonna go take a piss. Don’t go anywhere.”

He smiles down at me, and I force a plastic one on my face, having no intention of following his command.

Satisfied with my reaction, he smacks his hand on his friend’s shoulder and signals toward the bathroom. His friend nods and leans into Bianca, probably giving her the same line.

They leave and Bianca comes over to me, rolling her eyes. “These guys are fucking douchebags, Giada.”

I throw my head back in laughter. “I know. Let’s not be here when they get back.”

“Agreed,” she replies.

I turn toward where I last saw Luca standing and find the spot empty.

Jesus, for someone tasked with my protection, he’s doing a bang-up job already.

Bianca and I dance for another song sans the leeches that were attached to us, and Luca isn’t back yet. “Let’s go get another drink,” I suggest.

We get our cocktails, and as I turn toward the dance floor again, Luca comes from the direction of the bathrooms.

“We’re leaving,” he says when he approaches.

“Uh, no. We’re not. Bianca and I are waiting for a couple guys to come back from the bathroom.”

His eyes darken as he takes the drink from my hand and places it on the bar. “They aren’t coming back.” Luca turns to Bianca. “I’ve called you a car to take you home since you’ve been drinking.”

“Um, yeah.” Her eyes dart between Luca and me. “Okay, thanks.”

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