“Get the fuck out!” I’m so happy I’m not even worried about messing up my lipstick with my huge grin.
“No, I will not!” Teagan’s grinning too. “I told them I taught you everything you know, of course.”
“That goes without saying. What’d they say to that?”
“They asked me about some shit on the spreadsheet you made and I had to confess I had no idea what the hell it was.”
“Nice try, anyway. Props for that. You’ve got big lady balls.”
“Yeah. Speaking of big lady balls, I’m about to kick someone’s lady balls into next year.”
“Your step-mom?”
“Yes. You would not believe the shit she’s pulling.”
“Ohhh, yes I would. Having you kidnapped is pretty high up there on the lady-balls scale.”
“She’s going to get away with it. There’s nothing connecting her to that stuff.”
“That’s bullshit.” I’m instantly pissed. I’m still getting over the idea that I could have lost my friend to those assholes. I’ve never lost anyone I love, and the day I do it’s going to be more than awful. Like Jersey, I don’t take letting go of things I care about well.
“Tell me about it. But …,” she turns onto the main road that will get us to the club, “…the attorney told me that they could probably put together a case that would get me back all those shares that went to my step-mother. It depends on what they can find when they start doing something they called … crap I forgot.”
“Discovery?”
“Yeah. How’d you know that?” She glances at me for a second before putting her eyes back on the road.
“I learned it in my forensic accounting class. It’s where they get access to the company’s records and stuff. Emails and memos and all that.”
“Yeah. So they think based on what was on that thumb drive, that there will be stuff in there that implicates her in getting those shares kind of illegally or something. So if we can do that, then everything reverses. But maybe they won’t even have to go that far. She might settle for just handing my dad’s stuff back to me in exchange for me not suing her sorry ass.”
“Holy doo on a stick. Does that mean you’ll own the company?” Imagining my BFF running a huge corporation would be funny if it weren’t so scary.
Teagan shrugs. “I’m not really sure. I mean, I have no frigging clue how to run a Seven-Eleven, let alone a giant software company. But I could hire people to do that, right?” She looks at me, and for the first time, her expression is unsure.
“Hell, yeah, you could. And you can sit in those board meetings at the head of the table and fly in on a helicopter and shit.” I grin with the idea of it. Damn, I would love to do that. I could just see us, walking in slow motion, the chopper blades making our hair flow around our faces like supermodels in a rock video. I’d definitely need to buy new shoes for that.
“You could be the new CFO,” she says, smiling along with me.
“I could definitely work there,” I say, getting excited about the idea. “You’d hire me, right?”
“Of course. As if you’d have to ask.”
“What’s the pay? And what are the benefits? Can I get medical and 401k? And I’d need coverage for Jersey too. He’ll be my dependent.”
She laughs. “You’ll get the whole package, don’t worry. So what’s the deal with you and Mick?”
And just like that, she bursts my bubble.
“No deal.” I shrug and look out the side window. I feel like an empty balloon, sagging all over the front seat.
“Could-a fooled me.”
“How so?” I ask, still not looking at her. I’m cool. I can do this.
“He spent practically the whole day with you. I hear he went to the doctor with Jersey and even had dinner at your place? He’s like the frigging crown prince of LA or something the way he’s charmed himself into your life.”
My whole mood deflates. “Tell me about it.”
Teagan pulls up to a stoplight and turns to look at me. “What’s wrong? Why are you so bummed? Was he rude? Did he fuck with Jersey?”
“No, no, not at all.” I rush to explain because I don’t want her thinking something bad about the guy. “He was a total prince, like you said. Seriously. He was good with Jersey and my parents loved him. I think they’re ready to sign the adoption papers, actually.”
“Fuck me. He’s usurped me as favorite friend of Quin, hasn’t he?”
“Good word,” I say, smiling.
“I got that app you told me about. That was the word-of-the-day today. I told myself I’d drink a shot of Southern Comfort if I could work it into a sentence before midnight.”
“Cha-ching. Where’d you get the money to pay for said shot?”
