Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“I’ll help,” Finn offers, tucking Scottie into her spot on the other side of the table and leaning down to place a kiss to her lips. Her presence is like the sun on hard butter, softening him considerably.
We scoot down to the crowded bar and shove our way into the only hole we can find on the opposite end of the bartender. I put my tongue to my teeth and whistle, effectively grabbing her attention. She’s short, absolutely stacked in the chest department, and sporting black bangs that have to be annoying as fuck as they tangle in her eyelashes. Her smile is big when she spots me, though, and I know I can have her eating out of the palm of my hand if I want to.
I bump Finn in the chest when she abandons her other customers to head in our direction, and he scoffs.
“I don’t know what fucking voodoo you have, dude, or who the hell you bribed to get it, but I’m a little scared of its power.”
“You should be,” I advise seriously. “It’s backed by the most powerful witches of the highest world order.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck you.”
I laugh. “It’s raw sexual charisma, Finn, not magic. Don’t be jealous that you don’t have as much of it as I do.”
“That’s cute, Ace,” he retorts. “But I’m pretty sure I’m the one with the beautiful, perfect girlfriend, and you’re the single bastard. So, who’s really winning?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend because I have the entire playing field, dude. Don’t get it twisted.”
“Right, sure.” He makes a show of looking around me. “But…that still doesn’t explain why you’re standing here. Alone.”
“You and I both know I could take this bartender home if I wanted to.”
“So do it,” he challenges.
I snort. “And leave you to enjoy the VIP table I got for us all on your own? Get real. Maybe at the end of the night.”
“Hey, guys,” the bartender in question greets cheerfully, making Finn waggle his eyebrows and me sigh. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll take a rum and Coke and something called a cosmopolitan.” I gesture toward Finn, and he shakes his head at my “off switch,” as he calls it. Once I get what I want out of certain women, I dip. She came to wait on us. I placed my order. That’s all I needed, really, since I don’t have the time or energy to hang on her periphery until closing just to take her home. “You order your shit, dude. I gotta take a quick piss, but I’ll be back to help you carry.”
The bartender’s smile deflates considerably at both my cold shoulder and my secondary, very obviously girlie drink, but I bump Finn on the shoulder and beat feet anyway. It’s not my job to cushion the blow of reality for everyone I come into contact with. Fuck me, that’d be tiring.
I make quick work of the bathroom and flirt harmlessly with a few dancing ladies on the way back to Finn, and then we carry our drinks to our booth. Finn’s eyes are both shrewd and disgusted, and honestly, I take that as the highest compliment.
Dudes like Finn are simple. They’re biological. They’re the type that imprint like fucking werewolves and then roar at anything that comes within five feet of their woman. I’m more complex—universally attuned. I use what I’m given and move with the tide, you know?
I pass Julia’s drink to her and set mine on the table, before making her scoot to give me room. She laughs as I continue to shove at her until she’s crowded into the back, and then she punches me in the shoulder to make me quit.
“God, you’re such an ogre, Acer,” she huffs, but she also laughs.
I wink at her and look out at the club before us.
“Gah, this feels so good!” I exclaim, rubbing my hands together.
Red velvet ropes are stretched out in front of us to block off the steps to the dance floor, effectively keeping us out of the hustle and bustle. This is our first real group outing since the tumultuous end to last semester, and I figured paying for VIP would hedge our bets for a fantastic fucking time. Plus, my dad left behind a credit card for “emergencies” while they’re away in the Bahamas with my brother, and showing Scottie a good time after all she’s been through is of the highest urgency.
Our good friend Scottie wasn’t always in a wheelchair. When we all started Dickson at the beginning of freshman year, she was a star athlete on the prestigious Dragons’ cheerleading squad. To say life handed her a bag of shit a few months ago would be putting it mildly.
“The gang is back together!”
“Four friends walk into a bar…” Scottie adds, sipping the drink Finn and I just delivered through a tiny black cocktail straw. I pick up my own rum and Coke to do the same. “And then one more rolls in.”