Page 17 of Deadly Little Scandals
“The truth,” I said, my voice low and every muscle in my body tight, “is that my mom lied. I’m not an Ames.” I swallowed, and the only thing that let me continue was the fact that the noise level in this place was so high. “I’m an Easterling.”
Nick stared at me. For the first time since I’d recognized him standing behind the bar, I felt like he was really seeing me, and I reminded myself that when it came to the opposite sex, no good came of being seen.
“Easterling,” Nick repeated. “Isn’t that…”
My cousin’s last name.
Before Nick could press me further, Victoria reappeared. With one last, long look at me, he turned to her and nodded to the drinks he’d just made. “I’ll put these on your tab.”
Someone else came up to place an order then, and whatever had been brewing between Nick and me—if anything was—receded, like a boiling pot set back to simmer.
Like a dance where neither person said a word.
Good,I thought as he turned his back on me.It’s just as well. I didn’t come here to see him.I needed to focus on Victoria. I doubted I’d made much of an “impression” tonight. This might be my one and only White Glove soiree.
My only chance to ask, “Are you related to Ana Gutierrez?”
“Why all of this interest in my relatives?” Victoria retorted.
“Ana Sofía Gutierrez,” I reiterated. “She’d be in her thirties now. Your sister, maybe? Or a cousin?”
Before Victoria could reply—or decidedlynotreply—someone pushed between the two of us, forcefully enough that I stood up from the stool I’d been sitting on.
“Where are my keys?” Frat Boy had returned. Based on his volume and tone, I had to wonder if he’d drunk the entire last round he’d purchased himself.
No way was Nick giving this guy back his keys.
“Call a car,” I advised him. “Or get a ride.”
The second he turned to face me, I knew that drawing his attention my way had been a mistake. He reached out, brushed the hair out of my face. I tried to step back, but his sweaty palm settled on my neck, holding me close.
“Hands to yourself.” Victoria surprised me. Her voice was steel. Not pleasant—not even pretending. “Ask before you touch. Got it?”
Frat Boy ignored her. “What’s your name?” he asked, his grip on my neck tightening as he brought his mouth closer to mine. I could feel his breath on my face.
I could smell it.
“Ask before you touch,” I said lowly, “is a very good rule.”
He was probably expecting me to push him away, but I didn’t grow up at The Holler without learning to use expectations—not to mention momentum—to my advantage. As he leaned closer still, I hooked my ankle through a barstool, jerked it between us, grabbed his arm, and pulled.
Two seconds later, Frat Boy was sprawled on his stomach, and my heel was digging into his back.
“Nice,” Victoria told me appreciatively. I felt and heard Nick leaping over the bar but didn’t turn to look at him as he came to my side.
Let him wonder what the hell had just happened.
Let him remember that I wasn’t just some poor little rich girl.
I applied a tad more pressure to the drunken a-hole beneath my foot and offered Victoria a smile. “I try.”
awyer? I think I can feel my shoulder.”
“Can you feel your hands?”
“No.”
“What about your legs?”
