Page 17 of Bratva Prince
My jaw dropped and all I could say was, “Oh.’’
“Yeah, oh,” she said, finishing off her drink that was mostly watered down from the ice. “My best friend since childhood ran off from her wedding with my boyfriend who I’d… Well, that doesn’t matter. They left. Together. And I got wasted,” she said, tipping back the glass to catch every last drop.
“Like you are now.” I gestured to her glass of alcohol. Or, should I say, her glass of ice.
Her eyebrows raised and she chuckled, ordering another drink. “Sit with me?” she asked, a sliver of hope in her voice.
When she wasn’t scowling, she was actually very cute. I knew she was attractive from the moment I saw her, but seeing her laugh put me in an entirely different mood.
I slid onto the stool next to her and she clapped, happy that I was pulling up a chair. Laughing, I ordered a drink for myself, insisting I paid for hers, too. She resisted at first, but my charms won her over and she agreed, saying she’d pay for the pizza after because—according to her—you had to eat pizza when you were drunk.
Mihailo and I would be taking care of business in the morning, so my original intention was to leave after one drink. Enough to relieve some of the tension from earlier. I rarely let social outings interfere with pressing business, but after my second drink, I figured what the hell—I don’t have to be there until dawn.
Besides, Willow and I were really getting along well. We laughed constantly, and she had such a playful side that I had missed our first time meeting. Such a good attitude. Aside from her former hatred of men, she was actually a very positive person.
Being around a woman who wasn’t interested in my looks or wealth was nice. It was… fun. Not something I experience often. Hell, it wasn’t something I’d experienced ever. My affection for her was growing significantly in such a short period of time, and it left me a little uneasy. I wasn’t used to feeling—well, whatever this was. But it felt like more than a desire to fuck. I wasn’t interested in wooing her back to my hotel room, but wanted to spend time with her and get to know her.
This woman, I swear… she would be the death of me.
9
Willow
“You like medieval history?” Ivan asked, nearly blowing out his drink. “Definitely wasn’t expecting that.”
I scoffed, pretending to be angry as I crossed my arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Why not? Am I too pretty—too blonde—to like something that only boring old men like?”
He let out a hearty laugh and downed his drink, watching me from the corner of his eyes.
My cheeks flushed from his heated gaze, and I fiddled with my straw to hide my own building attraction.
Who’d have thought that I would wind up hitting it off with the guy from the beach.
When he finished his drink, the bartender topped him off once again. Maybe it was because I got started before him, but I had to slow down or I’d be too drunk to handle the most mundane tasks.
“Is that what you’re going to school for?” he asked. “History?”
I shook my head. “I go to Kutafin, in Moscow.”
“No shit,” Ivan said, slamming his beer against the bar as he leaned forward. “I live in Moscow, too.”
“What about those two girls you were with?” I asked, knowing very well they weren’t from Russia, but stirring the pot anyway.
He sucked in a breath and his hand swiped the back of his neck, resting there. “I met them on the beach that day. They kinda stuck to me. I don’t even know their names,” he admitted.
I knew it! I knew he didn’t know their names.
“They’re staying at the hotel, too.” He motioned to the building beside the bar. The same hotel I was staying at. And the same one he was apparently staying at, as well. “Stopped me earlier and asked if I wanted to go out with them somewhere.”
“And you didn’t go?” I asked, scooting closer.
His eyes widened ever so slightly and he cleared his throat. “Um, no. I wanted to stay close. Really, I’d planned to come down for a drink and head back up, but then that creep hit on you.”
My eyes grew heavy as I gazed upon his muscular body, leaning against the bar in his nice suit—a total contrast to the tattoos that covered his skin. The suit pulled tight against his biceps, and though I knew what he looked like beneath those sleeves, I couldn’t help but imagine his arms around my body, pulling me into his firm chest.
I pushed the thought away, chalking it up to the alcohol pumping through me.I said no men, yet here I was, envisioning dirty thoughts of Ivan—of pulling on that long, dark-blond hair as he… Oh I needed help.
His hand slid toward mine, and my heart fluttered in anticipation.Why was I getting so excited at the possibility of him holding my hand?It’s not like it was sex. Oh, god—what if he was only reaching for me to make his move?
