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When a girl dances like that and gives a manthatlook, she might as well wear a neon sign saying she wants to fuck.
No, I’m not one of those asshats that believe what a girl wears or how she moves gives a guy the right to walk up on her and touch whatever he wants. But I do believe a woman can communicate interest without using words, can target a man through a crowd and drag him into her orbit.
And this girl’s eyes are focused on me, her smile stretching wider when I get close and begin following her lead, our bodies moving together when she makes the first move to reach out and tug me closer.
Fuck. She flattens our bodies together, her head falling back to expose the long line of her neck, her hips gyrating in seductive circles as sweat glimmers over her skin.
Reaching up, I wrap my fingers in her hair and lower my head down to press my lips against her ear.
She shivers at my touch, her eyes closing as I study her face and open my mouth to introduce myself.
It sucks that, before I can get the first word out, fingers tap against my shoulder, a groan crawling up my throat as I turn my head to see Mason standing behind us.
He angles his head toward the entry doors and cocks a brow.
Fucking seriously?
Nowis when Brinley chooses to leave?
Already this woman is driving me up a wall and back down again.
All night, she’s sat in a booth with her friends, chatting away while I sat waiting for her to do something -anything- besides chat it up, the women at her table laughing and carrying on while they sipped on mixed drinks with little pink straws.
Of course, now that I’m actually having fun is when she decides it’s a good time to dip out.
I lean over to say goodbye to a beauty who won’t be getting to know me better.
“Sorry, beautiful, but I have to go. It would have been fun, though.”
She pokes out her bottom lip and dances off, my gaze keeping her ass in view as regret flows through me.
Another tap against my shoulder and I turn back to Mason.
“Let’s go,” I say, not that he can hear me over the music.
The three of us leave the club without worrying about hurrying along.
Brinley came to Myth alone to meet up with her friends, and I have a sneaking suspicion she won’t be leaving quickly.
Don’t ask me how I know, just that I’m pretty damn positive about it.
Once we’re outside, Taylor and Mason take off together, leaving me to weave through the parking lot, my steps unhurried, my hands casually stuffed in my pockets as I reach the back area and see a woman stranded because her car won’t start.
Tall, with decent curves and long brown hair that falls in waves down her back, Brinley looks irritated as she rounds the front of her car to lift the hood and inspect the engine.
I hang back for a little bit, watch as she reaches in to wiggle wires or check the battery connections, but eventually she curses beneath her breath and slams the hood back down.
It’s a pity she doesn’t have a service to help her with her problem. You would think her investigator daddy would have insisted on it. According to Taylor, he didn’t.
Pushing away from a truck I was leaning on while watching her, I approach on a long-legged stride.
“You okay?” I call out. “Looks like you could use some help.”
Brinley spins around to face me, and I smile, happy to be of service as her knight in shining armor.
This is the part where a smile should break out on her pretty face, where those almond shaped eyes should widen with appreciation.
Instead, what I get is a nasty scowl, her eyes narrowing on my face with disgust.