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He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, shaking his head at the burn. “Damn. That felt pretty damn good.”
Holt shifted beside him. “Steven—”
“Dude, I’m fine. I’m just thirsty, is all.” Steven set the empty glass down. That last shot blurred his vision even more, drowning out the memories. The nightmares. The loss. “Now cheer up. It’s time to go dance with our women.”
He smiled at Lauren, and she grinned back. The prick she’d been chatting with stood by the wall, alone, looking all sad-faced panda bear. That shouldn’t have pleased him so much…but it did. It didn’t mean he was jealous, though.
He’d die for her. Kill for her. Fight for her. But not love her. He didn’t do love. Didn’t want it. Hell, he didn’t deserve it. Guys like him didn’t get to be loved.
“Hey. It’s my two favorite men,” Lydia said, hugging Steven tight. “You two doing good?”
“Of course we are,” Holt said.
Steven hugged her and squeezed tight, breathing her scent in. She was the only woman who held his heart. His baby sister. And, damn it all to hell, she was all grown up now. She needed to knock that shit off. Her secret almost made him throw her over his shoulder and run for the door so he could keep her safe forever and ever, just like he had when they were kids. That was Holt’s job now, though. “How are you, Lyd?”
“Great.” She beamed at Holt and moved out of his arms. It was a hell of a lot harder to let go of her than it should have been. As soon as he did, she went over to Holt, sliding into his arms naturally. “You’re looking quite handsome in your navy blue suit. And bow tie.”
“Bow ties are cool,” Holt said, quoting Doctor Who.
Lydia and Steven laughed.
Lauren looked lost. She didn’t watch Doctor Who like the rest of them.
It was her only fault.
He winked at her. “Lauren picked it out to match her dress, after calling me color-blind.”
“He planned on wearing black,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “The man might be able to charge into an armored building full of insurgents without a weapon, and come out alive, but he can’t match colors to save his life.”
She rested her hand on his shoulder, like she had a million times before.
This time, though, her touch burned through his suit jacket, and it unsettled him in ways it never had before, which didn’t make sense. But, damn, she looked good tonight. And he needed to cut back on the drinking. The desire he felt for her was unexplainable. It had to be the booze fucking with his head.
He turned to her, laughing despite the unwanted desire rushing south at the speed of light. “It’s not my fault. Navy blue and black have always, and will always, look the same to me. I look at you and I see…black. Nothing but black.”
“Look again,” she said, raising a brow.
Always one to follow her wishes, he glanced up and down her trim length. It was as flawless as always. Generously sized, perky tits—which he knew for a fact were 32D, because he’d gone to the mall with her once, and she’d made him go into Victoria’s Secret with her, which had been pure hell—thin waist, generously curved hips that never failed to draw his eye, and a fine ass that had driven many men crazy.
But not him. Never him.
And if he said it enough times…maybe he’d believe it.
He’d always admired her. Her smart brain. Her sharp wit. The way she laughed, all full and rich, and how much she cared for everyone around her. And when she smiled at something sweet, it stole the air straight outta people’s chests—particularly his.
And there was her body, which was, hands down, one of the finest damn bodies he had ever seen. He migh
t only be her friend, but he wasn’t blind or stupid. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The real kick in the ass was she was just as gorgeous inside as she was out.
But tonight, the outside was a hell of a lot prettier.
She stood there, smiling at him, asking him to look at her, and it did things to him. Things that had nothing to do with friendship, and everything to do with getting her out of that tight black dress ASAP, and into his arms. “Trust me, cupcake. I’m looking.”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks flushed pink, and she cleared her throat. “I see that.”
“Well. This just got really awkward, really fast.” Holt slid off the stool, winking at Lydia. “Want to dance with me, Lyd? Cooper’s giving us the death stare.”
“God, yes,” Lydia said, giving Steven the stink eye.