“Paycheck.” She’s smiling like a fool when she pulls away from the light.
“Sleeping with the boss. Nice.”
“Hey, I earned that money.” She smacks me on the thigh. “Don’t be hatin’.”
“I know, I’m just messing with you. I’m proud of you, little tadpole. You did good.” I reach over and pinch her cheek. She hates when I do that.
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Stuff’s still up in the air with my dad’s company and the police and all that, but I think it’s going to work out.”
“And you have Rebel. Don’t forget that part.”
She says nothing. She just drives with a goofy look on her face. I love that she’s so happy, but it makes me just a little jealous. And then I hate myself for not totally embracing her moment and flying right along with her.
“So, you guys are moving in together when?”
“Next week. He’s convinced we need to find another place. Mick’s taking over his apartment to save money so we need to find somewhere else to live since the Golden Legacy is not an option. We’re going hunting this weekend. Luckily he’s paying for it until my crap is figured out.”
“Oooo, I want to come hunting with you!”
“You can.” She pulls into the club parking lot. It’s already packed and there’s a line around the door. Luckily we get a VIP spot right in front of the building, courtesy of the club’s part-time bouncer, Rebel. “I’ll text you when I know the details. I don’t think Rebel’s that interested in going, so we can do it together. He trusts me to do it.”
I should probably be a good friend and continue the conversation, but my heart has started beating faster as my nervousness takes hold. I’m going to see Mick any minute now. I pray my fake eyelashes don’t start coming unglued.
“You okay?” Teagan asks me.
I realize she must have shut off the engine a while ago because it’s been silent for too long. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Where’s the foam finger?”
“Seriously, you look like you’re about to walk death row or something.”
I play it off. “Yeah, right.” Opening the door, I put my leg out. “Come on. Stop playing. I need to get my twerk on.”
“Please don’t,” she sighs out.
We skip the line and go right to the front. Several people who are waiting to get in start complaining, but when Teagan starts swapping spit with her main man, who tonight is acting as a bouncer for his friend who owns the club, they shut up pretty quick. That’s right, bitches. I have a VIP pass to the hottest club in LA. Check this.
We step inside and my mood brightens considerably as the big beat from the DJ’s mix washes over me. It’s so heavy it feels like it’s guiding my heartbeats. BOOM-BOOM-DA-BOOM-BOOM. My hips move to the rhythm.
“Let’s get a drink,” Teagan says, yelling to be heard above the din.
“Okay! Shots!” Time to get this party started. I need to take the edge off my nerves. It’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to scan the room searching for Mick’s blonde head.
We make it to the bar and Teagan waves at someone down at the far end. My view of pretty much everything is blocked because I’m too short to see over all the heads. People are standing four deep at the bar trying to g
et drinks. My toe starts tapping, tapping, tapping. I’m pretending it’s to the beat, but it’s really just nervous energy trying to escape.
When the bartender comes into view I almost have a heart attack. Mick. My tapping foot freezes in the up position.
“Well, well, well! Look who’s here!” he says, smiling like a fiend.
Oh shit. All my plans to act like he’s nothing to me and doesn’t matter start trickling away.
One look.
That’s all it takes.
My eyebrows are no match for his charm and that frigging face of his. Dammit!
“We need shots!” Teagan says, bouncing to the beat. “Southern Comfort!”
“Wow, you don’t mess around.” Three shot glasses are on the bar and filled in about ten seconds. Mick holds one up towards us. “Skal! To the hottest girls in the entire place!”
I take mine like it’s no big deal and wait for Teagan to grab hers. I avoid meeting his eyes.
“Cheers,” she says.
“I’ll drink to that!” I say loudly, throwing my drink back and downing it with one big swallow. It burns all the way down and leaves a flowery aftertaste in my mouth. I make sure to keep my expression straight.
“Uh-oh,” says Mick, winking at me.
“What?” I ask, pretending like I don’t know what he’s talking about. He respects my cool alcoholic act. Points for him.
