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“M—M—M—Mason,” snarky guy mocks, and he and a few of the people surrounding us chuckle.
“Aww . . . you got a little crush on Mason?” second girl chimes. Of course, she would. She’s been quiet for far too long. “Well, get in line, honey.”
“I just need to speak to him.”
“He’s busy,” Bill says and the original woman rolls her eyes.
“He’s inside. At the bar.” She steps forward, putting a hand on Bill’s chest and pushing him back. He’s so drunk, he nearly falls on his ass. She turns back to me, giving me a quick nod of her head and a scowl, telling me I better hurry or she’s not covering for me any longer.
“Thank you,” I breathe, and rush through the door.
—And stumble right into pandemonium.
I’ve never been in a bar before. It was forbidden like most things that involved fun, but even if I had, I don’t think it would have compared to the inside of Rummie’s.
The crowd is thick and overconfident; a drunken haze, hanging over the room. A woman’s dancing on a tabletop in the back, surrounded by a group of rough, cheering men. The bar is lined with loud people, most not even fully involved in a conversation because there’s just so much going on aroundthem. Some people even dry hump against tables and chairs, “dancing” to the rock music blaring over the radio as if no one else is in the room.
First woman was right.
These people are going to eat me alive.
Come on, Hannah. Doesn’t mean they’re bad people,I chastise myself and even though I agree with the tyrant that is my inner monologue, I still feel like a mouse walking into a viper’s den as I slip through the crowd.
Someone tries to pull me into a dance, a drunk man I’m sure won’t remember my face after the next five minutes.
“Hey, babygirl. Daddy know where you are right now?” another asks, grinning at me through broken teeth. Looks like he’s already been in a bar fight tonight.
I ignore him, only to turn and run into a woman who sloshes her drink on me.
“Fucking cow,” she growls, lunging at me as if she might really bite me.
Suddenly, I’m missing the protection of first woman.
“Excuse me,” I squeak to a group of men gathered in front of the bar, but none of them move. They don’t even look in my direction, save to produce a truly long list of shitty pickup lines.
“Wow, she’s warm,” one comments, snickering sickeningly when I squeeze through them.
“And short. I like ‘em small. Makes ‘em tight.”
God, I could vomit if I’d actually eaten dinner.
Jesus, Mason. Where the hell are you?
And then, as if on cue, I spot him. He’s leaning back against the bar, Puke and Ian beside him and for a brief, shining moment, relief floods through me.
However, it’s quickly replaced by something else when I spot the girl beside him, her hand on his stomach. She giggles while she whispers something in his ear.
“Hannah.” Ian’s as surprised to see me as Mason is when his eyes flash to mine and instantly darken.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growl putting on my best angry wife voice and putting every single one of my shower acting skills to the test.
Mason’s jaw ticks.
The sinister voice in the back of my head chuckles.
“Umm . . . Mason,” the girl next to him asks, blue eyes flashing me up and down. “Who is this?”
“Hiswife,” I snap before Mason can even get a word in. “Who are you?”
