Page 21 of Flirt
“We should get you home, too.” Folding his arms over his chest, Nico turned his back while James ushered Scott out of the club. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t happy about everyone treating him like a swooning damsel in distress, but otherwise, he’d walk away with nothing more than a few bruises on his arms. “I’m going to have a drink.”
“I really should take you home,” Nico insisted.
“No.” He’d had enough of muscled cavemen telling him what to do. “Go if you want. I’m staying.”
“I’ll make sure he gets home.” Asher’s palm traveled up and down his back, calming him.
Nico glared, but before he could argue, Cameron pressed closer to Asher’s side and shook his head. “Good night, Nico. You owe me fucking big for this.”
“I’m sorry, Cam. I mean, I knew he was kind of full of himself after the first five minutes, but really, I had no idea he’d turn out to be a complete psychopath.”
“I know.” He just wanted to forget the entire night. “I’m going to get that drink. You coming?”
Nico looked between him and Asher several times before he finally dropped his arms to his sides and angled himself toward the door. “Nah, I’m going to take off. You sure you’re okay to get home?”
“I’ll make sure he gets there,” Asher promised again.
“And I do know how to call a cab,” Cameron muttered. “I’m a big boy. Know how to tie my shoes and everything.”
Grinning, Nico held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, smartass. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
“He won’t be there,” Asher interjected before Cameron could speak. “I said I’d make sure he gets home.” His lips turned up in that heart-stopping smile that made Cameron’s knees weak. “I just never said when.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Needing a drink likehe needed to breathe, Asher kept his arm around Cameron and steered him toward the bar. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the skin prickling with the sensation of being watched.
“He’s going to kill you.” Cameron sounded delighted by the prospect.
“Probably.” Stopping at the end of the bar, he glanced over Cameron’s shoulder, unsurprised to find Nico still glaring daggers at him. “He’ll get over it.”
“Probably,” Cameron echoed, his right shoulder lifting in a kind of half shrug. For someone who’d just been assaulted, he seemed in remarkably high spirits.
Breathing in deeply through his nose, he let it out slowly as he reached for Cameron’s left arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay.” Understanding what Asher intended, he turned sideways and pulled up the short sleeve of his polo. “It’ll bruise,” he added absently, holding his arm out awkwardly as he tried to see the back of it. “I’ve always bruised easily.”
Indeed, four finger-shaped marks had already begun to bloom, curving around the muscle and ending with half-moon indentation where Tarzan’s nails had bitten into theskin. Seeing the evidence of the attack did little to calm his simmering rage. He understood a man needed to fight his own battles, but it had been torture to stand there and do nothing while that bastard shook Cameron around like a rag doll.
“So, I’m not going to be home tomorrow, huh?” Smirking, Cameron pushed his shirt sleeve back down, brushed the edges of his collar a couple of times, then lifted his arm to signal the bartender. “Are you kidnapping me, Mr. Dare?”
Asher didn’t know what had possessed him to say that to Nico, but at least Cameron seemed to be taking it better than his friend. “I guess that depends.”
“On?”
The bartender arrived, and Asher ordered two shots of tequila, leaning across the bar to be heard over the music. Once the bartender walked away, he turned back to Cameron, feeling a little calmer.
“Depending on?” Cameron pressed, his eyes dancing with humor.
“Well, you can’t really kidnap someone if they come willingly.”
“Are you asking me back to your place?”
Two shot glasses landed in front of them with a thump, and Asher asked the bartender to close out his tab before nudging one of the shots toward Cameron. “Bottoms up, lover boy.”
Cameron snorted as he clinked their glasses together, then tossed his back with a full-body shudder. “Fuck, that’s nasty.” Dropping the empty shot glass onto the bar, he wiped at his watering eyes and spent a few seconds wheezing. “It’s like drinking gasoline.”
