Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Silence pressed in. “You’ve misjudged me, Natasha.” The way he spoke my name caused tingles to cascade down my body. Tingles I didn’t ask for. “I just want to be your friend.”
“Mm-hmm …”
“I miss your laugh when we went to see that movie. Let’s watch another? Even a man-bashing movie.” His laughter coaxed me to comply. I didn’t.
I shook my head. Uh-uh. Not after what happened before. Kissing him? It had been amazing, but I blamed the rom-com and all that charming Italian face energy. I’d been wrapped up in the moment. Needed to see if I felt a spark. Nope. Didn’t feel it. I sighed. “You want to please me, Enzo? You might be waiting forever.”
“Fine. I respect your wishes. Time is on my side.” The challenge in his sensual Italian accent became tangible. I almost envisioned the intensity in his features and prayed for strength while I hung up.
Answering Lorenzo? Big mistake. I swiped tissue to push through the graffiti-tagged stall door, then exited the bathroom. I stopped at the sight of women, knees tucked together, some doing the potty dance.
Arms folded, I glared at my Shadow. Rectangular head, the whitest blond hair, thin lips, and a tactical jacket that hugged raw muscle. My eyes stared holes into his smashed nasal bone. Honestly, it looked that way before I slugged him after Christmas when I’d asked him to stop following me. He just looked so afraid of my father, and I wanted him to be afraid of me. I doubted it hurt, though. “Borya, you didn’t.”
He lowered his head. “I flashed my weapon, that’s all.”
The real question was why no one called the cops. California didn’t permit open carry. Oh. That fake police badge on his belt, next to his shoulder holster. Shaking my head, I aimed for the exit. I didn’t belong here. Hadn’t signed up for this. A nightclub. The noise, the strobe lights, the couples pressed together.
As I brushed past pulsing bodies, Borya followed. Now, I knew my Shadow’s name. In the last week, he’d become a security blanket. Yesterday, he’d stiff-armed paparazzi a tad harder than necessary, so I swung for a couple of vodka shots for us at my family’s lounge, The Red Door. Not that I had to pay. Really, Tash. Now your bodyguard is your drinking buddy?
I fought off the rising ache in my chest and tugged my phone from my crossbody purse to text Jordyn that I couldn’t make it tonight. Then a familiar face strolled inside.
Simona.
Her expression soured as she took in the writhing bodies. Her top lip curled. Yep. The touches had the same effect on me minutes ago when I’d rushed into the ladies’ room to call Lachlan.
“This is not Taco Tuesday,” she gritted, hands in the pockets of her sleek black pantsuit.
“I know … I’ll—”
“First,”—she rounded on Borya—“you did not see me.”
Again, his head lowered.
“Hey,” I growled. “He’s my bodyguard, not yours. And he won’t say anything to your dad about seeing you tonight.”
Borya nodded.
“You’re here!” Jordyn sauntered over in a dress short enough to make a nun faint, balancing three shots.
Simona snatched one before I could blink and knocked it back. Well, of course, she’d drink.
I tilted my head. “Jordyn, what happened to Taco Tuesdays—i.e., a restaurant, a hole in the wall? Hell, even an abuelita selling tamales from a cooler at Wal-Mart?”
“They’ve got tacos, I think.” Jordyn pointed to the far corner, then shoved a shot in my hands. I held it toward Borya. He shook his head. We could be drinking buddies at home or at The Red Door. Elsewhere, he needed to stay sharp.
“Bottoms up, Natasha,” Jordyn said. “Stop being a party pooper. This is for you.”
With a sigh, I followed her to a table near the edge of the dusty club, the bass thumping against my ribcage.
“Who’s buying these drinks?” Justice asked, her voice sultry, smooth—like Jill Scott. And honestly, she resembled my momma’s favorite singer too.
Willow raised her palms as Jordyn settled next to her. “Don’t look at me, I birthed a sports team.”
Quietly, I slunk into the other side of the pleather booth by Justice. Simona sat at the end.
“I got it,” Jordyn called over the music, flicking her chin toward a Mexican in a cowboy hat. “Or at least, that man does. If the servers bring ‘em to the table, and not him, we’re good. We also should walk out together.”
Jesus, be a fence!
“Should’ve gone to The Red Door,” Simona muttered at my side. “I’ll get next round.”
With what money? I bit my tongue from saying she refused to spend Uncle Simeon’s cash. My lip quivered as I watched a man twirl his woman around the floor.
As if sensing the ache behind my silence, Willow flicked a tortilla chip at me. “You haven’t forgiven Lach yet?”
Okay. Straight to the point.