Page 2 of Dealing Dirty
“I think Cassidy was trying to seduce Mr. Pouty Pants tonight.” A crooked smile pulls at my lips. “What kind of wingwoman would I be if I didn’t dress up, too?”
Warm and light laughter slides over my body as he glances at the exit. “You’re not wrong about the seduction. I think your little performance out there really did him in.” Those sweet brown eyes flair ever so slightly.
Aha, seems someone is just as guilty for enjoying the show.
I’m about to tell him as much when a second round of bodies mob the bar. A group of college-aged guys haphazardly bump into us, causing Derrick’s big frame to collide with mine, pushing me back against the bar. The bite of cold metal stings the middle of my back. I grasp for anything to help me not lose my footing, but my only saving grace is the man plastered against me.
Holy shit.
I draw a deep breath. Okay, this is fine.There’s absolutely zero reason for me to think dirty, delicious thoughts about my best friend’s sort-of-boyfriend’s best friend. My bottom lip rolls between my teeth. I should absolutelynottrail my fingers up his muscled back while he whips around to the assholes breaking their way through to the front of the line.
“Get a fucking room,” a younger man in an unbuttoned shirt says, shouldering past Derrick before slapping a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. Ignoring the two of us, he barks out his drink order.
Derrick’s neck muscles grow taut as he grinds his jaw. The absence of body heat has me gasping when he spins toward the kid, straightening to his full height.
“Now, is that anyway to speak in front of a lady?” His drawl is thick as honey, paired with a cruel smirk that could make any man with a lick of sense piss himself.
The younger man side-eyes him, then shifts a step away. “I don’t give a fuck what your lady thinks.”
Derrick makes a move like he wants to swing at the guy, but I quickly slide between them, ignoring the sticky floor tugging at my heels.
Flattening my palms against his pecs, I nearly purr.Mmm, just as firm as I thought.
The effort is useless, of course, given that Derrick towers over my head by at least a foot and a few inches. The only thing separating the two of them is me and my thick ass. He glares at the guy while I contemplate swinging my hip out to booty-bump the prick into next week.
Keeping one hand on Derrick, I twist toward the group, point a single finger into the prick’s chest, and unleash a string of curse words at him in Spanish. I give him a tongue-lashing that would makeMamáproud, and as my voice continues to rise, a bartender signals for security.
Two giant men dressed in all black storm our direction from their hideout by the exit.
“Shit.” Derrick laughs, grabbing me by the wrist to drag me away from the bar.
I’m still shaking an angry fist at the idiots by the time we round a group of people on the opposite side of the bar.
“Come on, hellcat,” he teases, coaxing my anger down to a low simmer.
“Ugh, those assholes!” The evening air is thick as we burst through the doors. “I mean, where do they get off acting like that? Honestly.”
Threading his fingers through his hair, he regards my wobbling legs. “They’re young. One day, they’ll learn.”
Stomping my way to a barren spot on the sidewalk, I pause to slip off my black high heels. A hiss rushes through my teeth. Blisters that I’m going to feel for days have formed along the backs of my Achilles tendon.
Derrick’s lip twitches. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
“No, no. It’s okay, really. This may be our only night to pretend like there’s not a psycho kidnapper out there holding Jack’s brother for ransom.”
The blasé comment sobers us both. Cringing with each step, I pad over to him with the torture devices laced through my fingers. Softened eyes flick to my bare feet before sliding back up to my face.
“Let’s have a little fun, eh?” Defined abs taunt me through his shirt. I nudge them with my elbow, proceeding to pray a Hail Mary because,damn.
“You’re not going to get far without shoes.” He rubs the spot before gesturing to my brightly painted toenails.
While we were tucked away from the city in the nightclub, the evening swiftly melted to midnight, dragging Vegas’s most interesting characters out of hiding. A group of men and women in elaborate costumes pass us, laughing and shouting. Their lips and eyes are marked with charcoal liner and thigh-high platform boots paired with arching bat wings have me gawking as they disappear into a lively crowd of moving bodies.
They say Vegas is the city that never sleeps, and now I know why.
The rollercoaster at the New York-New York hotel flies over the rails across the street, rounding a wide loop before vanishing back inside the building. There’s a little shop just a ways down from the casino, where rows of flip-flops glare at me from a window.
Well, I’m nothing if not resourceful.
