Page 5 of Drive Me Wild (Drive Me #2)
FIVE
JOSIE
Money may not buy happiness, but it buys you the ability to host an exclusive event at SoHo House in London. The members-only club costs an exorbitant amount in annual membership fees, but the type of people it caters to can afford it. Blake’s been a member for years and insisted it be the venue for his book release party.
His publicist fought him on it—wanting somewhere with the capacity to hold more than two hundred people—but Blake put his foot down. Although he’s opened up about his mental health and anxiety, he prefers the shadows to the spotlight, and SoHo House offers the privacy and security he wants. The irony that he wants a “small, intimate” party for a book that quite literally shares his life story, with whomever wants to read about it, isn’t lost on anyone.
I’ve only been here once before, for Lucas’s birthday dinner last year, and I’ve been dying to come back ever since. Situated in West London, there’s three floors of club space, a rooftop pool and terrace, and some of the best cocktails I’ve ever had. I’m usually a wine girl, but their signature drink, the Picante De La Casa, is to die for. It’s a fired-up version of a classic margarita, with added chili for extra bite. I’ve tried recreating it based on copy-cat recipes online, but it’s not the same.
I’m ordering my second—okay, maybe it’s my third or fourth, whatever—cocktail of the night when a familiar voice causes my entire body to freeze. Turning to my right, Andrew comes into focus. I notice he’s wearing the tie my parents bought him for his birthday last year. It makes the emerald specks in his eyes pop.
He’s at the other end of the bar, standing next to his friend as they order drinks. What in the bloody hell is he doing here? Well, I know he’s here because he was invited, but that invitation was obviously revoked when we broke up. Well, apparently it wasn’t obvious enough because here we are.
The scent of bergamot and birch announces the presence of someone next to me. It’s floral, spicy, and distinctively Theo. He lightly places his hand on my lower back. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Jos?”
I don’t answer, still debating what to do: approach Andrew and say hi or abort the entire situation and hide in a corner somewhere. It’s not like we ended on bad terms, but an occasional text is much different than seeing each other in person. I may be over him, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready or willing for us to transition into some sort of awkward friendship. One where we shoot the shit and pretend we didn’t used to spend all of our spare time together.
Theo turns his head to see what I’m staring at and, without another word, he’s guiding me away from the bar and through a crowd. Looks like we’re going with the abort the situation option, and I can’t say I’m too upset about it.
“Want me to go back there and knock him out?” Theo asks with furrowed brows. “You don’t even need to give me a good excuse. Happy to do it just for fun.”
Theo’s never been shy about his dislike of Andrew. But then again, Andrew wasn’t shy about despising Theo, either. Stupid male egos at their finest.
“No punching necessary. I’m fine,” I say with an eye roll. “Just caught off guard is all. Didn’t expect to see him here.”
Theo cups one of his hands behind my head, pulling me against him. I bury my face in his chest, letting the familiar scent of his cologne calm me. He’s always had this effect on me, and his presence is more calming than any relaxation tea blend I’ve tried.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests once I’ve stepped back. “There’s a pub around the corner that’s great. Also, have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?”
His eyes rake over my body, the curve of his grin unconsciously widening as he does. There’s no doubt that Theo’s a flirt, but his compliments are as genuine and honest as his smile.
“Thank you.” I curl my fingers into the material of my dress to stop myself from tugging at the delicate necklace I’m wearing. “We can’t leave, though. It’s your best mate’s party. He needs you here.”
Theo’s eyes finally focus back on mine. They’re such a specific shade of blue, I don’t think Van Gogh could accurately capture their beauty. “Blake doesn’t need me. He has hundreds of people here to celebrate him. Just like always.”
Maybe it’s the Picante De La Casas talking, but an undertone of frustration marks his words. Theo’s always been the Robin to Blake’s Batman; the lovable sidekick that everyone adores. Is it possible there’s some tension I don’t know about? Shaking my head, I focus on the conversation.
“Well, even if he doesn’t need you here, he definitely wants you here,” I reassure him. The two of them have been inseparable since they were kids.
