“Oh, but I’m not his—”
“Ready to find the others?” I interrupt Noelle’s protest, knowing exactly what she was about to say. Not that I care to admit just how much I don’t want her to finish that sentence.
Oh, but I’m not his woman. That’s what she was about to say. I know it, and it burns deep, piercing my chest, the way she had spoken so hastily, so quick to deny it. Which is bullshit because it’s not like I do relationships.
Placing my hand at the small of her back, I steer her toward the direction we need to head in to join the others at Shenanigans. The Shrimp Festival crowd is heavy like every year but it’s always festive with many dressed in pirate garb and handing out beads, the scent of shrimp being prepared every way you can imagine, the sound of live music from various bars throughout the historical downtown area drifting over you.
I see the looks from other men as we pass by, the lingering of their eyes as they take in the way Noelle looks tonight. God, this dress is fucking making me come undone. Those two wide straps are taunting me; I’m mentally tugging them down to bare the breasts I already know are braless. Sure, the dress might have thick enough padding to disguise any signs of her nipples, but I know her breasts by now. And the fact that I know it wouldn’t take much effort—or time, for that matter—to get my mouth on one of her pretty pink nipples is the reason I’m having to continuously adjust myself.
Tossing the now empty paper plate from her funnel cake into the trash bin outside Shenanigans, we offer our IDs to the bouncers at the door and enter in search of the others. Laney had sent me a text message saying they were in the large room reserved for live bands, a room with a great deal of space for a dance floor. Laney had sweet-talked the owner into lowering the price for us to reserve the large VIP table seating. We all chipped in and, after it was all said and done, it wasn’t a huge expense. It’s a necessity on a night like this since the place is packed with locals and tourists alike. We have a bouncer assigned to our section of seating who watches over the tables and ensures no one messes with our drinks or the women’s purses.
As soon as we approach the others who are sitting with drinks and chatting, an arm loops through my own, drawing my attention from Noelle. Turning, I am faced with a random lay—someone I was hoping not to see again. Ever.
Ashley.
Chapter Forty
Noelle
Just as I move to take a step toward our friends seated at one of the large VIP tables in the corner, I notice Foster’s stopped. Turning, I see a tiny blonde with her arm linked through his, gazing up at him with big doe eyes. And there’s no mistaking the pinch in the center of my chest at that sight.
“Noelle! We’ve been waiting on you! Here’s your shot.” Laney motions to me to take the empty seat beside her, sliding a shot glass toward me.
Let it be known I’ve never been able to hold my liquor well. And when I say well, I mean at all. We’re talking, someone’s going to be dancing on tables shortly before that same someone will be puking beneath them.
Classy, right? Mmm, yeah, not so much. But right now, I’m not considering that. Right now, I’m riding high on the Why should I let it bother me that some chick is touching Foster Kavanaugh? Especially when I’m pretty sure his penis touched a ton of random chicks’ vaginas? Answer: It shouldn’t.
So I toss the damn shot back, cringing at the way it burns my throat. Pretty sure my esophagus is hating me right now. And I request another shot. Along with a vodka and Red Bull.
Because, screw it. I’m going to have fun.
“Whoa, whoa, darlin’. Might want to slow down.” Kane slides in beside me at the table, eyeing the drinks the waitress sets down before me. I refuse to turn around to see what happened to Foster because I know what—or who—is detaining him.
“I’m good, Windham.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise at my sharp tone. Holding up his hands in defense, he tells me, “Fine. But I’ll be the first to call not it at holding your hair back.”
My dirty look merely makes him chuckle before tipping his head in the direction of my newest shot. “Toss that back real quick so I can get your gorgeous self out on the dance floor.” Before I can respond, he turns to Doc beside him. “You’re joining us.”
Doc’s eyebrows arch as he eyes us curiously. “I am?”
“Yes, sir. I need a wingman with this sugar muffin here.”
I choke on my drink; coughing so hard the alcohol burns my throat and nose. When I finally get myself under control, I stare at Kane in disbelief. “Did you really just call me ‘sugar muffin’?”
He flashes his trademark grin. “Yes, ma’am.” Nodding to my empty glass, he holds out a hand. “Ready to cut a rug?”