Page 18 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

The music is so loud the beer soaked, sticky floor shakes under my boots, but everyone here is too drunk, or too high to notice how high the tempo is. I am the only one who can feel the ringing in my ears.

The problem is I am tipsy enough that I keep stumbling into people, and sober enough to know the smile I keep giving Marissa is fake. Everything I do right now is so fake, it is fucking hilarious. I am dancing and pulling on this black leather body con dress with cutouts on the side down to stop showing my ass. I am giggling and winking at guys who tip their glasses to me with suggestive smirks. Sometimes if the lights hit their faces right, or if their eyes look even a tad bit blue, I smile back and let them think they could take me home.

Right now, Marissa is currently gyrating her hips on a guy who looks like he stepped out of a leather-clad boy band music video. With his Prada t-shirt, ear gauges, dirty blonde hair, and laid-back demeanor, he practically screams "douche". But I can’t cockblock her because that is her type, and who am I tojudge when my type is cheating asshole, hockey players with anger issues.

I lean against the bar, my eyes scanning the club as I hold a cranberry vodka in my hand that is mostly cranberry and water by now, but from the look of the guy across the dance floor I should be getting a refill shortly.

I flip my loose curls over my shoulder and look away from the guy before turning back to look at him through my eyelashes.Jeez, what am I doing? Who even is this guy?He smirks, pointing a finger to his chest, and I nod my head slightly, calling him over.

He smirks, looking off to the side and wiping the corner of his mouth. He looks kind of cute, I mean as cute as a dark club can make someone look attractive, but my stomach drops when he pushes off the wall and starts to make his way through the crowd to me.

I cock my head to the side to get a better look at him, and I don't know if he is actually hot, or if I am fooling myself into thinking he is because he looks the exact opposite to Christopher. I don't think Christopher would ever have black hair with dyed pink ends. He would never have a septum piercing. He would never wear skinny jeans, or vans, or anImagine Dragonst-shirt. Christopher would never chuckle at me with a gleam in his eye when a guy drunkenly bumps into him. I would never have to pretend to laugh, or act like his boyish grin makes my stomach flip.

My skin prickles as the guy slides up next to me at the bar, radiating that effortless confidence only men with too much money and zero accountability seem to have. He’s tall, not as tall as Christopher but tall enough, and his pink hair looks almost peach up close. His grin is lazy,as he leans against the bar with his back to the crowd, and I stare forward ignoring him like I am supposed to.

He leans in, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of tequila on his breath, mixed with something citrusy—lime, maybe. I feel like I am going to gag, because I want to smell smoke, cedar, leather. I want to hate Christopher for smelling so good. I already want to walk away from this guy because what guy smells like lime? Like why?

His arm rests on the bar beside me, his breath slides over my skin making me want to scrub the sensation off of me.

“You look bored,” he says, his voice low and smooth, like we’re already in on the same secret.

I arch a brow, tilting my head toward him just as a snort rumbles across my chest. “Then entertain me."

"Damn I think that's the hottest thing I have ever heard someone say to me."

"Then you need to talk to more people." I mutter, taking a sip of my cranberry vodka.Yup it’s just water and cranberries now.I cock an eyebrow at him.

"Be honest with me." He nudges my arm playfully, grinning like a kid who just got away with something. "You’re just standing here hoping someone brings you a free drink so you don’t have to talk to anyone, right?"

I let out a sarcastic laugh. "Wow, bold of you to assume I can't buy my own drink."

He shrugs, not the least bit fazed. "Nah, it’s not bold." He winks, clearly joking. "I’m practically a pro at spotting fellow anti-socials in crowded places, especially pretty ones who are low on liquor."

I roll my eyes, and shift my body away a bit. Nothing about this guy screams anti-social, in fact he seems like the most outgoing guy here. Christopher never lies to me, especially small little white lies that don’t really matter and are easy to decipher. I almost feel like this guy thinks I am stupid.

I look at him from the corner of my eye as I speak. "And what makes you think I want to talk to you?"

He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like I just shot him. "Ouch. You wound me, mysterious leather-dress lady."

I roll my eyes.“Leather-dress lady?”

He leans in, grinning like a kid with a secret. “I don’t know your name… but I bet it’s something cool. Like…Storm.OrBlade." He narrows his eyes in mock seriousness. "Wait—pleasetell me it’s Blade."

His playfulness is supposed to make me want to smirk, or disarm me but instead I think about the weighted purr of Christopher's lips when he says my name.

"It's justJosie," I flash him a tight smile.

He snaps his fingers like he just lost a game show. "Damn. So close, but you know you look like a Josie."

Fuck, he says my name all wrong.

I blink at him, and purse my lips before spreading a fake amused grin on my face. “Yeah? What gave it away?"

He shrugs, drumming his fingers on the bar. “You’ve got that vibe. A little wild, a little dangerous. All the way sexy, and like you’re trying to behave but you’ll bite if provoked.”

I snort, shaking my head. “That’s one wayto describe it.”

"No, it is the perfect way to describe it." Then he offers his hand, as if introducing himself at a PTA meeting. "I’m Milo, by the way. Not as cool as Blade, or Josie but I think it suits me."

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