Page 2 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

People around us go about their business as if Violet and I don’t exist at all, but I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Scrutinized.

It’s a little disconcerting, but the point right now is to let people see me.

Granted, I’m wearing my fuck-me dress and stiletto spikes. Violet insisted we stop to change before we came to this bar, and I was too many yummy drinks in to object.

The velvet halter dress and low back make a bra impossible, and Violet pulled the drawstring thigh slit as high as it goes. It nips in at my waist and hugs my full thighs, belly, and breasts sinfully. Sparkling rhinestone and glitter explosions that resemble fireworks randomly burst across the fabric.

I wouldn’t normally leave my apartment so exposed but, again... it’s a fuck-me dress. Whomever takes me home will see far more.

Not that I’ve had any luck, but I look fucking amazing and I know it.

I sip my whiskey sour and eyeDaniel S.across the bar. He’s not bad looking. A little on the short side. I’m not exactly Amazonian, but I like my guys tall with a lot of heft to them. I want someone who can toss me around, and with my curves, the characteristics of the guys I’d trust to do so is a limited list.

Daniel S. doesn’t appear to have any heft.

He could be some kind of shifter. He’s got this scruffy vibe. Maybe that’s why Vi picked him. Looks can be deceiving.

No, he’s sipping a craft beer with a label I don’t recognize. No one else in the bar has one, which means he probably snuck it in.

Strikes one and two, Danny boy.

“Go on,” Violet says and shoos me toward my newest suitor. I make it a solid three steps into the throng when she calls out, “Don’t forget to push your boobs up!”

I hate that I love her.

But I do covertly refresh the cleft.

As I squeeze my way through the crowd towardDaniel S., potential paramour number six of the evening, I curse myself for telling Violet about Trent at all. Sure, we’d been together for nearly a year. We’d even exchanged apartment keys, but it’s not like we were engaged.

So what if someone texted him naked pics at two a.m.?

And he got out of bed to take a call.

Then had to leave for a “work emergency.”

I sound so damned pathetic.

He didn’t even try to hide the text. He had to have known I’d see it.

Another year lost.

To my credit, I didn’t wait for him to return to his apartment. A different day, a different mood, and I might have stayed in his bed and slept off the tears.

No. Instead, I packed my meager belongings and haven’t looked back.Fucking proud of me.

I deserve better.

His apartment key—on the cute little flower keychain he picked “just for me”—is probably still sitting on his kitchen counter two days later. I wonder if he even noticed. He still hasmykey, but I have no intention of contacting him again. If hewants any of his stuff back, he’ll have to man-up and ask me for it.

Some blond guy elbows me in the ribs while I push my way through the crowd. I let out a littleoof, and he twists and shoves me hard with one hand.

“Watch it, bitch,” the guy spits at me. I pivot to throw my own response, but an unknown set of hands spins him around and slams a wide fist into his face.

One of his buddies jumps the blur of white sleeves that had punched the shover, and the fight broadens.

I take several steps backward to dissolve into the crowd of people circling the altercation.

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