Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Oh, good. A normal one,” Heather announces happily.
“That noise was anything but normal,” I assert, still laughing.
“If you’d had to endure the standard of dates my brothers have introduced me to, you wouldn’t argue. I like this one.” She turns to Whit, tipping her head my way.
“I have been on my best behavior,” El mutters belligerently.
“And I maintain your best behavior still leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Am I supposed to sit here and take this?” El’s attention swings to his brother who, I notice, is drumming a tattoo with his fingers on the arm of the chair. He stops, flattening his hand against the velvet. “When have you ever asked my permission for anything?”
Permission for what? To ask me out?
The brothers trade a look that speaks of a language only siblings can understand. Despite the hilarious conversation, it seems Whit is not happy.
“Well, I think I’ll have a drink,” Heather says, moving from the chair like a chic Jack-in-the-box.
“You don’t drink.”
At his utterance, her gaze sweeps to El. “I don’t drink much, but I think I deserve a glass of wine tonight. Well, come on, walk your sister to the bar,” she demands, staring down at him.
“This is the VIP area,” he mutters.
“Is it?” She glances around. “I thought it was a bit posh. Just goes to show how long it’s been since I was last in a club,” she admits. “It was certainly before Whit hit the big bucks.”
At the sound of his name, he glances behind him as though his sister might be talking about someone else. He really doesn’t like accolades, I’ve noticed.
You’re so hard. My words curl around my ear.
Sweetheart, you don’t have to pay me compliments. That’s not to say I don’t like to hear them.
I guess he’s okay with some praise.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Hmm?” My head lifts.
“That’s not a grin,” Heather says, correcting El. “That looked more like a secretive smile.” She turns to Whit again, his expression impassive. “What do you think?”
“I think you were going for a drink,” he answers.
“So I was. Lead on, Sorrel,” she demands.
“Sit down,” he complains. “Because of Whit’s big business brain, VIP’s are offered table service.”
“I’m not ordering drinks from girls dressed in chains and leather underwear.” Heather’s expression is the embodiment of distaste. “What is this? A Bacchanal feast.”
“For fuck’s sake,” El mutters, gesturing to the girl who’d passed by the table earlier, the one in the gold chain bikini. “Just sit your arse down, and I’ll order the drinks.”
“What can get you lovely people?” the server asks, stretching her neck to sweep a high platinum ponytail over her shoulder. Even higher than mine. And boy, she moved quick on those spiked-heeled boots.
“My goodness,” Heather announces. “Aren’t you just gorgeous!”
The server gives her a genuine smile. “That’s very sweet of you to say so, hon. Oh my God, is that the new Gucci?” She points at the clutch Heather has pressed between her arm and ribs. Heather gives a closed-lip smile and shakes her head as she holds it out for inspection. I note El inspecting the girl’s long, toned legs. Whit, meanwhile, seems content to watch me.
“It’s a dupe from Camden market,” Heather admits with a laugh. As bikini girl hands it back, Heather asks, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is that your uniform?”
The woman’s shoulders move with her amusement. “Management doesn’t make me wear this, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her eyes dart from El to Whit.
“Ignore my brothers, they’re not a part of this conversation. Besides, El here knows snitches get stitches, don’t you?”
“Does that mean you’re gonna chuck a brick at me again?” His hand lifts absently to a scar in his hairline.
“I was eight. He told me redheads have no soul.”
“All I wanted to do was order a round of drinks,” El mutters.
“Yes, let’s do that.” Heather steps around the table, patting her brother’s knee as she passes, curling her hand in a nonverbal up you go. “We’re going to help this gorgeous creature carry our drinks.”
“That’s not usually how it works,” the woman says with a smile.
“Don’t worry. El will still tip, and tip well. Especially if you don’t mind him walking behind us while he stares at your backside.”
“The tips are why I dress this way.” She slides El a look, then flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “If he stares, I don’t mind.”
“Up you jump,” Heather says over her shoulder. “And don’t forget your wallet.”
The trio traipse off in the direction of the bar, leaving Whit sitting across the table, staring at me. Like, really staring at me.
“Kind of a surprise to see you here, Whit,” I say when it becomes obvious I’m not winning this staring match any time soon.
“I imagine so,” he offers blandly.
“What exactly are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”