Page 26 of Eden's Deliverance

“Deal.” I smile while removing my own mask, then we help each other tie into opposite colors. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I’ll take your declaration in the form of alcohol. Alotof alcohol.” She tries her best to act disappointed, but it soon fades. “I can’t believe I’m about to get my ass beat to hell for you.”

She won’t admit it, but she’s very much like me in the sense that she finds rebellion exhilarating. Maybe she’ll come out of tonight thanking me for the change in scenery.

We make our way back out to the bar and order our drinks—a vodka cranberry for me and a bay breeze for her. I’ve conveniently chosen the bar stool next to Casanova, but I keep stealing glances around his shoulder to make eye contact with his friend. He notices me almost immediately, tipping his head slightly to the side in acknowledgement.

It’s now or never.

I’m not a complete idiot; I saw them ‘cheers’ me from the bar when I was bawling like a little bitch after Casanova abandoned me. I know they’re together. He probably told his friend all about the things he did to me and how upset I got—but that’s not me anymore. Not tonight, at least.

I approach the long-haired beauty while keeping my back to Casanova, icing him out as he once accused me of doing. “Would you like to dance?”

That small head tilt he gave me earlier is nothing compared to now. Like an intrigued puppy, he bends his neck to the other side until his ear lays against his shoulder. His dark eyes survey me from head to toe.

I look decent tonight, having kept the three-inches-too-tall heels to pair with a new skin-tight red dress I bought specifically for my return to Eden.

“Does it look like I dance?” His voice is as deep as I remember, just a lot less friendly. Alright,Broody Brody.

I drop my shoulders, not sure what to do with this deflated balloon of confidence. “Well, can I buy you a drink at least?” I manage a small smile, looking up at him hopefully.

“Are you sharing? My friend here would love one as well.” He nods his head in the direction of the man behind me, but I don’t need to think about my answer.

“Just you.”

I’m not playing their games tonight. If they want to start toying with me, I’ll just find someone else.

“Hm, that’s too bad. Alright, I’ll bite.” He turns to the bartender and orders a vodka on the rocks. My kind of guy. “You know, this color doesn’t suit you. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

He doesn’t know a thing about me. Who is he to say what my color is? I know he’s referring to my mask and not my dress.

It’s not a coincidence that Broody was wearing a red mask on my first night—the same one Casanova has been endlessly trying to get me into. They’re bothRubies, but the pickings are probably so slim, they have to branch out just to get any pussy.

Well, that won’t be me.

“I knowexactlywhat I’m doing.” I peek over my shoulder and flash him a defiant grin before turning back to Broody. “But more importantly, I know who and what I’mnotdoing.”

Casanova curls in close and rests his chin on my shoulder to whisper in my ear, “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”

It’s hard to ignore him when he’s breathing on my neck like that, forcing the eargasms to cloud my judgment. Fighting to hide the quake in my shoulders, I look back at him.

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

He chuckles, amused by the throwback of words he said to me during our last encounter. “Have it your way then. You two kids go have fun. I’ll be here prowling the watering hole.” He raises his glass before taking a sip.

For a second, I reminisce about the way Casanova’s bourbon tasted on my tongue when we kissed. The flavor encapsulated the bittersweet dynamic of our relationship.

Vodka mixed with vodka…just makes more vodka.

Still, I can’t get over how elegantly Broody’s hair flows around and in front of his face when he looks at me. His entire aura screams of authority, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let him choke me.

I have to consider he could be in some pact with Casanova, only humoring me tonight to enact punishment for me rejecting his friend.

“Go on, then. Find a free room and I’ll be there in a minute,” he orders. There’s no excitement or desire to his tone; it’s dry. “Gotta finish the drink you were generous enough to buy for me.”

My palms turn clammy, anxiety suddenly creeping up at the prospect of being alone with him. “Well, I could have another drink. We could—”

“I heard you were good at following instructions.” He turns to Casanova and asks, “Are you sure this is the same girl?”

---