Page 6 of Savage Devotion
“You better be careful. You’ll round up more lovesick puppies who will hound you with phone calls, wondering when you’re coming back to town.”
If there ever was a female version of Casanova, Laila would be her.
“What can I say? My love triangle is a place men just love to get lost in.” She throws a two-fingered V up and slides her tongue up the middle.
“Ew, someone needs to teach you manners,” I tease. But we both know it’s of no use. She’s as wild as a field of summer flowers.
“Oh, here we go.” She nudges me. “I think I found you apapialready. A little older. More brutish looking than the normal frat boys around campus. He probably has more sexual knowledge in one nut than all the boys I graduated college with. Could be fun.”
She angles her chin back to the table where a fourth has joined the trio she eyed moments ago.
Older, yes. But not by much. Well dressed. There’s an aura of danger about him that screams bad boy. So yeah, that is a no-go. If I’m going to go balls to the wall and do this whole one-night hook-up thing, I want someone I can easily walk away from before the sun comes up.
Laila must be reading my thoughts as they play out over my expression because she clicks her tongue and passes me another double. “Here take this and loosen up. Did you see the tats? You saw the tats covering that man’s arms, right? The ones all up his neck, and I think I just spotted some nipple piercings. I thought you liked ’em dirtied up and rough?”
I tilt my head. “I do and that is why it’s a hard pass. This is the new me.”
“One day I’m gonna get you to finally accept how you are.”
Nope. I saw what a bad boy did to my mother and sister and I’m the one living with the consequences. I love Laila like a sister, but I know what I want and in the same breath what I need to stay away from.
“Just give me a nice boy who knows how to dance. I’ll be good.”
I pound back the second shot of tequila and love the warm slide of spice and tang hitting the back of my throat. I instantly feel my muscles relax. The years-old knots between my shoulder blades release their death grip after a third.
Partying isn’t my style. I had a few friends who shared their moments synonymous with “fall down drunk, wake up the next morning with a tramp stamp, and wondering who the naked guy next to you is” kind of weekends. But, ya know what? That’s not me. I want tonight to have no demands from me. No crushing reality. Just a few hours of fantasy. But I want to remember everything about it.
Ignoring my short list of demands, Laila continues. “You should totally go and ask him to dance. Get a little play time in and then we’re gone come morning.”
“You go. I know you’re trying to hook me up, but I got this. You don’t need to watch over me and you’re definitely into his vibe.” I playfully push at her after signaling the barkeep for another round. “Go forth. You look ravish-able. Show him all your hidden tattoos.” I wiggle my brows at her as she moves away.
“You’re such an enabler. Okay. I’ll be back in ten.”
I know better than to believe that.
I raise my fresh drink as she saunters away in her cutoffs and kissable strawberry-scented lip gloss. I glance back and I flash her a smile showing her I can truly stand at a bar alone while she gets her flirt on.
“You’re a good friend.”
Vivid gold eyes, stark black hair, and rakishly handsome are all the things that instantly clicked in my mind when I turn at the sound of a deep voice over my shoulder.
And just like that, all my self-proclaimed must-nots dissolve. All with the power of a firm baritone.
I am such a freaking pushover.
“Excuse me?” My voice holds more than a hint of surprise.
My eyes travel up a board chest to find a delicious scruff covering a chiseled jawline.
I inwardly groan. Two of my weaknesses.
I inhale and get hit with a hint of his intoxicating masculine scent. A spicy Sandalwood mixed with a lingering hint of tobacco from a fine cigar, no doubt.
Intoxicating. Not overpowering. Erotic.
Shit.
His gaze grows centered, focused. Like I am the only one he’s interested in, and the weight of such intensity pins me to my stool.
