Hellion, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (8 page)

“Uh-oh,” says Mick, winking at me.

“What?” I ask, pretending like I don’t know what he’s talking about.
 
He respects my cool alcoholic act.
 
Points for him.

“Ready for another?” he asks.
 
He glances at Teagan, but I know he’s talking to me.

“One more,” I say.
 
“Then I need to go find me some man-candy to dance near.”
 
There
.
 
Let him know I’m not here for him.

He lifts an eyebrow but says nothing as he pours out another round for the three of us.
 
He ignores the throngs of people shouting and waving at him for drinks.
 
It makes me feel very VIP special, but I try to ignore that emotion.

Teagan raises her glass and drinks the whiskey slowly.
 
Her eyes roam around the room, making me feel like Mick and I are in our own little bubble.

He lifts his shot glass in my direction. “Good luck,” he says, and then he slams his drink down this throat.

“Good luck?
 
What’s that for?” I ask, holding my glass out in front of me.

His voice is strained from the alcohol.
 
“Finding that man-candy.”

“Oh, trust me, babe.
 
I don’t need luck.”
 
I swallow the drink in one go and put the glass down.
 
“Come on, Tea-Tea.
 
Time to bust a move.”
 
I slide away from the edge of the bar.

“Bye, Mick!” she says, as we walk away.

“Bye, Mick,” I say, waving at him over my head but not turning around.

I don’t hear it if he answers, and I refuse to turn around and check if he’s watching us walk away.
 
I’m cool.
 
I can do this.
 
He means nothing to me.
 
Nothing. At. All.

CHAPTER NINE

AS WE GET TO THE dance floor, the beat changes and turns into something almost dangerous.
 
If there are vampires here tonight, this is the song they’ll dance to, and since I’m a Mick St. John fan from way back, I consider this a good thing. I scan the crowd for men with pale faces as my body easily downshifts into the new rhythm. Teagan and I make our way to the center of the floor where we find a small pocket of space to get our groove on.

Within seconds we’re approached by a couple of guys who dance in our personal space wearing jeans that show way too much testicle.
 
I don’t even bother with the eyebrows.
 
I turn sideways and ignore the one closest to me completely.
 
A few seconds later he’s moved on to his next conquest.
 
I say a prayer that the poor girl’s beer goggles aren’t on and totally fogged up.

Teagan’s doing the same avoidance thing, but her wannabe date isn’t taking the hint so well.
 
She sends up a silent SOS in the form of crossed eyes at me, so I put my arms over her shoulders and dance really close to her.
 
“Bugger off,” I say, giving him the mean-eyebrow.

He holds up his hands in surrender and then beats feet out of there.
 
We collapse in giggles thinking we just scared him off the dance floor completely.
 
Poor guy.
 
Obvious amateur.
 
There’s a game that’s played out here on the floor, and if you can’t play you just have to leave.
 
That’s how I look at it.
 
Besides, he needed to stop dancing.
 
Strangling man-jewels like that could affect his ability to have kids some day.
 
Not that a man like that
should
have kids, but hey … maybe he’ll meet a nice girl someday who will shop for him.
 
Men can change.
 
I think.

The next guy to approach me is gone in seconds. I bust out the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me eyebrow on him.
 
I always use a slight lift with a frown mixed in for a man wearing skinny jeans and a torn cotton top.
 
I’m pretty sure I shriveled at least one of his hackie sacks, but it had to be done because he was rubbing something up on me that I either had to eyebrow-away or cut off.
 
It’s better for both of us that I went the less drastic route.

The third guy who approaches is a whole other kind of animal.
 
He kind of takes my breath away, actually.
 
Wowzies
.
 
He’s tall, muscular, and dressed like he’s just walked off the page of a Paco Rabanne magazine ad.
 
When he smiles, my panties send a direct signal to my brain:
 
Take me off.
 
Now.
 
Holy lady-boner.
 
Vampire, twelve o’clock.
 
Maybe they’re real.
 
Weeee!

I don’t give him the eyebrow and I don’t turn away.
 
He can stay.
 
He can foam finger me if he wants to.
 
He can even eat crackers in my bed.
 
I smile to let him know we’re all good.
 
I wonder if he’ll suck my blood right here on the dance floor.

“I was a little afraid to come over here,” he says, leaning down and talking near my ear so I can hear him over the music.
 
Oh, shit … he smells good too.
 
There’s nothing like a freshly showered, shaved, and cologned vampire man to get me in a twist.

“Really?
 
Why?” I yell back.
 
I could not possibly be cooler.
 
My shoes, my eyebrows, my hip-sway.
 
Shakira has nothing on this action.

“There’s a string of guys with broken hearts standing all around the dance floor.”

“Ha.”
 
I turn around and dance with my back to him.
 
He takes the hint and moves closer.

We say nothing for awhile, letting the music speak through our bodies.
 
The lights get flashier and the pace of the music picks up.
 
I turn around and face him again.
 
His right hand moves to my hip, and I make sure to move my body around a little extra so he can see how flexible I am.
 
Hips don’t lie.

“You from around here?” he asks.

“Did you seriously just ask me that?” I say, laughing.
 
My laugh is very charming right now.
 
I’ve practiced in front of the mirror for years.

He grins, revealing model-perfect teeth.

I’m wondering now if he’s a gay vampire.
 
This might just be a friend-dance thing he has going on.
 
Men this pretty are almost never straight.
 
Some of my happy fog dissipates.

“I just wanted to make sure you’d be around for awhile.”

