Page 22 of Game of Love
“Why don’t you fucking watch where you’re going?” The oaf barked. He was drunk off his face but that garnered no sympathy from me whatsoever.
It didn’t seem to win him any from my new friend either, and definitely not when the oaf shoved him hard in his chest, ready to fight.
Mr. Gorgeous didn’t move and just kept his cool. The same cool he’d exhibited on the balcony.
Instead of knocking the oaf’s teeth down his throat like the guys I was used to, Mr. Gorgeous smiled and took hold of the oaf’s hand when his fist came for him. Then he just held him there in an effortless stance, not even flinching while the oaf cried out from whatever pain Mr. Gorgeous inflicted.
All I could see was him gripping his hand in a hold that didn’t look painful, but clearly was.
By the time Mr. Gorgeous let him go, he winced and held his hand to his chest wailing from pain.
“Run home asshole.” Mr. Gorgeous taunted, then the oaf practically fled from before us, stumbling over his feet in his drunkenness.
We watched him run off. Then the man I’d christened Mr. Gorgeous looked back to me. I was a little shaken, but anything I’d felt vanished the second my gaze tangled with his. Bright blue eyes considered me and fucking hell, up close he was definitely more gorgeous.
I had to blink to refocus and swallow past the lump in my throat to regain my composure.
“Word of advice…” he began. “It’s not wise to come to a place like this by yourself.” He cautioned. His voice, deep and low, oozed sex appeal from the rich baritone timbre.
Heat crept into my cheeks and made my nerves tingle.
“I come here often,” I replied. “And thank you.”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a sensual smile that made me instantly think of hot sinful things. The look he gave me and the way that his eyes dropped to my lips, then did a full sweep of my body told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, and there was a strong possibility that he was thinking it too.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
I’d expected him to say more, but he turned to go back the way he’d come.
“Wait,” I called after him.
He glanced over his shoulder and stopped.
“Don’t I at least get a name for the guy who saved me?”
He thought for a moment and seemed to decide on an answer. “A friend. I’m a friend.”
“Do I get to at least thank my friend with a drink?” I pressed, trying my luck.
“No, you should get home. It’s late. All kinds of people come out at this time.” He ramped his smile up a notch and turned to proceed down the path.
I watched him until he turned the corner.
It was such a brief meeting and chances were I’d never see him again.
In Vegas, you only tended to run into someone a second time if it was intentional.
I’d come out for a breath of fresh air and that was perhaps exactly what I got from my new friend.
That and a break from the shit, if only for a few minutes.
A distraction.
Now to get back to reality and plan out a way to deal with Pa.
My phone started ringing again as if to remind me of what I had waiting.
It was Pa, of course.
