Page 37 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Seconds later, three little dots appeared, and then came his reply.

I will when you learn how to act.

I scoffed. That man was insufferable. But my body? My body didn’t seem to care. It was already humming at just the thought of him. I exhaled, shaking my head. Nope. I wasn’t about to do this with him right now. I threw my phone onto the couch and turned my attention back to my girls, forcing myself to let it go.

“O h h h , I w a n n adance with somebody…”

Mecca was screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs, swaying with a wine glass in one hand and the karaoke mic in the other, while the rest of us cackled and cheered her on.

“Bitch, you sound terrible!” I laughed, clutching my stomach as I doubled over.

“I don’t care!” she yelled back, completely unbothered, flipping her long hair dramatically. “I wanna feel the heat with somebody!”

Kalea and Retia were on the couch, weak with laughter, swaying drunkenly to the music while I danced barefoot in the middle of the living room, wine glass in hand. The penthouse was a vibe.

The liquor was warm in my system, the music was loud, and I was actually having fun—something I hadn’t felt in a minute. We had been drinking since noon, snacking on fruit and junk food, talking shit about old flings, and now, karaoke had turned into a whole performance. Mecca passed me the mic, and I grinned, already feeling myself.

“Hold up, let me get my song together,” I slurred, scrolling through the options. “We need something real.”

Kalea leaned over to look. “Oh shit, you pickin’ Monica? You know that’s our shit!”

I smirked and clicked on “So Gone,” stepping back with my drink in hand as the opening beat played. By the time I hit the chorus, everybody was singing along, belting out the lyrics like we had real heartbreak to sing about.

“So gone, over you, you, you, you!”

We were loud. We were drunk. We didn’t give a damn… until Shooter walked in. The energy shift was immediate. His presence was like a heavy weight settling over the penthouse, shutting everything down in an instant. The door clicked closed behind him, and the only sound left was Monica’s voice still playing in the background.

I turned, my buzz still thick, and locked eyes with him. He stood there, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he owned the place—which, technically, he did—but the way he was looking at me? Like I was the only thing in the room worth noticing? It did something to me.

His blue eyes dragged over me slowly, taking in my messy bun, my oversized off-the-shoulder sweater that had slid down one arm, exposing my skin, and the way my thighs were peeking out from my tiny-ass shorts. And then he smirked. The bastard.

“Uh… we should probably go,” Kalea mumbled, already sliding into her heels.

Retia cleared her throat and grabbed her purse, stumbling slightly. “Yeah, um, we love you, Parker. Be safe, okay?”

“Noooo…” I whined, narrowing my eyes at them. “Y’all serious right now?”

Mecca snorted, swaying a little as she passed by me, whispering, “Bitch, your husband just cleared the whole vibe. We out.”

I turned back toward Shooter, fuming. He hadn’t even said anything yet, and my girls were already running scared. They wobbled their way toward the elevator, drunkenly giggling and throwing a few "he’s so fine though” comments my way before disappearing behind the doors.

The second they were gone, I whirled back to him, seething. “What the hell is your problem?” I snapped, somewhat slurring my words. “You just had to show up and ruin my damn girls’ day, huh?”

Shooter didn’t say a word. Just stared. His arms were still folded, his broad frame leaning against the wall while his cold, unreadable gaze stayed pinned on me. I could still feel the liquor humming in my veins, making me bolder, making my words sharper.

“You think you can just walk in here, and shit stops moving?” I stepped closer, my lip curled in frustration. “You always think—”

“You done talkin’ shit?” His deep, lazy drawl cut through my rant, shutting me right the hell up. I huffed, crossing my arms as I glared at him. Shooter tilted his head, like he was amused by my little tantrum, and then, just as smoothly, he lifted a hand and summoned me with two fingers. “Come here.” I stayed right where I was, defiant, even though my pulse was already racing. His gaze darkened. “I won’t say it again, Mrs. Mosley.”

The way that rolled off his tongue made my stomach flip, made my body react before my mind could catch up. I threw back the rest of my drink, slammed the empty glass onto the table, and slowly walked toward him, making sure my sway was extra damn bold, even as my heart pounded.

The second I was close enough, his hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, pulling me in so fast my breath hitched. His grip was firm, controlling, his thumb pressing just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with. His blue eyes burned into mine, his voice low and dangerous.

“You wanna sleep off that liquor?” he murmured. “Or get put to sleep instead?”

I didn’t even hesitate. Before another second could pass, I launched my arms around his neck and crushed my mouth to his, kissing him hungrily, furiously, like I hated how bad I wanted him. Shooter didn’t miss a beat.

He caught me, owned me, his grip on my throat tightening before he lifted me off my feet. My legs locked around his waist as he turned, claiming my mouth like he was trying to punish me for every ounce of attitude I gave him.

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