Page 9 of Snapshot

2

Dex

Three Years Earlier

Las Vegas

Out of sheer boredom, I filled my new house with strangers on a Friday night. Word spread about my little get-together after inviting just my neighbors and a few acquaintances. I haven’t met many people since I moved to town and took over the dive shop a couple months ago, so I wasn’t expecting the huge turnout. There are so many people in my four-thousand-square-foot suburban home that we’re veering away from shindig and getting dangerously close to mosh pit.

The colored strobe lights highlight random faces in the low-lit room. I don’t recognize a single person here. Just strangers, drinking my booze, smoking my cigars, and trashing my new home.

I dropped a few grand on top-shelf liquor, that no one can appreciate at this level of inebriation. The imported German beer, which can only be found at the best Oktoberfest festivals, was left out and lukewarm before being poured into red andblue SOLO cups and used for endless rounds of beer pong. I even fired up the hot tub. It’s currently a washing machine of couples’ saliva and other bodily fluids that I’d rather not dwell on. Chlorine won’t cut it. I’m going to have to drain that fucker after tonight.

I’ve seen enough. Intent on grabbing a beer for the road and abandoning my party for my bed, I head to my kitchen.

“Excuse me,” I say to the women who are lip-locked and blocking my hidden refrigerator, lying behind long, black doors that match my cabinetry. “Just trying to grab a beer.”

The blond-haired woman pulls away from the brunette and traces her lips with the tip of her finger. Her smile is wicked. “Pay the toll.” She taps her lips, then the brunette’s.

It’s too dark for them to notice the flicker of agitation in my eyes or the way my jaw clenches. “Not interested.”

She takes it as a challenge. The blonde leans back against the fridge door then shrugs her shoulders, purposely squeezing her tits together, making her ample cleavage hard to ignore. “Then no beer for you.”

This woman is wrapped tightly in a giant red flag. I don’t find this sexy. Just embarrassing. I’d like to pick her up by her shoulders and move her out of my way, but I’m not dumb enough to touch her.

The blonde giggles as I duck down to speak into her ear, clearly thinking I’ve mistaken her cheap seduction tactics for charm. By now, I’ve gone through it all. Holes poked through condoms. Full-on nudes in my DMs with no names, just addresses. Court-ordered paternity test requests filed by women I’ve never met. Most recently, baseless accusations that led to blackmail and extortion. I’ve sacrificed so much already, what’s one more beer?

“Then no beer for me,” I grumble in her ear before walking away.

For fuck’s sake. Can’t get a drink in my own goddamn house.

I slip by the sweaty clusters of people as I make my way to the stairs. Taking them two by two, my feet land heavily with each leap on the wooden steps, my eyes set on the master suite. Ignoring the loiterers in my upstairs foyer, I burst through the French doors and slam them shut behind me. The loud music from downstairs immediately dissipates thanks to the soundproofed room.

But as soon as I peel off my shirt and lob it onto my cleanly made bed, there’s a soft tapping at my door. A hesitant, noncommittal knock. I almost don’t answer, but then I realize the bedroom isn’t locked. The person on the other side of the door could’ve barged in but chose to knock and wait instead. That kind of intrigues me. Something in the realm of manners, at least.

I pull open the doors and…

There she is.

An elegant, sweet face carved with perfect angles. Her long, thick, dark-purple hair is wrapped around her like a cloak, which is ideal because her white lace top is most definitely see-through, and I have a clear visual of her bra. Her shorts have some sort of iridescent sheen to them. All paired with glittery black tennis shoes.

Basically, this woman is a hundred fucking layers of interesting.

“Hey. What’s up?” I’ll give myself credit. That sounded pretty damn casual, even though there’s a circus show of flips and kicks going on in my chest. It’s her big, dark brown eyes and the way they are locked on mine. Her eye contact is intimidating, actually.

Good thing she’s pairing her stare with a smile. She’s wearing an even-keeled, confident expression like I should have beenexpecting her at my bedroom door or something. “Here you go.” She raises her hands, tightly wrapped around two frosted beer bottles. Both unopened. “I saw all that go down in the kitchen. Sorry about Kendra. She loses all sense when she drinks. That was rude of her.” She glances past me into my bedroom. “I’m assuming this is your house and your party?”

“Yeah.”

She holds the beers up higher. “Are either of these what you were after? There were only a few kinds left in the fridge.”

As if we’re in some unspoken game of chicken, I keep my eyes glued on hers, matching her intense gaze. “Kendra was the blonde blocking the fridge?”

The purple-haired girl nods. “Yes.”

I smirk at her. “Did she make you pay the toll?”

She throws her head back and laughs, finally breaking her gaze. “No. Apparently, that’s just a hot guy toll. Free passage for me.”

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