Page 7 of Vince
Sydney
Of course,I know their IDs were checked at the door by one of our bouncers—so I know birthday boy’s of legal age. But I want to be a bitch to his friend because he’s the fourth asshole who thought he’d have a chance of taking me home for the night. Therefore, I’m not about to back down when it comes to my level of bitchiness for the moment.
But when I look at the birthday boy, I’ll admit I lose a little of my steam. His hazel eyes are far more perceptive than they should be. He totally gets that I’m about to lose it on his friend. Instinctually, he defuses the situation without any prompting. This is totally crazy, but I swear, it’s as if he knows me already. Maybe I’ve seen him in one of my classes, but I can’t place his name. So being the nosey bitch that I am, I use my authority to my advantage to get his name while I’m at it.
His cocky friend blurts out, “But we showed our ID at the door.”
I pay him no attention but continue holding my gaze with the tall, handsome man before me. In a lighter tone, I still snark, “Well, you can show me again, or there’s the door.”
I don’t miss the corner of this man’s lips quirking, nor the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t say anything but pulls his wallet from his back pocket, opens it, pulls out his ID, and hands it over.
Vincent Daniel Larson—Date of birth—Today.
I glance to the man in question, grateful to put a name to the beautiful face before me, before I scrutinize the piece of plastic in front of me further.
Damn, even the DMV managed to get a dimple to pop and make him look sexier.
How is that fair?
Six-foot-one—One hundred eighty pounds—all muscle from the looks of it. Broad shoulders, trim waist—Organ Donor.
I can’t help but notice he lives on the same side of campus as I do.
When I look up—he’s staring at me expectantly with an outstretched palm.
What is he waiting for?
Oh, right. His license.
I quickly hand it back then force myself to look at the cocky asshole next to him. He’s irritated. Good—it serves him right. Maybe he will leave me the fuck alone next time. I don’t care who he is—if he can’t see, I’m clearly working—he could be the cutest guy on the planet—and the answer would still be no. Have some respect already.
I hold my hand out expectantly but don’t bother to grace him with any words. He’s resistant at first, but when I glance to the nearest bouncer, he can see I’m not budging.
Grumbling something I don’t quite catch, he whips out his wallet and pulls his ID from the front pocket. “Here.”
I don’t even bother to look at it precisely. I just want to show him who’s boss around here. I could truly give two fucks about his name or anything other than his date of birth. Once I see it, I shove the card back in his direction then turn to make the drinks he has ordered.
As soon as I’m finished, I look Vincent directly in the eye. “Hope you have a great birthday, Vincent.”
Vincent brings a finger to the bridge of his nose and ducks his head for a moment, as if he wants to say something. Then he dips closer so I can hear. “It’s Vince. No one calls me Vincent unless my family thinks I’m in trouble.”
Oh, he’s trouble all right.
I’m sure I’m smirking when “Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we,” rolls off my lips.
This earns me a gorgeous grin. The DMV photo captured nothing compared to this man in person.
“I can’t say that I do,” Vince says as he holds my gaze a moment longer than necessary.
His rude friend interrupts as he grabs two shots and the pitcher of beer. “Dude, are we drinking, or what?”
Vince rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yeah, man. I’ll grab the pitcher if you want to take a third shot with you back to our table.”
Wanting to make sure I haven’t been a total bitch this evening, I soften my tone and add, “Seriously, Vince. Happy Birthday!”
In return, I get a beautiful chuckle and a smile that could melt my panties. “Thanks. Have a great evening, Sydney.”
With that, he turns and walks back to his friends. Of course, I notice the view from the back is nearly as good as the front.
