Santiago
When Maeve came walkingout of my bedroom in a red dress and knee-high boots, I nearly called off the whole night. No way I’d be able to sit in a room with her dressed like that and act human. I barely maintained my humanity when I saw her in my kitchen in her pajamas each morning.
Maeve in red, the top curves of her breasts exposed, inches of smooth thigh uncovered, was something else entirely. She took my words, took my reasons for staying away, and slammed them in the trash.
I’d been watching her with Murray, dancing, laughing, loose, and happy—ways she never was with me anymore. Jealousy ruffled my hackles, even though I didn’t think there was anything more than friendship between them.
It should’ve been my hands on her.
Those smiles and laughs should’ve come from me.
Her rhythm, it was all mine.
Maeve, soft, pretty, hard-ass drummer girl I’d fallen half in love with when we were both too young and not ready. Nothing was right about the way I felt about her now, the way I wanted her. She was still too young, and she had taken my brother’s spot. My eyes should not have been on her. She should not have been in my bed. I should have been thinking about Diego—not the girl he followed around one summer like a lovesick puppy.
Haven came dancing back over, holding two shot glasses above her head. She handed one to me. “Our girl looks so good out there, doesn’t she?”
I threw back the shot, letting it burn down my throat. “Yep.”
“Do you dance, Santi?”
“From time to time.”
Haven swayed her narrow hips, head falling back as the music took over her. “This should be one of those times. I bet Murray wouldn’t mind if you cut in.” She opened her eyes and winked. “I know you’re not as bad as she thinks you are. I see you.”
“Nah, I’m pretty damn bad.”
She ruffled my hair as she passed to sit next to Yael. “Sure...”
My eyes moved back to Maeve and Murray. I could’ve sat here, watching her dance all night. All week. Maybe a few years.
The seat next to me moved. An overpowering floral scent filled my nose, making my eyes water. A squeal sounded far too close to my ear.
“Oh em gee, are you in Unrequited?”
Tearing my eyes away from the dancefloor, I looked at the woman who’d made herself at home beside me. She was pretty as hell, pin-up worthy. But her hand was on my leg and she leaned into me like she knew me. I didn’t like that. I really didn’t like that.
“I am. Would you mind moving your hand, sweetheart? I have a thing about personal space.” I had no interest in embarrassing her, so I kept my voice low enough so only she would hear.
“Oh em gee, you’re so nice. I love your voice.” The girl moved her hand back to her lap, and I could breathe again.
Another girl plopped down beside her, and a third on my other side, all with warring floral scents, all with the same squeal. They acted excited, but I had a feeling I was the consolation prize since Mo was already occupied.
A few years ago, I’d have taken one of these women up on what they were so clearly offering. If I was feeling it, maybe all three of them. Times changed, people did too. I couldn’t say I’d never sunk my dick into a groupie, but it didn’t happen often these days. Maybe I was looking for more than that, I didn’t know. Fact was, these pretty, willing girls didn’t do a whole lot for me anymore.
A flash of red, then Maeve was behind Haven, tapping her shoulder and leaning down to talk to her. Her breasts nearly spilled from her dress, like the night she was our waitress in New York. My dick jerked, the girls around me forgotten.
A hand clapped on my shoulder from behind, and I craned my neck, finding Alex Murray standing over me.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a dick,” he stated.
“No shit.” I had no idea what prompted this declaration, but I wasn’t about to deny it. Not with Maeve O’Day across from me.
“Groupies have their place, but tonight? In front of her?”
Rising from my seat, I let my chest bump Murray’s. “What do you know about her?”