Page 25 of Desperate Actions

But our girlfriend reunion is soon interrupted by some unwanted attention.

I’m half a margarita in, plus the wine I had with dinner, and I feel good.

Loose, warm, bold.

“Beautiful ladies, how are you this fine evening? My name is Chris, and this here is Peter.”

The taller one—Chris—smiles like he’s God’s gift to women, his voice slick with forced charm.

I glance up.

They’re not terrible looking, but they radiate cheap cologne and misplaced confidence.

I should work on my flirt game, so I give a polite smile, accepting the compliment for what it is.

“That’s sweet. Thank you.”

Chris grins wider, sensing an opening. “Just the truth. Now, how about you tell me your name?”

I scrunch my nose, because nope.

I’m not interested, and after a few seconds, I realize I can’t even pretend.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

Chris doesn’t back off.

He leans in, just enough to set me on edge.

“Come on, have a sip of your drink and relax. You’re in Vegas, Dollface.”

I cut my eyes at Leanna, but she’s dealing with Peter, who’s just as persistent.

The irritation flares hotter, because these idiots have seconds before someone from our group notices and drags them the fuck out of here.

I try one last time.

“Look, you really want to leave us alone.” My voice is even, calm but firm. “For your own good.”

Chris laughs, low and condescending.

Then he pushes my drink toward my mouth.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just a sip. It’ll make you feel better.”

Warning alarms go off in my head.

Too aggressive.

Too insistent.

This is not normal.

I turn my head just before the rim of the glass can make contact with my lips.

The sticky margarita spills down my cheek and neck, cold against my flushed skin.

I gasp, the shock hitting just as hard as the realization. This fucker is up to no good.

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