“Charming,” I say.
 
I’m impressed.
 
He’s got good stuff in that arsenal of his.
 
I’m thinking the chances of a gay man practicing pick-up lines on me are pretty slim.
 
Happy fog fully engaged!

“Want to get a drink?” he asks.

I picture walking up to Mick’s bar with this guy and immediately fall into a panic.
 
“No, let’s dance some more.” I put my hand on his arm.
 
There are muscles under that shirt.
 
Holy, holy.
 
He’s probably too warm to be a vampire, but I’m not complaining.
 
Warm flesh is good too.

“What’s your name?” he asks, getting closer to me.
 
Both of his hands are on my hips now.

“Quin.
 
What’s yours?”

“Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, Mark.”
 
I feel like a complete dork saying that, but it’s the best response I can come up with.
 
Words are failing me because my brain is battling visions of Mick and this guy.
 
Their faces are melding together and I’m seeing Mick’s head on this guy’s shoulders.
 
I back up to get out of his grip, flustered.
 
Dammit!

His hands fall away but he acts like nothing happened.
 
“Nice to meet you too.”

The lights drop and the music downshifts.
 
It’s not a slow song, but it’s definitely sexier without the faster beat.

Mark comes in close and I let him.
 
As his hands slide over my hips to the small of my back, our bodies sway with the rhythm.
 
BOOM—DUH-DUH—BOOM …
 
I’m sweating and so is he.
 
His shirt is starting to stick to his chest, and I can see the line between his well-formed pecs.

He’s so much taller than I am, his waist is closer to my stomach than my hips, making it just a little awkward. But when I look up at him and see his good looks go dark under the fading lights, I almost feel like I’m dancing with a real live vampire, and there’s not much sexier than that.

Someone bumps into me on my right, jerking me out of my Twilight sex-haze, and I look over in annoyance.
 
No matter how crowded the dance floor gets, there’s still some etiquette to be followed, and part of that concept is the rule that says you’re not supposed to be an asshole and ruin a vampire love affair moment.

After-work party, dead ahead. “Watch it,” I say to the dingbat blonde who’s bumping and grinding away with a group of girlfriends. She has her navy blue blazer rolled up to her elbows and her blouse untucked over her pencil skirt.

“Watch yourself,” she says, lifting her arms above her head while she does an old-school, modified, vertical cabbage patch move.
 
I have no idea why women like this think that staring all sexy-like at their armpits is attractive.
 
She just looks like she’s checking whether her deodorant is working or not.

I really should punch her lights out and put her out of our misery, but I’m wearing a dress and trying to impress this vampire guy, so I decide against it.
 
I narrow my eyes at her to let her know how lucky she is right now.

“Come this way,” Mark says, pulling me closer to the edge of the dance floor.
 
I look over my shoulder to make sure Teagan will follow, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
 
Oops
.
 
I have no idea where she’s gone to, but I’m too ready to continue with this dance with Mark to worry about it much.
 
She’s probably hanging out with Rebel, anyway.
 
Those two are attached at the hip these days.
 
The relationship is only three weeks old, but it’s like they’ve been together for a year.
 
Rebel even talks like a normal person sometimes now.

I’m moving in synch with Mark again when my eyes catch a complete lack of movement on the perimeter of the dance floor.
 
Everyone else is bumping, grinding, and swaying to the beat, except for this one guy.
 
Blonde hair, dark expression, thin but muscular build …
shit
.
 
It’s Mick.

I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel guilty, like I’ve done something wrong.
 
Maybe even betrayed something between us.
 
Suddenly, I’m afraid he’s going to think I’m with this guy Mark.
 
I don’t want him to think that now, which is completely stupid because two seconds ago I was ready to sign up for the Mark fuck-me fan-club.
 
But I can’t deny my own feelings.
 
They’re there and mighty inconvenient.
 
Nothing makes sense anymore.
 
Panic sets in once again.

I back away, but Mark grabs me by the waist and pulls me towards him.
 
“Where are you going?”
 
His smile is completely non-threatening and should have been sexy as hell, but all it does is irritate me.

I put my hand on his wrist and push it down to detach him from me.
 
“I’m good right here, thanks.” I step away again.

“You sure?” he asks, moving towards me.
 
He’s not being an ass, just persistent.
 
Normally I’d like that in a guy, but right now it’s just damn inconvenient and mostly annoying.

I feel someone standing against my back.

“You okay, Quinlan?” Mick asks over my shoulder.

My knees go weak at the close contact.
 
The kiss he snuck from me comes back full force and my lips tingle with the memory.
 
I am completely turned upside down inside.
 
Now I can finally appreciate why Hellion is Mick’s nickname.
 
He is raising hell with my system for sure.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Mark asks, lifting his chin in Mick’s direction.

I turn sideways.
 
“I’m fine, Mick.
 
And stop calling me Quinlan.” I feel nauseated.
 
Is it the drinks?
 
Could two shots make me vom on the dance floor?
 
And if I do lose it, will I ever be able to show my face in the LA club scene again?
 
No, probably not.
 
I’ll always be the girl who blew chunks on the dance floor.

Mick looks down at me as if we’re the only ones in the whole place. My stomach does about ten flips and the music fades out like someone turned down the volume.
 
My ears and throat burn with either near-vomit or my new Hellion-addiction.
 
Neither one is good.

“That’s your name, though. Your mom told me so.”
 
He grins like he’s the king of the world.
 
Like none of this is affecting him and I’m just some plaything he’s enjoying batting around.