“You know exactly what’s wrong with me,” I snap, irritated I even have to explain myself to him.
Stupid.
“Don’t play dumb, Reed,” I add.
“He’s not,” Ben throws out on a chuckle.
I turn my head and watch Ben push to his feet, announcing as he looks toward the dance floor, “I’m going to take Nolan to the restroom. He’s doing a different kind of dance now.”
Luke follows. “I’ll join you.”
The two of them disappear through the crowd.
My gaze lands briefly on CJ. I’m expecting him to step away also and avoid the drama unfolding in front of him.
He doesn’t.
He stands there, not smiling anymore, but he is watching me.
No one else. Not any of his friends or the other people in the crowd.
Me.
What’s . . . happening right now?
“Is this because of Dick?” Reed asks, drawing my head back around. “Are you really going to be pissed at me because I fired him? Come on, Riley. I did you a solid.”
My nostrils flare. He did me a solid?
Oh, my God. He did not just say that.
“His name is Richard,” I hiss, hands clenching into fists and my bottom lip trembling as I turn my shoulders and square off with Reed. “And yes, I’m going to be pissed at you for firing him. And for not letting him come as my date. That was a really crappy move.”
Reed sighs and tosses his hands into the air. “So sorry I didn’t want to pay for some ex-employee of mine to eat salmon and drink tequila shots.”
“He doesn’t even drink tequila!” I yell. “But you know who does? Me! And guess what’s going on your tab, big brother?”
I need to get out of here before I throw a punch. I’m angry, yes, but I’d hate to ruin Reed’s wedding photos by giving him a black eye.
And I’m afraid it might come to that if I don’t get away from him.
Spinning around, I make to storm off and knock straight into CJ, but I don’t let his wall of a chest stop me. No. I steady myself and keep going, marching directly for the bar.
Tequila it is.
“I’ll take some of that,” I announce after claiming a stool at the high top counter. I point a finger at the bottle in the bartender’s hands.
The older man, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and wearing three different colored leis around his neck, looks over at me, then lifts his other hand holding a blender filled with a lime green concoction.
“A margarita?” he asks.
“No. The tequila,” I specify. “Just set the bottle down when you’re finished with it. I’ll take it from there.”
Laughing, he turns away and continues pouring into the blender.
He thinks I’m kidding.
I am definitely not kidding.
My brother is a jerk. My ex-boyfriend is an asshole. I’ve cried way too much over the past week.
I can totally handle a bottle of tequila right now.
“How about you start off with a shot and see how that goes?”
I turn my head at the sound of the deep voice next to me. CJ steps up to the bar, giving me his full attention.
My stomach clenches. I sit up taller on my stool.
Did he follow me over here?
What? Why in the world would he do that? And why would I think it?
Of course he didn’t follow me over here. He’s just thirsty. Look how big he is. He probably has to drink constantly to keep from passing out from dehydration.
I watch CJ continue to stare at me, his eyes bright and eager as he waits expectantly for a response because . . . shit. He asked me a question. What was it? Something about drinking and going somewhere with him?
Oh, my God . . . is that what he asked me? Does he want to take me somewhere?
I lick my lips, swallow whatever saliva I have left as I stare into his eyes, and respond with a confused, “Huh?”
Honestly, I just need clarification at this point. And I might be stalling.
Can I seriously leave with him right now? That’s crazy. I don't even know him.
Holding his beer, CJ leans into the bar, bending his elbow on the counter and putting his weight on it. He looks down at me and smiles. “I don’t know if you can handle that entire bottle, darlin’. You might want to go slow. That shit is harsh.”
I blink.
Darlin’.
God. Is there anything hotter than the way he says that one word? All smooth, southern drawl and sweet to my ears.
CJ’s chest rattles with a quiet laugh. “Are you hearing me?” he asks, tilting his head and grinning now. “You look a little lost, babe.”
Babe.
Shit. He needs to stop. Stop talking and smiling and looking the way he does. I haven’t even had a drink yet and I’m already considering things I should need a drink to consider.
He makes it easy though. Really easy.
Finding some sense, I ignore the rush of heat moving underneath my skin, tip my chin up defiantly and reply, “What makes you think I can’t handle a bottle of tequila? You have no idea what my tolerance is for alcohol.”
“I don’t, but I’m betting you weigh a buck ten soaking wet,” he counters. “I can’t imagine a little thing like you slamming back a bottle and staying upright.”
“I weigh a buck nineteen, actually,” I correct him, giving him some sass with my tone and raising a finger. “And that’s not even when I’m wet.”
My eyes go round immediately after my giant sassy mouth quits moving.
Oh, God.
I did not just say that. Did I?
CJ smiles bigger, his eyes growing wider and brighter as they search my face.
“Now there’s a sweet fucking visual,” he says, looking me up and down. “You wanna explore that topic `cause babe, I am down for that. Just say the words.”
Annnd there’s my confirmation. I said it.
Perfect.
I apparently need a set of rules when being in the general vicinity of CJ Tully.
Rule number one: Do not speak.
Jerking my head straight, I raise up higher on my stool, lean over the counter and snap my fingers at the bartender to get his attention.
“Hey! Tequila!” I shout.
If there is ever a time for alcohol, it’s now. Just stick a bottle in my mouth and shut me up with it.
The man gives me an acknowledging lift of his chin as he finishes up with another customer. I take that and settle back on my stool, watching as he moves down the bar. He grabs the bottle of Patron and pours me a shot.