Page 179 of Wrath

His thumb rubs at my palm, which is nice and sweaty from the drinking. I'm pulling it away when his eyes catch mine.

"You from around here?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Got a place for the night?"

"I don't know," I manage.

He looks thoughtful. "Stay at my place. I'm not going home. You feel me? If I do, I won't mess with you." He pulls his phone out. He turns it around toward me, showing me an Instagram page. In the top photo, his profile-oriented face is shadowed, but I see the outline of his lips and his nose.

Holy shit! He’s got a million followers.

There's that smile again. The charmer. "I'm sorta...known," he says. "I don't need that sort of shit on my name. Also, not a dick." He lifts his dark brows, and I wonder if they're real. They look so thick and...perfect.

"Here ya go, babe." He puts keys in my hand. Then he pulls his phone up again. "Just sent you the address on Snap."

I lean closer to him, looking at his face. The perfect bones. Just like a model.

"You smell good," I whisper. Just like Ezra. My eyes feel so heavy.

"Let's get you to a cab, sweetie. I'm gonna let your friend the blond guy know the address if he's still here."

I nod.

His hand comes to my back as we go back down the dark hall. Back into the more exterior hall, back into the loud mainroom. I start toward the bar, but his hand presses against my back.

"Let me pick the tab up for you."

"Why?"

He smiles down at me, kind and mentor-like, but somehow also flirty as his fingers trace my cheek. "Because of these," he says, meaning my freckles. I have the thought: if I were older and not head-fucked, he'd be perfect. "Let an old guy help a kid out." He gets the door for me. "I promise you’ll be safe there for the night. Do the deadbolt, though. You don't know me."

My head swims as he shuts the door of my cab. I frown at him through the tinted window as the driver sets off for the address my new friend—what's his name?—gave them.

I unlock my phone, going straight to Snapchat. It has a location feature? How did I miss that?

I check messages. DomBryant. I go to his profile.

Holy fuck. Fourmillionfollowers on Snapchat.

I think about his diamond bling and smile to myself. That...tricker. Trickster.

Pretty.

I imagine Ezra wearing diamonds.

Stop, drunk Miller.

I go to TikTok. Put in "Dom Bryant."

His gorgeous face comes up. Nice shades and good hair—like an ocean wave. His lips puckered. All cheekbones. Jesus. I stare at the three million followers he has there.

Dom Bryant.

I lean my head back against the seat, trying not to feel sick. I think of Ezra's arms around my waist.

My hands sweat as I pull up the contact for Ez and send a text.

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