Page 22 of Kingmakers, Graduation

She perches herself on a stool over by the bar, crossing her legs in front of her, casting a furtive glance in our direction as she orders her drink.

“You want me to pick her up for you?” I tease Sabrina.

“The day I need a wingman is the day I throw myself off a cliff,” she snarls.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you out front with the car.”

Sabrina pauses, casting a suspicious glance back over her shoulder. “What car? We rode here on bikes.”

I shake my head. “When will you stop underestimating me? I’ve had four months to plan this date. Of course I have a car.”

A smile plays over her lips. She likes surprises.

“Alright then. See you in a minute.”

I head toward the stairs, pausing halfway down so I can watch Sabrina work.

She slides onto the stool next to the blonde, raising a finger to the bartender to order a drink of her own.

Then she leans on her elbow, frankly looking the blonde up and down, paying some compliment that makes the girl laugh, pink in her cheeks.

I’m hit with a rush of heat, watching Sabrina radiate her raw sexual energy at full blast.

Everything Sabrina does is charged—each lift of her eyebrow, each flash of her teeth, the way she sits, the way she stands, the way she crosses her legs. Everything about her is hot as hell, and that’s when she’s not even trying.

Now I’m watching her exert herself, bringing all her powers to play. It’s fucking mesmerizing.

She takes her drink from the bartender, plucking the stick of olives from her martini and sliding one in her mouth. She chews slowly, then dips the olives back into the gin before removing another with her teeth.

Sabrina has the quality certain actors possess, compelling you to watch her every move. She can sexualize even the simplest of actions.

The blonde can hardly meet her eye. She’s nervous now, with no glass wall between them. She’s pink in the cheeks, fidgeting on her stool.

Sabrina murmurs something, holding out her drink for the girl to take a sip. Obediently, the blonde bends her head and drinks from Sabrina’s glass. When a little vodka clings to her lower lip, Sabrina catches it with the ball of her thumb. Their faces are close together, their mouths inches apart.

Sabrina licks the vodka off her thumb, slowly, sensuously, holding the girl’s gaze. She lowers her hand, letting it rest on the blonde’s bare thigh.

The women mirror each other down the length of their bodies, leaning in close, eyes locked. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but from the expression on Sabrina’s face, it’s something naughty.

The blonde blushes harder than ever, giggling. She nods.

I head down the stairs, smiling to myself.

5

SABRINA

The dancer’s name is Kylie and she’s from Australia. She’s been working in clubs across Europe, in Ibiza at first, then Cannes, now Dubrovnik.

“I’ll work through the summer, then head home in the fall.” She downs the last of her drink. “Well, it won’t be fall in Melbourne. I guess I’ll have two summers in a row.”

I order us another round for the road, since Adrik will be the one driving.

“It’s on me,” I tell Kylie as she reaches for her purse.

“My god you’re gorgeous,” Kylie remarks. “You should be a model. I tried when I came to Spain, but I wasn’t tall enough.”

“You look pretty fucking perfect to me,” I tell her.

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