Theo shrugs as if it doesn’t matter either way before swinging his arm over my shoulder. “No one will notice we’re gone. You look like you could use some greasy food and a cheap drink, and in case you forgot, your ex-boyfriend is here.”
We end up at a semi-crowded pub a few blocks away from the launch party and snag a high-top table toward the back. A group of nearby women don’t bother hiding their appraisal of Theo and eye him like he’s a piece of choice steak. I swear the man has a fan club everywhere he goes.
I order a tequila soda the moment our server swings by our table. What I really want is a glass of wine, but I don’t think mixing liquors is in my best interest right now. Theo requests a lemon drop martini and a basket of chips.
“Not in the mood for a beer?” I laugh, knowing full-well his penchant for fruity cocktails. He genuinely enjoys them. We were once out at a dive bar in S?o Paulo, and he asked for a pina colada. At least he’s comfortable enough in his masculinity not to care what he orders. It’s an admirable quality.
“Nah.” He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Why would I choose to drink carbonated bread water when I could get drunk in half the time on something that tastes like candy?”
Conversation between us is easy as we finish our first round of drinks. Soon enough, that one drink turns into two. As our new cocktails appear in front of us, Theo’s eyes widen to cartoon-like proportions at something on his phone.
“Everything good?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles while shaking his head. “Some chick just AirDropped me a photo of her tits.”
Slyly tilting his screen so I can see, he shows me the AirDrop request he received. She either has the world’s best plastic surgeon or she’s one of God’s favorites. How can they be so symmetrical and perky? My boobs are fine, but this random woman’s breasts are straight up stunning.
“I-I cannot believe someone just did that,” I stammer after tearing my eyes away.
Theo’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I know this may be a foreign concept to you, but some women actually find me rather attractive.”
There’s no way I’m walking into that trap. Obviously, I think Theo’s attractive. I have eyes.
“But she can clearly see you’re here with another woman. What if we were dating? Is she trying to poach you away? It’s just disrespectful. Does she not know girl code, for Christ’s sake?”
Theo seems enthralled by my outburst. “I doubt she thinks we’re dating.”
I place my glass down on the wooden table so aggressively that liquid spills onto the already-sticky table. “Why not? I’m dateable. I’m very dateable. Hell, I’m the full kit and caboodle. I’m not just a Sunday morning kind of girl; I can be a Saturday night kind of girl, too. Like I can give you a blowjob that would impress a porn star and make you an award-winning breakfast in the morning. Would you like references?”
“Okay, slow down there,” Theo says, holding his hands up in surrender. “No references needed. It has nothing to do with you, princess. Promise. It’s all me.”
“That’s the oldest line in the book, Walker!” I throw my hands up combatively. “Am I not attractive enough to warrant your attention? Sorry that my?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Theo’s brows pull together in a frown. “I just meant that I don’t exactly have a reputation for having girlfriends, Jos. It really has nothing to do with you. If anything, she feels threatened that I’m out with a gorgeous woman. Oi? I know you’re very dateable, don’t worry. I’m sure she’s just familiar with how I tend to date .”
I take a big sip of my drink and silently thank the bartender for giving me such a heavy pour—even though I should’ve cut myself off about two drinks ago. What in the world has gotten into me? I’m actively trying to not be dateable so I can avoid a relationship and here I am, complaining that Theo, of all people, doesn’t think I’m girlfriend-material.
“You don’t date,” I remind him. Theo goes through women faster than he can drive his car. He’s made it crystal clear to anyone who will listen that his lifestyle doesn’t leave room for anything significant. Whereas I crave commitment and stability, he craves sex and random women AirDropping him nudes. Water, meet oil.
He tilts his head. “Yes, I do.”
“Babes, I’ve had leftovers that’ve lasted longer than any of your so-called relationships.” I throw a chip at him, and it bounces off his arm and onto the floor. “You don’t date; you fuck around.”
Theo scratches his chin in thought. “Relationships are a distraction.”
“From what?” I laugh. “Video games?”
“Yes.” He laughs. “And my career. That comes first. Always has, always will.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Walker. It shouldn’t be a distraction; it should be an addition .” I hit him with the opening lines of Deon Jackson’s “Love Makes the World Go Round.”
