Page 3 of Full Out Fiend

Chapter 3

Fielding

I’mstoppedthreetimeson my way over: once by someone Dempsey and I went to high school with at Archway Prep, then twice by patrons who mistake me for my identical twin. After exchanging niceties for the third time, I’ve had enough. I move through the bar like a panther stalking its prey, the crowd shifting as the scene blurs around me. If someone calls out or tries to stop me, I don’t hear them. I’m solely focused on my target.

That target just so happens to be a cluster of scantily clad women wrapped in tight black dresses and gathered around a tiny high-top table.

The group parts instinctively as I approach, although none of them pay me any mind. They’re too caught up in side-eyeing each other and cackling at everything and nothing.

I scan the group and try to catch someone’s attention. They’re all essentially clones of each other. Midtwenties. Perfectly arched brows. Faces painted with heavy makeup. Fake smiles, revealing blindingly white teeth.

All of them, that is, except one.

Her gaze settles on me an instant after I spot her, and I feel a physical tug in my core.

She’s a stunner. Naturally beautiful, with thick curves and distinct features. Her makeup is lighter than that of her friends. Her body is softer.

Her eyes meet mine, and when I return her stare, she boldly refuses to look away. Even in the dark lighting of the bar, I can tell her irises are the lightest shade of blue, almost gray. She has this ethereal glow that shines from the inside.

She’s also the one wearing white: the bride-to-be.

I look away and try to focus on anything or anyone but her. I can’t let myself fall under the spell of someone who’s unavailable. I’m done chasing after what can never be mine.

When no one else looks my way, I focus back on the angel in white. She’s still staring, and something about her unabashed attention lights up my insides. It’s like we’re the only two people in the room. Like we could have an entire conversation without exchanging a word.

Tilting my head and giving her a pointed look, I hold up the unclaimed shot in question. Her cheeks redden, the heat moving down her neck and flushing her perfectly pale skin in the most alluring way.

I intended to tease the person who refused the shot. No one is better at making a scene than me. But the look on her face and the tension in her shoulders tells me she’s the culprit, and there’s no way in hell I can give her a hard time now.

I take a few more seconds to examine the scene. She’s not engaged with any of the other women. They’re all existing around her, and she’s in her own world. Everything about her body language screamsI want to be anywhere but here. How the hell has no one in the group noticed her discomfort? Or maybe they have noticed, and they just don’t care.

My flirtatious intent transforms into defensiveness on her behalf as I piece together what’s happening. She doesn’t need a sleazeball fuckboy pushing a drink on her. If anything, she needs a friend.

“How are we doing tonight, ladies?”

Thatgets their attention.

Multiple heads spin in my direction, loose, voluptuous curls bouncing. Suddenly, twelve pairs of eyes are giving me their full attention.

“Hi,” the woman closest to me croons as she places her hand on my arm.

“What’s your name?” another one giggles.

I don’t take my eyes off the bride.

“What are we celebrating?” I try again. I need more context—and I really want to hear her speak.

“It’s Daphne’s bachelorette party!” a clearly intoxicated redhead exclaims.

“Yeah,” one of the blondes chimes in. “But she’s the ultimate party pooper, so it’s not exactly a wild time.”

I cringe at the lack of filter. That shit wasn’t even passive aggressive. The bride-to-be—Daphne—is standingright there.

“Is a wild time a requirement for a bachelorette party?” I challenge. “I mean, I’ve never been invited to one myself, so I don’t know what’s expected. Did it say ‘wild time guaranteed’ on the invitation?”

The women break into fits of giggles, each one talking over the other, trying to get my attention.

Their attempts are futile. I can’t look anywhere but at her.