Seeing my brother’s name light up the screen, I spend a moment debating the option of not answering. It’s a short debate. If I don’t pick up now, he’ll just keep calling.
With a sigh, I answer the phone. “Hey, loser.”
There’s a brief pause before he responds. “Sounds like you’re in a bar.”
“How very investigative of you.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m in one of the hotel bars. It’s a nice establishment. Hardly any crime.”
John ignores my sarcasm. “You with your boss?”
It’s my turn to pause.
“Sasha.” I can picture the vein throbbing in his forehead as he says my name.
I may have turned 30 earlier this year, but I’ll always be his baby sister. And he treats me accordingly.
“We parted ways literally two minutes ago. We have to get up early to catch the shuttle, and you know how she is, one drink limit and 8 hours of sleep,” I tell him.
“Smart woman. I take it you’ll be heading up to your room now.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question.
I resist the urge to pull on my hair. “Not yet. I heard about this fancy little sex den around the corner that I wanted to check out. Need to capitalize on the whole what happens in Vegas thing.”
“Cute, Sasha. Really cute.”
I can’t help but laugh. He’s too easy to rile up. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m going to have one glass of wine then I’ll head to bed.” I glance around the bar that I just stepped into. It was a last-minute decision as we walked through the lobby on our way back from dinner, but I refuse to apologize for wanting to have a little fun. “I’m trying to enjoy my last evening of vacation.”
John huffs. “I’m not really sure you can call it a vacation. A single night in a hotel for a bunch of work meetings isn’t exactly relaxing.”
“It’s more relaxing than it could’ve been. Seriously, I’m lucky Cheryl didn’t try to fly us home on a red eye tonight,” I admit. “Plus, if I ever actually took a vacation, you’d just badger me about being alone the whole damn time.”
I’m not exaggerating about either point. I was shocked that Cheryl booked us rooms for tonight. We caught the 6:00 a.m. flight this morning to spend all day sitting through meetings. But even after an excruciatingly early morning, my boss would normally make us fly home that same day. So, I’m going to enjoy my night of freedom. Away from home. Away from responsibility.
“I didn’t say to travel alone,” John replies.
If he were here, instead of in Chicago, I’d flick him in the forehead. “Oh gee, why didn’t I think of that? Hey, maybe I’ll find a nice gentleman tonight at that sex den who’ll want to go away with me. Next decade. When I have some time off.”
“Ha. Ha.” John says with only a touch of humor.
“Goodnight, John.”
“Go to your room, sister.”
I smirk as I hang up. My big brother is annoying as hell, but he means well. He just doesn’t understand when being protective becomes overprotective.
“Boyfriend?”
I hear the voice right as a hand lands on my lower back.
Instinct has me quickly stepping away before turning to face the culprit.
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“On the phone. Was that your boyfriend?”
I look the man over as I ponder the best way to brush him off. He looks like your typical sleazy casino guy. We aren’t technically in a Casino, but the rule still fits. He has shiny thinning hair, a belly straining a too-tight shirt with the top 3 buttons undone, highlighting a gold chain laying across a bunch of greying chest hair.
I decide direct is the best way to address this problem. “I appreciate the interest, but that’s really none of your business.”
The man pulls his head back, as if I hit him, transforming his double chin into a triple. I give him a tight smile before turning away.
I make it a few steps closer to the bar before I hear his voice again.
“How about I buy you a drink and you can tell me all about him.”
I don’t stop or look back. “No, thank you.”
What is with some guys? What part of my attitude makes him think that I want him to keep trying? I shake my head to myself. Sometimes I wish I had just half the confidence that these creepy men wrongfully possess.
This time, the hand precedes the voice. His fingers wrap around my elbow, halting my walk. “Come on now, that’s not very nice. I’m just offering to buy you a drink.”
I jerk my arm away and spin back to face him. The sudden move has my brunette locks falling across my face.
I jerkily brush my hair out of the way and narrow my eyes while using my best fuck off voice. “Look buddy, keep your hands to yourself. Accept my no and leave me alone.”
As a woman I know there’s a fine line between fending off unwanted attention and provoking aggressive behavior. It’s not fair, but it is what it is. I may have gone too far just now but I’m not always great at reigning in my temper.
The man puts his hands up, a look of amusement flashing across his face. Jackass.
I don’t wait for him to respond, and I don’t look around at the other patrons who might be watching us. Even with the semi-loud music playing I’m sure we are making a bit of a scene. Now I really need that glass of wine.
Spotting a couple of open stools at the bar, I head towards them. I’d rather converse with the bartender than sit at a table and have to fend off more greasy mobster-wannabes.
Just as I’m reaching to pull the stool out, I feel something brush against my arm. Preparing to tell off this jerk yet again, I turn my head towards the movement. Only instead of coming face to face with Mr. Idiot, I see him awkwardly bend away from me before he swiftly tips forward and faceplants into the bar top. The thud of face against wood is muted, but his groan is audible above the din of chatter.
My mouth is open. I’m literally standing slack-jawed, wondering what in the hell just happened. Mr. Idiot is facing me, his cheek smashed into the hard surface, with his lips puckered into a lewd pout. It takes my brain a beat to notice the large hand on the back of his head, holding him in place. It takes another beat for me to realize that Idiot’s arm is wrenched behind his back, held in place by another large hand.
Continuing their path, my eyes trace up what can only be described as arm porn. Thick muscled forearms are framed by the rolled-up cuff of shirt sleeves. Said sleeves are left straining in their attempt to contain bunched biceps. Large, rounded shoulders connect those arms to a broad, solid-looking chest.
I force my mouth closed so I can swallow. This man’s upper body alone is causing me to salivate.
My eyes skip up the buttons of his shirt to a corded neck. Above which is a firm chin covered in more than a shadow, less than a beard. His lips are full, tipped into a small frown and sinfully sexy. As if beckoned, my gaze snaps up and I find myself looking into the eyes of the Devil.