Theo takes a sip of his martini, his lips puckering at the sour taste. “You still feel that way, even after your breakup?”
“Yes,” I answer automatically. I love love. It’s probably why I tend to fall fast and hard and can’t really remember the last time I was single. Pet names, morning cuddles, late-night phone calls, merging friend groups and meeting one another’s families, slow sex filled with words of adoration, steamy sex filled with grunts and groans. All of it. “Even if they’re not your person, you still learn about yourself. What you need in a relationship, what you’re looking for.”
I already know what I need in a relationship. What I don’t know is what I need to be happy out of a relationship.
Theo nods before placing his hand over mine and moving his thumb over my knuckles. “How’re you doing with all of that? I mean, I know you’re okay because you’re better than your douche canoe of an ex, but how’re you actually doing?”
I roll my eyes at the dig. There’s no need for me to defend Andrew, although I wouldn’t call him a “douche canoe.”
“I’m doing fine,” I admit truthfully. “It’s more the adjustment of being alone.”
“You’re never alone.” I’m expecting him to say something cutesy like he’ll always be there for me but instead, he says, “With the amount you talk, angel, I’m sure there’s more than enough thoughts going on in that pretty little head of yours to keep you company.”
“Pot calling the kettle black.”
He chuckles into his drink, small bubbles dancing across the top. “Let’s play truth or dare.”
I roll my eyes. Is he twelve? Does he want to play spin the bottle next? Seven minutes in heaven? “You can’t be serious?—”
“Truth or dare,” he says, taking a long sip of his martini. Theo’s nosier than a middle-aged woman eavesdropping at a salon. I wouldn’t go as far to say he’s a gossip, but he loves being in the know. I can see the questions bouncing around in his head.
“Truth,” I decide after a moment.
“What are your boobs named?” He says it so quickly that there’s no way he hasn’t been thinking about asking me this the entire night. It’s also not the first time he’s asked me this. He’s under the impression that all women name their boobs. I have no idea who gave him this idea, and why he won’t believe me when I tell him he’s clinically insane.
My arms immediately cover my chest in a protective manner. “I change my mind. Give me a dare.”
“I dare you to tell me what you named your tits,” he replies without missing a beat.
I mutter under my breath. Stubborn may as well be his middle name. I guess I should be happy he didn’t ask me to divulge details about my breakup. He’s been surprisingly respectful about it, no prying or unwarranted questions. Yet.
“There’s no rule clarifying that a dare can’t be a truth, just so you know,” he justifies with a cocky grin. “So hit me with your answer, Bancroft.”
His eyes momentarily flicker down to my chest.
“My breasts do not have names,” I huff. At this point, I debate making something up just so he’ll drop it. I bet whoever Airdropped him named her boobs something like Athena and Aphrodite.
“C’mon. You’re telling me you didn’t name your boobs? I’ll tell you what I named my balls to even the playing field if you want.”
I fight the urge to dump the entire basket of chips over his head. Why would I want to know that? I already know his dick is named Theo Junior, and that’s bad enough. Especially when he talks about it in the third person.
“It’s a wonder I’ve been able to resist your flirting for so long,” I mumble with an eye roll.
“No need to resist me any longer now that you’re single, babe.” He swipes a chip from the basket and pops it into his mouth. “I’m here to service you in any way you please.”
I stick my tongue out. “Gag me.”
“If you’re into that kind of thing, then sure.” He throws me a wink that makes my stomach twist. Or maybe that’s the tequila? “I choose truth, by the way.”
Ignoring his comment, I wrack my brain, trying to think of a good question. Theo’s an open book, so I feel like there’s not much I don’t know about him. There’s no good reason I should know that Lola Bunny from Space Jam was his sexual awakening or that he once took a Viagra because he was curious and wanted to see what it felt like.
I finish my drink with a hearty sip. “Okay, why are you so obsessed with boobs?”
“Not all boobs,” Theo clarifies quickly. “Just yours.”
I flag down our server, desperate for a refill. I don’t have the capacity to fight off Theo’s flirtations without a little more liquid ammo.