“Ready for another?” he asks. He glances at Teagan, but I know he’s talking to me.
“One more,” I say. “Then I need to go find me some man-candy to dance near.” There. Let him know I’m not here for him.
He lifts an eyebrow but says nothing as he pours out another round for the three of us. He ignores the throngs of people shouting and waving at him for drinks. It makes me feel very VIP special, but I try to ignore that emotion.
Teagan raises her glass and drinks the whiskey slowly. Her eyes roam around the room, making me feel like Mick and I are in our own little bubble.
He lifts his shot glass in my direction. “Good luck,” he says, and then he slams his drink down this throat.
“Good luck? What’s that for?” I ask, holding my glass out in front of me.
His voice is strained from the alcohol. “Finding that man-candy.”
“Oh, trust me, babe. I don’t need luck.” I swallow the drink in one go and put the glass down. “Come on, Tea-Tea. Time to bust a move.” I slide away from the edge of the bar.
“Bye, Mick!” she says, as we walk away.
“Bye, Mick,” I say, waving at him over my head but not turning around.
I don’t hear it if he answers, and I refuse to turn around and check if he’s watching us walk away. I’m cool. I can do this. He means nothing to me. Nothing. At. All.
CHAPTER NINE
AS WE GET TO THE dance floor, the beat changes and turns into something almost dangerous. If there are vampires here tonight, this is the song they’ll dance to, and since I’m a Mick St. John fan from way back, I consider this a good thing. I scan the crowd for men with pale faces as my body easily downshifts into the new rhythm. Teagan and I make our way to the center of the floor where we find a small pocket of space to get our groove on.
Within seconds we’re approached by a couple of guys who dance in our personal space wearing jeans that show way too much testicle. I don’t even bother with the eyebrows. I turn sideways and ignore the one closest to me completely. A few seconds later he’s moved on to his next conquest. I say a prayer that the poor girl’s beer goggles aren’t on and totally fogged up.
Teagan’s doing the same avoidance thing, but her wannabe date isn’t taking the hint so well. She sends up a silent SOS in the form of crossed eyes at me, so I put my arms over her shoulders and dance really close to her. “Bugger off,” I say, giving him the mean-eyebrow.
He holds up his hands in surrender and then beats feet out of there. We collapse in giggles thinking we just scared him off the dance floor completely. Poor guy. Obvious amateur. There’s a game that’s played out here on the floor, and if you can’t play you just have to leave. That’s how I look at it. Besides, he needed to stop dancing. Strangling man-jewels like that could affect his ability to have kids some day. Not that a man like that should have kids, but hey … maybe he’ll meet a nice girl someday who will shop for him. Men can change. I think.
The next guy to approach me is gone in seconds. I bust out the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me eyebrow on him. I always use a slight lift with a frown mixed in for a man wearing skinny jeans and a torn cotton top. I’m pretty sure I shriveled at least one of his hackie sacks, but it had to be done because he was rubbing something up on me that I either had to eyebrow-away or cut off. It’s better for both of us that I went the less drastic route.
The third guy who approaches is a whole other kind of animal. He kind of takes my breath away, actually. Wowzies. He’s tall, muscular, and dressed like he’s just walked off the page of a Paco Rabanne magazine ad. When he smiles, my panties send a direct signal to my brain: Take me off. Now. Holy lady-boner. Vampire, twelve o’clock. Maybe they’re real. Weeee!
I don’t give him the eyebrow and I don’t turn away. He can stay. He can foam finger me if he wants to. He can even eat crackers in my bed. I smile to let him know we’re all good. I wonder if he’ll suck my blood right here on the dance floor.
“I was a little afraid to come over here,” he says, leaning down and talking near my ear so I can hear him over the music. Oh, shit … he smells good too. There’s nothing like a freshly showered, shaved, and cologned vampire man to get me in a twist.
“Really? Why?” I yell back. I could not possibly be cooler. My shoes, my eyebrows, my hip-sway. Shakira has nothing on this action.
