Casually turning to face the open room, I propped my elbows on the bar behind me and scanned the crowd. My heart skipped a beat when I spotted a familiar leather-clad lumberjack.
Boomer was unmistakable—like spotting Bigfoot in Munchkinland. His bushy beard tapered at the bottom, and I bet he hadn’t washed his stringy brown hair in ten years. Yet he somehow managed to attract the ladies. No sign of Denise, but another pretty girl was in his thrall. Boomer’s long sleeves weren’t uncommon in winter, but why the leather gloves? This club was a sauna, so why not tuck those in his back pockets? They weren’t the fingerless kind either.
When he shifted his eyes toward a long-legged woman walking by, I could barely look away. The wraparounds covered some of his face, and I wasn’t sure if I could identify a Vampire by his cheeks alone. Probably not. Vampire skin was one of those features you noticed up close with more real estate showing. When Vamps are made, their skin pigment returns to a rejuvenated state like that of a newborn. It has a flawless quality bereft of wrinkles and sun damage. On a twenty-year-old, no one would notice. But men over thirty stood out, and this guy was easily pushing forty-five.
Had he done something to poor little Denise? Best-case scenario, he was just another dickhead, and she’d learned a lesson about finding Mr. Right in a club. Hopefully she was at home with a carton of ice cream, sulking over her failure. Better that than the alternative.
Most everyone in the Breed world had a unique alias. But if Boomer was carrying ID, there was no way I was getting my hands on it. Not with that metal chain on his belt loop attached to the wallet in his back pocket. Maybe if I seduced him and got his pants off, but the odds of that happening were slim to not a chance in hell.
I stood beneath a bright light, and when he looked my way, I steered my attention to a group of drunken girls getting up to leave. Boomer needed to see my mismatched eyes. I didn’t want to make him uneasy by staring at him, so I watched the crowd around him. When I was confident he’d seen me, I coolly turned around and knocked back a shot of tequila, making sure to shift my ass in those leathers. My body tingled delightfully, and I pretended to be checking my phone as most humans did obsessively.
“Hey, Simone.”
I almost didn’t recognize my fake name. A familiar face claimed the empty spot to my left. “Hey, Chase. So we meet again.”
We’d run into each other a couple of times, but we only nodded at each other in passing. I smiled at his leather pants as I took a seat on the stool beside him. He looked like he belonged in them, whereas I looked like I only took mine out of the closet on special sex occasions.
“No drink?” I asked.
He jerked his head to the woman behind him. “In about a minute. I bet she doesn’t finish it.”
“You don’t get grossed out by drinking from someone else’s glass? You might get the superdeluxe avian flu cooties.”
An imperceptible smile touched his lips as he rubbed one of his black ear studs. “I’ve already got cooties.”
“What happens if you meet a nice girl who wants you to buy her a drink?”
He leaned in. “A nice girl doesn’t expect anything.”
“Except chivalry.”
“Didn’t you get the memo? That died centuries ago.”
I laughed and put my phone back in my clutch. Talking to Chase gave me a little reprieve from the madness of being a social girl. I peered over my shoulder, and when I saw Boomer look my way, I jerked my head back to Chase, whose thin-lipped smile implied he wanted to say something.
But he didn’t. And thank God for that. He probably thought I was checking out Boomer and was judging my taste in men.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
I waved my hand. “Nah. I thought the club scene would be a lot of fun, but maybe it’s better when you have friends.”
“Well, you got me, right?” He bit his thumbnail for a second before resting his elbow on the bar. “You’re a cool chick. Where are all your cool-chick friends?”
“After college, they went their way and I went mine.”
His brows arched. “What college did you go to?”
“The School of Hard Knocks. That’s why we went our separate ways.”
“What about since? Surely you go out to lunch with the girls at work.”
I touched my pendant and tried to play it cool. I’d been telling people I worked at home doing telemarketing. “I never clicked much with girls, and guys can only be friends as long as they’re single. Once they get into a relationship, it’s sayonara. You know the story. She begins to wonder why he needs other female friends. Isn’t she enough? Then one day”—I snapped my fingers—“you’re out of his life.”
“Aww. I’ll be your friend, Simone. Cross my heart and hope to die that if I get married, she’ll just have to deal with it.”
I laughed and tapped my finger against my clutch. Boomer was probably listening in, so I decided to keep the conversation going since sitting alone looked suspicious. “Would you like me to buy you a beer? I’ve got a running tab.”
Chase reached inside his lightweight jacket and pulled out a flask. “Not necessary. I came prepared.”
I chuckled. “You sure that’s enough?”
He unscrewed the cap. “It’s pure moonshine. Ever had any?”
“Can’t say I have.”
He held it out. “Try some. It’ll make you feel all warm and tingly inside. Just don’t drink it all. I don’t always get lucky with free drinks around here, so this is my last resort.”
“How do I know it’s not poison?”
“Do I look like a murderer?”
“No, you look like an anime character.”
Chase gave an exasperated sigh and took a swig. He grimaced afterward and passed it over. “Smooth,” he rasped.
After a casual glance around, it came to my attention that Boomer was checking me out. He was sitting like most cocky men do—legs wide apart and one arm over the back of his chair. Something had certainly caught his attention over here, and it wasn’t the décor. Maybe the prospect of competition. Or maybe he was curious how easily influenced I was—a quality that probably made his job easier.
I lifted the drink. “I was born for adventure.” When I tilted the flask, the moonshine shot down the wrong pipe. Either that or it burned a hole through my esophagus. After a fit of coughing, I shoved it back in his hands. “That’s awful!”
“Yeah,” he agreed, screwing the cap back on. “My uncle makes decent money from his friends, and I get a free jug whenever I want.”
“What the hell would you want with a whole jug?”
He grinned. “Strips the paint right off my brushes.”
“That’s a bottle of bad life choices.”
“I don’t believe in bad decisions,” he said matter-of-factly.
Intrigued, I swiveled toward him with my feet anchored on the footrest of my stool. “If you danced naked on the bar and went to jail, you don’t think that would be a bad decision?”
He screwed the lid onto his flask and tucked it back in his coat. “What if I met my soul mate because of it? She might be one of the guards at the jail, and it’s love at first sight.”