Page 23 of Love on the Waiver Wire

The bartender turns to me, but not before shooting a look of confusion Owen’s way.

“I’ll have a rum and coke,” I tell him, sitting back in my seat.

He nods once before looking back at Owen, only to find his eyes still on him.

“Are you okay?” the bartender asks him, leaning against the bar.

“You see that pretty girl right there?” Owen asks, taking a sip of his water.

The bartender looks at me before Owen snaps, directing his attention back to him. “Her brother is big and scary and across the room watching to make sure we’re not talking. She’s doing her best to screw that up for me though.”

The man nods, understanding finally dawning on him. I look forward too, annoyed. “He’s not going to kill you, Owen.”

His eyes finally shift to me, his head unmoving. “You have no idea.”

“Where did your friends go?” he asks when the bartender sets our drinks down.

“Dancing with people.”

“And you’re not?”

“No one to dance with.”

“I’m sure you could find someone.”

I take a sip of my drink. “Why didn’t you message me today?” I blurt, losing my impulse control.

“Did you want me to message you?”

“I figured you would.”

“Isla Warner, I think you want me to message you,” his lips tip up at the corner as his eyes crinkle, and my lips tighten as I look straight ahead.

“I just figured you’d want to recover after whatever the hell happened last night.”

“That’s true. I wasn’t exactly smooth, was I?”

I shake my head.

“Well, I’d love to make it up to you at some point.”

I consider that for a moment, but the room starts to spin a little, and suddenly, the barstool feels too unstable. “Mm, I’ll consider it,” I tell him simply before hopping down, shaking out my legs. My jeans aren’t tight, but they’re starting to feel suffocating.

Without another word, I head to the dancefloor, swaying to the music by myself. It’s not long until I feel a pair of hands on my waist, pulling me into them. I don’t have to look behind me to know it’s Owen.

“I think you have a death wish,” I throw over my shoulder.

Hot breath hits my ear as he lowers his head. “I think you’re right, but your brother left with someone.”

“You act like you’re not Owen Crosby.” Even if my brother left, there are people everywhere with phones. My brother seeing him dancing with me plastered over social media is the last thing either of us needs.

Instead of responding, Owen grabs my hand, leading me to the other end of the club. A bouncer greets us with a smile, and when he sees it’s Owen, he opens a door, letting us into a separate room. It’s lighter, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. Instead of smelling like alcohol, the room smells like cigar smoke. There are a couple of men sitting around socializing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room before,” I grumble as he pulls me along to the other end of the room.

“That’s because it’s private. No phones.”

I nod, still confused. I’ve been coming since before I could legally get in, and I never knew this was here.