Page 67 of Dealing Dirty
“Be right back,” he says, tapping his fingertips on the table before standing and strolling toward the shadowed bar.
“I don’t know about him, Jules.”
Nudging her knee under the table, I shake my head. “Don’t worry, the guy’s harmless.”
“You are the company you keep,” she mutters, unconvinced.
“Don’t be a fuddy-duddy.”
Ethan rounds the table and places our shots in front of us. His chair makes a shuffling sound when he pulls it behind him. That smile, those thick traps, and his shirt stretching over his biceps with each movement make the guy a whole snack. There should be butterflies playing chase in my belly, but… nothing.
“Here’s to you, ladies.” He raises his glass high above the center of the table, and I tap mine to it. Hazel hesitates but eventually gives.
“Atta girl!” he whoops with another panty-dropping smile, and we drink our shots. It takes some lighthearted stories and idle chatting, but I’m pleased when Hazel’s shoulders finally relax a touch.
“So you’ve always been a performer, then?” I ask, indicating his earlier show.
The shots we’ve taken start heating my insides to a burning degree. I’m focusing on his mouth moving, but pieces of his sentences are getting lost in a fog.
Derrick’s warm eyes slide to the forefront of my every thought.Mmm. They’ve always reminded me of chocolate, but not dark chocolate; the silky, melt-in-your-mouth milk chocolate kind.
Ugh. I shake my heavy head, trying—and failing—to forget the devastation I saw in them when I left tonight.
A sturdy hand wraps around my upper arm, and I sigh dreamily. I want to drape myself over him and straddle his strong hips and legs. The press of his erection against my aching center is so real, saliva pools over my tongue.
Despite the annoyance of his possessiveness, my body wants him with fervor.
“Are you okay?” Smooth and gentle, the voice caresses my ear.
Oh.That’s not Derrick’s hand, it’s Ethan’s. Pulling away from him, I grip the edges of the chair I’m thankfully still seated in.
Am I nodding my head?I can’t even tell at this point.
“I’m going to be sick,” Hazel pants. Her face has lost its peachy color, and when she moves to stand, I worry she may collapse.
“Come on, let’s get you outside so you can puke.” Ethan helps her away from her chair.
Feet heavy like cinderblocks, I tramp across the bar after them and out into the dark of night.
Ethan guides us toward the back of the building and, sure enough, Hazel rounds the corner and vomits. Lucas’s jacket, which I promised to take care of, scratches along the rough brick wall. I cringe when it slips off my shoulder, hitting the ground with an almost imperceptiblethud.
Chilled air brushes my arms. Stomach rolling, I dry heave while trying to keep upright. Something isn’t right. There have been plenty of parties where I’ve had two times the amount of what I’ve consumed tonight without getting this sick.
A crawling sensation stings the back of my neck.
“Ugh. You better not puke in my car,” Ethan says to Hazel, gripping her arm roughly and hauling her against his side. Menace masks his blurring face as he scolds her for whimpering.
“Leave her alone.” The plea is a dying whisper on my lips.
Four chrome rims attached to an all-black vehicle rolls up beside us with the faintest squeak of its brakes. Even breathing becomes impossibly hard.
This can’t be happening.
Another man, whose features are fuzzy and distorted, throws open the car door and stalks to where Ethan is shaking Hazel, laughing when her knees buckle and she slumps to the ground. Thick boots crunch past the car to where I’m leaning.
Unforgiving pavement suddenly jars my knees and tiny pebbles pierce my palms. I’m barely hanging on as the sound of boots crunching my way becomes nearly painful.
No!I can’t let them take us. But every muscle has become tar, and even the barest movements are impossible.
