“You didn’t.”
“Everybody on the plane noticed you, darlin’.” He grins. “I just figured you and he were, you know.” He looks from her to me and back again.
“What, Daniel? No way!” Lacey snorts with laughter. “We go way back. He’s like a brother to me.” She pats my shoulder, and although I was trying to tell myself the same thing not ten seconds ago, it still burns to hear her say it.
“Good to know,” the Douchebag gives her a long look, not even trying to hide his stare. His eyes linger on her br**sts, wrapped up like a Christmas gift in that red silk, and I have to clench my hands into fists at my side to stop from leaning over and throttling the smug expression off his face.
“Did you call Juliet yet?” I change the subject, focussing back on Lacey. Her face drops, and I feel bad for ruining her good mood, but I need to get her away from this ass**le before I do some serious damage. “You should call now, let her know what happened. She’ll worry,” I add.
Lacey sighs. “Fine,” she slides down off her stool in a ripple of fabric. “I’ll be right back,” she coos at the Douchebag, sliding her hand along his shoulder as she passes.
We both watch her go, the swing of her hips as she sashays out to the lobby, reaching into her purse for her phone. Douchebag is practically drooling, and I feel a flash of guilt: I’m just as bad, lusting after her like this.
Except you won’t be doing anything about it, I remind myself.
The moment she’s gone, I take a step closer and drop my voice. “You need to leave. Now.”
Douchebag stares back, confused. “What?”
“Put the drink down, pick your ass up, and get the f**k out of here. This minute.” My voice is low, but there’s no mistaking that I’m not f**king around.
“Is this about the girl?” Douchebag snorts, looking me up and down. “Sorry, dude, you’re too late. Don’t blame you for trying though,” he adds, smug. “The crazy ones are the best, right? They let you do all kinds of f**ked-up shit.”
I see red.
He lifts his hand to gesture to the bartender, but I move in, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down between us, twisting and applying the pressure just so.
Douchebag lets out a strangled yelp of pain. “What the f**k, man?”
“You ever learn jujitsu?” I ask, my tone conversational as I keep bending back his fingers, dangerously close to breaking point. “No, of course not. It’s not flashy like kung fu, or kickboxing. You don’t get to throw punches, feel like a big shot.”
Douchebag whimpers. He’s slowly crumpling lower, trying to keep me from tearing his joints right out of their sockets.“Me, I like it,” I continue quietly. The bartender’s just down the bar from us, and there are people all around, but to anyone watching, we’re just having a pleasant conversation. “It’s all about precision, see. The tiniest amount of pressure can make all the difference. Like so,” I shift my grip the smallest amount, and Douchebag yelps again. “Another inch, and I’ll break all your fingers,” I tell him calmly. “Now, do you want to think again about leaving Lacey the f**k alone?”
“Fine, yes! Anything!” Douchebag whimpers. I give him another twist, then let go.
He falls back, cradling his hand. “Jesus, you’re crazy, you know that?!”
I shrug. “What did you say? The crazy ones are the best.” I take a sip of my drink, watching with satisfaction as he turns and bolts from the room — almost knocking Lacey down on her way back in.
She rejoins me, looking over her shoulder suspiciously. “What happened to him?”
“No idea.” I give her an innocent look. “Everything alright with Juliet?”
“No,” Lacey collapses on her stool again with a slump. “She says it’ll all be fine, but I know her. She’s just trying to make me feel better.”
“You’ve done everything you can,” I point out, sympathetic. “This is just a freak delay.”
Lacey shakes her head, her blonde hair shimmering under the lights. “I’m a terrible friend,” she says mournfully. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Come on, you’re a great friend. You’d do anything for her — including flying cross-country through a blizzard.” I gesture for the bartender again, this time pointing to Lacey’s near-empty glass of wine.
She stops me. “Do you have any tequila in this place?” she asks the bartender.
He gazes at her adoringly. “Sure.”
“Pour me a shot. Make that two.” She gives me a sideways look. “Or four.”
“You sure about that?” I raise an eyebrow.
Lacey shrugs. “You got a better idea?”
I have plenty. Hell, juggling fire or going sky-diving without a parachute would be a better idea than this. It’s dangerous, reckless. I’m practically asking for trouble. It’s so far out of character I don’t know where to start.
“Sure,” I tell her. I know I’m tempting fate, but right now, I can’t find it in me to care about anything except the lights, sparkling devilishly in her blue eyes, and the gorgeous golden skin curving in the hollow of her neck. “Set ‘em up. I’m in.”
The first shot is fine, at least, that’s what I tell myself. Two and three go down easy, but by the time we reach shot number four, I’m hanging on to my self-control by the thinest thread. The bar has cleared out now, we’re the last to leave, sitting up by the bar — close together, side by side.