“There’s a string of guys with broken hearts standing all around the dance floor.”
“Ha.” I turn around and dance with my back to him. He takes the hint and moves closer.
We say nothing for awhile, letting the music speak through our bodies. The lights get flashier and the pace of the music picks up. I turn around and face him again. His right hand moves to my hip, and I make sure to move my body around a little extra so he can see how flexible I am. Hips don’t lie.
“You from around here?” he asks.
“Did you seriously just ask me that?” I say, laughing. My laugh is very charming right now. I’ve practiced in front of the mirror for years.
He grins, revealing model-perfect teeth.
I’m wondering now if he’s a gay vampire. This might just be a friend-dance thing he has going on. Men this pretty are almost never straight. Some of my happy fog dissipates.
“I just wanted to make sure you’d be around for awhile.”
“Charming,” I say. I’m impressed. He’s got good stuff in that arsenal of his. I’m thinking the chances of a gay man practicing pick-up lines on me are pretty slim. Happy fog fully engaged!
“Want to get a drink?” he asks.
I picture walking up to Mick’s bar with this guy and immediately fall into a panic. “No, let’s dance some more.” I put my hand on his arm. There are muscles under that shirt. Holy, holy. He’s probably too warm to be a vampire, but I’m not complaining. Warm flesh is good too.
“What’s your name?” he asks, getting closer to me. Both of his hands are on my hips now.
“Quin. What’s yours?”
“Mark.”
“Nice to meet you, Mark.” I feel like a complete dork saying that, but it’s the best response I can come up with. Words are failing me because my brain is battling visions of Mick and this guy. Their faces are melding together and I’m seeing Mick’s head on this guy’s shoulders. I back up to get out of his grip, flustered. Dammit!
His hands fall away but he acts like nothing happened. “Nice to meet you too.”
The lights drop and the music downshifts. It’s not a slow song, but it’s definitely sexier without the faster beat.
Mark comes in close and I let him. As his hands slide over m
y hips to the small of my back, our bodies sway with the rhythm. BOOM—DUH-DUH—BOOM … I’m sweating and so is he. His shirt is starting to stick to his chest, and I can see the line between his well-formed pecs.
He’s so much taller than I am, his waist is closer to my stomach than my hips, making it just a little awkward. But when I look up at him and see his good looks go dark under the fading lights, I almost feel like I’m dancing with a real live vampire, and there’s not much sexier than that.
Someone bumps into me on my right, jerking me out of my Twilight sex-haze, and I look over in annoyance. No matter how crowded the dance floor gets, there’s still some etiquette to be followed, and part of that concept is the rule that says you’re not supposed to be an asshole and ruin a vampire love affair moment.
After-work party, dead ahead. “Watch it,” I say to the dingbat blonde who’s bumping and grinding away with a group of girlfriends. She has her navy blue blazer rolled up to her elbows and her blouse untucked over her pencil skirt.
“Watch yourself,” she says, lifting her arms above her head while she does an old-school, modified, vertical cabbage patch move. I have no idea why women like this think that staring all sexy-like at their armpits is attractive. She just looks like she’s checking whether her deodorant is working or not.
I really should punch her lights out and put her out of our misery, but I’m wearing a dress and trying to impress this vampire guy, so I decide against it. I narrow my eyes at her to let her know how lucky she is right now.
“Come this way,” Mark says, pulling me closer to the edge of the dance floor. I look over my shoulder to make sure Teagan will follow, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Oops. I have no idea where she’s gone to, but I’m too ready to continue with this dance with Mark to worry about it much. She’s probably hanging out with Rebel, anyway. Those two are attached at the hip these days. The relationship is only three weeks old, but it’s like they’ve been together for a year. Rebel even talks like a normal person sometimes now.
I’m moving in synch with Mark again when my eyes catch a complete lack of movement on the perimeter of the dance floor. Everyone else is bumping, grinding, and swaying to the beat, except for this one guy. Blonde hair, dark expression, thin but muscular build … shit. It’s Mick.