Page 18 of Red Fury
I’d rather poke my eyes out.
“I’m fine on my own. Thank you.” I keep my voice polite but firm.
“Come on, don’t be like that. It’s Thursday night in New York. You shouldn’t be drinking alone.”
“I prefer it that way.”
He doesn’t take the hint, sliding into the chair across from me uninvited. “You know what they say about all work and no play…”
I fix him with a stare that has made grown shifter males cry. “I’ve been polite, but my patience is wearing thin. Open yourears, I’m not interested. Not now and not ever. I want to drink alone…and in peace. Please go away, before I get mad,” I whisper the last under my breath, but my tone is clear.
To his credit, Brad at least has the sense to recognize danger when he sees it. He holds up his hands, then gets up and backs away. “Okay, okay. No need to get hostile. Just trying to be friendly.”
Friendly, my ass.
He’s a jerk.
I watch him retreat to the bar, then drain the rest of my martini in one long pull. The alcohol burns, but it’s a welcome distraction from the fire under my skin.
I’m just about to signal for another drink when the front door opens and my jaw drops open.
Holy shit.
Noooooooo.
Crap!
Fury walks in like he owns the place. He’s traded his security uniform for dark jeans and a charcoal gray Henley that hugs his broad shoulders and shows off those incredible tattoos on his forearms. His dark hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it, and even from across the crowded bar, I can see those piercing blue eyes scanning the room.
The man is just ridiculously attractive, and my dragon purrs at the sight of him.
Down, girl. He’s still the enemy. You need to try to remember that.
I sink lower in my chair, praying he doesn’t spot me tucked away in this corner. All I want is to drink in peace. I don’t want another confrontation with the likes of him…or anyone, for that matter.
Fury chooses one of the tall tables near the center of the bar, sitting on a stool. Almost immediately, a waitress appearsat his elbow. She’s a petite brunette with curves that belong in a magazine and a smile bright enough to power the whole damned city.
“What can I get you, handsome?” she asks, leaning against his table in a way that puts her impressive cleavage on full display.
I can’t hear his response from here, but whatever he says makes her giggle like a teenager. He says something else.
“Good choice.” She touches his arm, her hand lingering. Then she murmurs something, but I can’t hear over the music. Why am I even trying to listen in?
It’s irritating.
I try hard to focus on something else. Anything else but them. It isn’t long before my eyes are drawn back. She’s laughing again and murmurs something.
Fury smiles and nods.
Then she touches him again, this time clutching his bicep, before sauntering away to fetch his drink, making sure to sway her hips for his benefit.
I roll my eyes.
The bartender appears at my table with my martini and a shot. “From the gentleman at the bar,” he says, nodding toward an older male in a suit. Despite being close to fifty, he’s attractive. The guy raises his glass in a toast.
I want to refuse the shot, but I need the alcohol more than I need to make a point. I lift the glass in acknowledgment, then pointedly ignore him, downing the shot. I wince at the taste. Tequila has never been my favorite.
The waitress returns to Fury’s table with what looks like whiskey, and I watch in fascination as she practically climbs onto the table to set it down. Her hand lingers on his shoulder, and she says something that makes him chuckle.
