Page 4 of Dangerous Pursuit
"And what kind of mood would that be?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Boo arches a brow. "The kind where I want to have a good time, same as anyone else."
"By good time, you mean…?" I trail off, realizing I'm being nosy. And is he being vague on purpose?
His smile seems almost teasing. "However people choose to unwind is their business."
Right. Of course. I rub the back of my neck, feeling like an idiot. "Sorry. I was just curious since, you know, you work here…" I gesture lamely at the club.
Boo chuckles. "No need to apologize. Curiosity isn't a crime." His eyes seem to glint. "Though in some cases, it can lead to some…interesting discoveries."
Okay. Am I crazy, or is he coming on to me?
No. Absolutely not. Maybe I've had too much to drink. That must be it.
"Must be an interesting way to relax after a long day," I say, trying to sound casual. My face grows warm, wondering if he goes to places like this often. Wondering why I care.
"It can be." Boo takes a step closer, leaning against the wall beside me. His massive frame looms over me, and I get a whiff of his cologne, something woodsy and masculine. My pulse picks up as he invades my space. "You seem like you might be the adventurous type yourself, Mr. FBI."
I almost choke on air. I've never done anything adventurous in my life. But the way Boo is looking at me, with a mix of curiosity and something else I can't quite name…it makes me want to be. But then, a mental image of what I'd witnessed on that damn black sofa flashes in my mind and I lose my footing. "I don't know about that. I'm pretty boring, really."
Boo chuckles. "Somehow I doubt that."
A flush creeps down my neck. The way he's smiling at me, leaning into my space…this feels like flirting. My eyes flick down to his lips again before I can stop myself. I take a hasty step back, my pulse racing. What the hell is wrong with me?
Boo's brow furrows. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no," I say hastily. Think of an excuse. "I just…have to use the restroom."
Smooth, Xander. Real smooth.
Boo nods, though he seems slightly disappointed. "Alright. Don't get lost in there." He winks.
My face grows impossibly hotter. I give him a little wave and dart into the club, not looking back.
Chapter Three
Liam
THE BASS THUMPS in time with my pulse as I lean against the brick wall of the club, the chill of the night seeping through my shirt. Only thirty more minutes until my shift ends and I can finally escape this hellhole.
My gaze drifts over the narrow alley, searching for any signs of trouble, but the only souls in sight are a couple heavily making out against the opposite wall. The guy has his hand up the girl's shirt, groping her breast without a care in the world while she moans into his mouth.
I roll my eyes and turn away, the public display of affection making me nauseous. Some people have no shame.
A buzz from my back pocket catches my attention and I fish out my phone, squinting at the too-bright screen. A message from Jesse, the bartender and my ride home:
Running late. Be there in 15.
Fantastic. As if this night couldn't get any longer. I shove the phone into my pocket with more force than necessary, wishing I could chuck it at the couple across the way. Instead, I cross my arms and glower at the empty street, willing Jesse to appear.
After a few minutes of nothingness, the club door swings open, spilling pulsing music and light into the alley. I glance over, expecting to see Jesse, but instead find Mr. FBI stumbling out, looking thoroughly disheveled.
My pulse picks up as I watch him run a hand through his hair. Even from here, I can see his biceps flexing under his t-shirt.
He pulls out his phone, the screen illuminating his face. Firm jaw, straight nose, lips that look soft even from a distance. He's attractive in a wholesome, boy-next-door way, unlike most of the patrons that frequent this place. He clearly doesn't belong.
I know I'm staring, but I can't seem to look away. There's something about him that reels me in, even though I know he's not here for what I'm offering.
