Page 10 of Snapshot

A warm flood of satisfaction rushes through me. Not just because she thinks I’m hot but because she says it so casually. I like her bravado.

Taking one beer from her, I say, “Thank you.” With the bottle steadied between my thumb and forefinger, I point to the other bottle she’s holding with my pinky. “That one is better. It’s a Hefeweizen.”

She quickly holds out the other bottle. “I brought both for you. To buy you some time before you have to go down there again. Oh, and here.” She steadies the bottle between the crook of her elbow and the side of her ribcage as she digs through her satchel. “Do you have a pitch jar or something? I didn’t see one downstairs.”

“A what?”

She’s struggling to hold the bottle as she fishes in her wallet, so I pull it free and hold onto it as I patiently wait to see what in the hell a pitch jar is.

“Everyone downstairs is drinkingyouralcohol, right?”

“Why do you say that?”

She scoffs like I’m missing the obvious punch line to a joke. “Because I know if my friends supplied the booze, we’d be slamming back PBR and chasing shots of Burnett’s with Monster energy drinks. You actually have good liquor and beer.” She proudly holds up a folded ten-dollar bill. “I had three drinks, so this probably isn’t enough.” Twisting her lips, she gives me an apologetic smile. “But it’s all I have on me right now.”

Her pouty, bright red lips are a distraction every time she moves them, so it takes me a little longer to register what she’s insinuating. “So, a pitch jar is where everyone financially contributes to the party booze?”

She tilts her head just slightly. “You seem surprised. Is this your first house party?”

I could explain to her the parties I’m used to are usually hosted in multimillion-dollar mansions, have valet for guests’ foreign sports cars, and caviar and cocaine are served on platinum platters. But I don’t feel like opening up that can of worms. The whole point of being in Las Vegas is to lead a very different life than I had in Miami. Even if it’s temporary.

“I can honestly say my friends have never offered,” I answer.

She twists up her face like she witnessed something obscene. “Some friends.”

“Apparently, I’ve been missing out.” I lift my eyebrows. “Keep your money. The gesture is appreciated. But I don’t need it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Such a hero. Just take the cash. Who can’t use an extra ten bucks?” She steps forward and the lace of her shirt brushes against my bare skin. Her scent wafts aroundus. It’s sugary and citrus, like candy. It’s the kind of smell that makes my mouth water and has me suddenly craving something sweet. Before I can fully process the smell of her, her hand is in my front jeans pocket. With a beer in each of my hands, I can’t stop her from tucking the folded bill deep into my pocket and grazing against the tip of my dick with her fingertips.

She knows what she just touched because her big eyes go from large to cartoon proportions as she rips her hand out of my pocket and leaps backward. The thin lining of my pocket and my briefs kept her accidental touch pretty tame, but she still looks mortified.

“There’s a purple stripe on the corner. It’s just nail polish. It’s how I make sure my tips don’t get mixed up at the restaurant. But it shouldn’t be a problem at the store. I use them all the time,” she explains, her eyes now on her shoes.

I want to make a joke and laugh it off. It was an innocent accident. But obviously, she wants to pretend that didn’t happen.

She takes another step backward and spins around to leave, but it’s poorly timed because a group of sloppy jackasses knocks right into her. One of them empties a full Solo cup of beer on her chest. She freezes with her back turned to me. I hear her sharp gasp.“Shit. That’s cold!”

“Oh man, so sorry, Lenny. Accident,” a man says in a drunken drawl. His hat is turned backward so I can see his red cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Then he’s pawing at her as his buddies snicker and leave him behind, thundering down the stairs like a herd of cattle. “Just lemme clean it up for you.”

Based on the disgusting smile on his face, I’m convinced he dumped his beer on her on purpose. But he said her name…Lenny?Is this her guy friend? Boyfriend, perhaps? His friends walked on by, leaving them together. Obviously, she knows him. Maybe I shouldn’t intervene like a territorial?—

“Get the fuck off of me, Charlie,” she barks out. “Do you think your hands are made of goddamn paper towels?”

It’s all the invitation I need.

Within two strides, my hand is on his shoulder, pushing him away from her. Once she’s at a safe distance—in case he throws a drunken punch—my hand moves to his throat. I tighten my grip until he’s sputtering. “I’m going to do you a favor and not throw you off my balcony. But in exchange for my generosity, you’re going to get the fuck out of my house. Right now. Deal?”

I’m taller than him, larger than him, and I’m sure my temper doesn’t look worth testing at the moment. He makes a smart move and nods until I release his neck. I keep my eyes on him as he tries not to trip down the stairs. He looks like the kind of sleazy piece of shit who’d strike you with something the moment your back is turned. So, I watch his sorry ass until he’s through the front door.

“He’s stupid but harmless,” she says from behind me. “He’s been high for like two years straight now.”

“It’s impressive he’s not dead,” I mutter.

“Just high off weed,” she explains. “Nothing that could kill him.”

I smile as I turn to face her. “No, I mean I’m impressed with my self-control. I really wanted to throw him off my balcony. You think he’d bounce like a skipping stone?”

My smile is wiped clean when I see the front of her shirt. She looks like she’s been hosed down. Her flowy lace top is glued to her skin, and her white bra is now see-through, her thick, dark nipples completely on display.

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