Page 32 of Dirty Daria
“Option two, we kiss and make up.”
“Kiss?”
“Kiss.”
Fuck.
17
Mack
She looks at me like I’m not serious. But I’ve never been more fucking serious. This is the longest amount of uninterrupted time I’ve spent with her in almost a year. We danced for five slow songs. I’ve had my hands all over her the entire time. My cock is as hard as a fucking brick. I miss her like crazy.
“What’s it gonna be, beautiful?”
She blinks her big gorgeous brown eyes at me. And it’s as if time stands still. I don’t care about anything else except this moment right now with her and the anticipation of her answer. I know that I should be studying the guests in attendance to see if I notice anything that might lead us to whoever David is working with.
But all I’m looking at right now is how her chest rises and falls with the quickening of her breath. Daria’s tongue peeks out to wet her lips. I stifle a groan. I want that tongue.
“Dar—”
“Wait, just one second,” she says. “Tell me, is the compromise with the partnership for your work? Or for us?”
Both.
Instead of answering right away, I take a second to think about it. “Does your answer depend on what I say?”
“Of course.”
I place my hands on her upper arms just so I can be touching her again while trying to figure out what the right answer is to get her to agree. I don’t think the right answer is both or she wouldn’t be asking the question in the first place. Which means I need to think like Daria. And fast.
Reed chooses that moment to stumble up to us, Quinn following right behind him. “Someone just tried to take out the groom in the bathroom,” he slurs. I drop my hands to my sides and turn to him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ohmigod, it was crazy! He came up to us at the bar, gripping his neck like he was going to bleed to death, and there wasn’t even any blood at all. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if—”
I put my hand over Quinn’s mouth to silence her. And repeat my question to Reed.
“Groom. Douchebag. David. Someone tried to kill him just now in the bathroom. He’s waiting in the hall with Andrews. You handle it. I don’t want to talk to him.”
I open my mouth to lash out at him but change my mind. This is the second time that he’s challenged me in the last few days. Technically, I’m not his superior but I know a lot more than he does, and I don’t appreciate his attitude. But this must be more difficult for him given that it’s his best friend from childhood that we’re taking down, someone who has betrayed him by ending up being a slimy prick. So, I’m going to give Reed a break. Again.
I pat him on the shoulder. “I got this, buddy. You just keep drinking.” I make my voice as sincere as possible, since my words can be perceived as sarcastic. If I were in a similar situation, I would expect Reed to pick up the slack so I could wallow for a bit. If he keeps this up though, I’m gonna kick his ass.
I head out to the hallway to relieve Andrews and talk to Tremblay. Regretting the decision the second I step into David’s line of sight.
“Finally. Thank god they didn’t hit skin, by the time you get around to paying me any attention, I’m pretty much dead. I told you I needed a bodyguard. Shit, I almost died in there. And look at this, they cut right through my bow tie. This is an Armani tuxedo; do you know how much just the bow tie costs? Now I won’t even have it as a memento of the day. And what about pictures for the rest of the night? How am I going to explain this to Laurel?”
I wait for him to continue. Surprisingly, he doesn’t.
“You done?” I ask after a moment, pinning him in place with my glare. His eyes widen and he nods.
“You seem to have confused your role, Tremblay. You aren’t the victim here. We don’t owe you shit. You are the criminal. The bad guy. The one we’re taking down unless you provide us with someone more valuable. I don’t give a fuck about your bow tie or your tuxedo. As far as I’m concerned, the world would be a better place without you in it. Lucky for you, my boss doesn’t see it that way. But make no mistake, shit-for-brains, there’s not an agent here who gives a fuck about your pictures or what you tell your wife, or if you have a mother fucking memento of the day. Got it?”
He nods again.
“Who tried to kill you?”
