He and Max start to head over to where Remy and Lucy are leaning against the bar. I scowl again but follow behind them, realizing that hanging behind would be even more awkward than just acknowledging her.
I scan her from head to toe as I walk closer. Her outfit is simple—ripped skinny jeans with her trademark combat boots and a strappy black top that shows off her small but perfectly shaped tits. Her hair is loosely curled and falling over her shoulders, looking so shiny that I feel the sudden urge to wrap it around my fist. That urge is only slightly beat out by the temptation of her full, pink lips.
She looks fucking delicious.
I growl internally at the memories that flood back of her naked body standing in front of me yesterday. Even just the glimpse of her cleavage now is reminding me how perky and pink her nipples are, how much I'd wanted to fall to my knees so I could lean forward and taste them.
She seems to be remembering the same thing.
Even in the dim lighting of the bar, I can see the pink that now tinges her cheeks. This is the first time we've seen each other since the "shower incident"—as my brain now refers to it—and she definitely looks embarrassed. For how cocksure she seemed strutting out of the bathroom yesterday, she doesn't look nearly as confident right now.
Her unease helps me regain some of my own control. I grin as we reach the bar.
"Hi, ladies," I drawl. "Fancy seeing you here."
She glares at me—per usual. "What are you guys doing here?" she snaps.
Aiden chuckles under his breath and shoots me a knowing look. If he didn't understand my foul mood before, Remy's extra snappy tone probably just connected the dots for him.
"We just wanted to let off some steam after the gym," he answers smoothly. "What about you two? Stressful week?"
If looks could kill…
Remy's eyes burn with her barely-concealed hatred. They hold mine, unrelenting. "You could say that," she growls.
I grin, loving the effect I have on her. I've always thought she’s sexy when she's angry, even before this week. That’s why I always loved to rile her up. "Why don't we buy you two another round?" I offer innocently. I can't help the taunt that slips from my lips. "We'd love toshoweryou with our attention tonight."
If she wasn't seeing red before, she definitely is now. I notice her knuckles turn white on the glass she's holding, and my grin widens.
"Thanks, but no thanks, asshole," she spits. She grabs Lucy's arm and looks apologetically at the two guys beside me. "Sorry guys, we'd love to stay and chat but if I don't get a bar's worth of distance away from Tristan, I might become responsible for the derailment of your golden boy's career. Have a good night." And without a second's hesitation, she pulls Lucy to the other side of the bar. I vaguely register Lucy grumbling something about "so much sexual tension."
"Damn, dude," Aiden mutters next to me. "What the hell did you do to her?"
I laugh and take another sip of my drink. "If I tell you, she'll definitely derail my career."
For the next hour, we mingle around the bar, talking to friends that we run into and chatting up a few girls. Both Aiden and Max are clearly athletes that radiate single vibes, so girls tend to gravitate toward us. At one point we manage to capture the attention of a very drunk, very horny, bachelorette party.
I politely chat with the bride herself, trying my best to ignore the blatant bedroom eyes she's throwing my way. I'm not a fan of the cliché pre-wedding infidelity in general but I'm also just not interested in the pretty blonde. She's so obviously throwing herself at me that it's actually a turn-off. I find myself wishing she would at least give me the illusion of a chase, maybe push back with a joke or a snarky comment.
My eyes scan the room, landing on Remy sitting at the bar. She's sitting sideways on the barstool, laughing loudly at something Lucy just said. There's no trace of the anger or resentment that she wears when she talks to me. She actually looks… happy.
I glance down at the glass in her hand and notice she's drinking a clear liquid on the rocks. I vaguely remember Jax telling me she's not really a drinker but that when she does, she goes for tequila. Which immediately makes her very, very happy.
I'm barely aware of the bride droning on about some crazy college experience that she had, completely clueless to the fact that I'm not listening. Instead, I study Remy's body language. Her shoulders are loose, her smile happy. She's animatedly telling Lucy a story about something, her hands gesturing wildly to emphasize whatever it is she's talking about. And when she hears a certain song come on, she gasps and grabs Lucy's arm. She pulls her friend onto the dance floor and they start dancing to the upbeat tune.
If any part of me was paying attention to the bride in front of me, it definitely isn't now.
I can't take my eyes off of Remy. I've never seen her dance before.
It's fucking mesmerizing.
Her hips move from side to side, her movements fluid and comfortable. She’s always been graceful at the gym—light on her feet and in total control of her body—so it makes sense that she's the same on the dance floor. She raises her hands above her head as she continues to roll her hips.
I probably would've been lost in her trance for hours if I didn't notice the guy slide in behind her.
Without any word or introduction, he slides his arms around her waist and pulls her tight to his body. His jerky hip movements are cringe-worthy.
All happiness drops from Remy's face. She scowls, her brows furrowing more than they ever have with even me, and she tries to push his hands off. But the asshole isn't loosening his grip.