“Get off my nuts, man!” Anna shouts, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the group next to us. “Do you know what the dating scene is like in Lex right now?”
“Probably the same as it is here,” Barrett mumbles.
I laugh to myself, letting my eyes wander around the room. I gaze aimlessly at the chandelier above the bar and follow the crown molding down the wall to the floor. That’s when I suddenly lock eyes with a guy at the next table—the same table who turned to see what Anna was hollering about.
He has a dark fade, with immaculate skin and almond eyes, dressed in fitted dark wash jeans, boots, and black henley pushed up to his elbows. He glances back and forth between me and the guy he’s speaking with across the table. That one has dark blonde scruff and long honey blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with fitted black jeans and pristine black boots.
As subtly as I can, I lean closer to Anna, “These guys over here want to know whose nuts you’re talking about.” Then I shift my eyes to the side.
Barrett and Anna barely steal glances their way when a server appears out of the crowd and sets another gin and tonic down in front of me. I look up with a furrowed brow and shake my head to indicate I haven’t ordered it. The server nods to the bar, tossing his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes.
“Someone sent it over for you,” he says with a wink before turning on his heel and disappearing back into the crowd.
“Since when does anyone send me a drink?” I shoot a dubious glance at Barrett.
“Since you don’t look like you want to murder anyone anymore,” she snorts.
“Hell yeah,” Anna nods, “it was probably one of them.” She flashes a sultry look toward the guys at the next table.
“A lot of good that’ll do them,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“Why?” Anna isn’t looking at me anymore, she’s leaning back in her chair, surveying the entire group at the table. “You can still introduce us to them…”
I nod in agreement and pick up the glass to set it aside. When I see the napkin beneath it, I flinch in horror, nearly splashing gin onto the table. There’s a simple sketch in the middle of the napkin, about three inches long, drawn with a black marker.
A bee.
A Honeybee.
I immediately cover it with my palm and crumple it into my fist as inconspicuously as possible. Then, careful not to draw attention to myself, I crane my neck to scan the bar. But it’s no use, it’s a madhouse and half the people I see are just silhouettes anyway. And even if the server or bartender could remember who ordered it, which is doubtful, what am I going to do about it?
Before I can consider it further, I sense someone at my shoulder. I turn to my right and see the two guys who have been staring at us from the next table.
The blonde one dressed head to toe in black sets his hand on the back of Barrett’s chair, “You all sound like you’re having a good time, but I just have to ask,” he leans across the table to Anna, “who’s on your nuts and do we need to remove them, by force if necessary?”
Barrett’s eyes round and she partially covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh.
“Told you,” I mutter with an impish smile.
Anna grins proudly from across the table, “No one, anymore,” then she shoots a look at Barrett and reaches over the table, “Anna.”
“Ethan,” he replies and shakes it before turning to Barrett to introduce himself.
The dark haired one rests his arm on the back of my chair and leans into my ear, “Wells,” he offers his other hand with a smile.
I turn and lean back slightly so I can see him before shaking his hand, “Brett.”
“Oh,” Barrett nods to my drink, “did you send that over?”
Wells looks down at the gin and tonic in front of me and shakes his head, “No,” and without missing a beat, he plucks the glass off the table, “sorry about their luck, whoever they are.”
My stomach drops as I watch him set the full glass down at a recently vacated table behind us. Seconds later, another group snatches up the seats and it’ll only be a matter of time before the spent glasses—and my full one—are cleared away.
But what if whoever sent the drink is still watching?
Wells turns back to me and bows his head with a grin, “A better man would approach you and just ask what you want.”
Shit, this is not good.
I plaster a smile on my face and try to conceal the dread overtaking me, “Thank you,” my voice sounds normal, but my mind is racing, “but as a general rule, I don’t accept drinks from people I don’t know.”
“That’s smart,” his eyes wander around the room before settling back on me, “in that case, I’ll just ask you again later.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
A year ago, I would’ve been all too happy for Wells and his toned arms and chiseled pecs to step off the pages of GQ and set up camp next to me at this table. I would’ve been ecstatic when Ethan waved a couple more of his entourage over to join us. It would’ve been a magical night filled with flirtation, fine drinks, and maybe even some fucking. But my engagement ring and the creepy napkin drawing I just received indicate that it’s just not meant to be. And as soon as I feel Wells’s fingers leave the back of my chair and glide up and down my arm, my anxiety hits a fever pitch.
But then I get an idea.
Maybe I can use Wells to my advantage. I’ve known him for all of five seconds, but he looks like he could be intimidating. If Colson is the one who sent me the drink, how would he know that Wells is not Bowen—my fiancé?
But would Wells even go along with that?
Every option feels icky. But being targeted from the shadows feels ickier, even if I know who it might be. And the thought of fleeing in fear and ruining my night out with Barrett and Anna makes me too angry to even consider. I shouldn’t have to rely on the intimidating posture of another man—who I also don’t know—to feel safe, but here we are.
I turn over my shoulder and tap Wells’s chest with my knuckle, “Hey?”
He leans in close to hear me, his cheek brushing against my hair. His cologne or aftershave smells like vanilla and spice.
