Page 89 of Deadly Misfortunes

“We’ll meet you over there,” Sascha said.

“We’re coming for you,” Gregory said, wanting everyone at the pub to know the ladies, even his sister, weren’t available.

20

Before they went to the club, everyone dressed in fancier duds—the women wearing skirts or dresses, the guys wearing dress pants and nice shirts.

At the club, they got three tables and moved them together, then ordered drinks. Gregory hurried to take Sascha to the dance floor, having been separated from her long enough. Besides, he had missed out at the Worthingtons’ party, and he wanted to make up for it.

She was just as eager to dance with Gregory, and they were quickly inseparable on the dance floor. He was so glad he had decided to move his bachelor party to South Padre Island and to spend some time with her.

Coconut sunscreen baked into warm skin mingled with spilled rum and the salt that clung to everyone who’d come straight from the beach, which distinguished this from other pubs in Texas.

Strobes fractured the crowd into freeze-frames—a raised arm here, a thrown-back head there—while laser lines sliced through the dark. The bar glowed aquamarine beneath the bottles, casting everyone who leaned against it in the same translucent color. The bar ran the full length of one wall, backlit bottles casting amber and green shadows across the bartenders’ hands as they worked while the men and women didn’t look up from their task.

Colored lights swept the ceiling in slow arcs, turning the sweat on dancers’ shoulders from blue to green to red to nothing, the pulse of the music keeping the dancers moving. Voices rose as people competed with music, fragments of laughter, and the sound of the ocean drumming against the beach each time the doors were opened and patrons entered or left.

Gregory cherished this moment with Sascha, inhaling her intoxicating scent, from fresh air to coconut sunscreen, making him feel as if they were in a tropical paradise.

Their bodies pressed close, heat radiating between them, making his skin prickle with anticipation. If only they could have a moment alone tonight, then he would make wild, passionate love with her.

She laughed, a soft exhalation into his neck, and he responded with a smile. He wondered if she had read his mind.

“Almost always,” she whispered against Gregory’s ear, and he chuckled and kissed her mouth.

His hands slid lower, anchoring her to him, and she leaned into his strength, loving the way he subtly guided her through the crowd, as if they were the only two people in the dimly lit pub. She didn’t see anyone else—not her cousins or aunt or uncle, not his dad or sister or mother. It was as if they had been swallowed up in the pleasure of dancing, though she did wonder if Lucy and Damon were dancing with each other at all.

The music shifted, growing slower and sultrier, and Gregory’s grip on her tightened, his breath warm against her ear. She arched her back just enough to increase the pressure between them, and he responded instantly, as though they’d rehearsed this choreography a hundred times.

“I love dancing with you, and I’m glad we didn’t wait,” she said.

“Me too. I know we said we would go out with Kat and Prescott, but I’m glad we were able to do this sooner. Back home, we can do it again.”

“Agreed.”

After they danced several times, Sascha said, “Go, dance with your sister. I saw your dad dancing with her earlier, but now she’s nursing a drink. I can dance with⁠—”

“Anyone but Damon.”

Sascha laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t dare do that with my aunt and my uncle and Lucy here. Not to mention you either.”

“I’m okay with you dancing with him, but I’m sure the rest of your family would object.” Then Gregory escorted her to the table, and they were surprised to see that Rose wasn’t there by the time they reached the table.

Nick said, “Red is dancing with Rose, if you wondered where she is.”

“Oh, good,” Gregory said.

“We’ve all taken a turn,” Nick said. “She has gotten a kick out of it.”

“I’m so glad,” Sascha said, noticing that Lucy and Damon were sitting far apart at the table. Both were sipping their drinks. Neither was smiling.

Had they had a disagreement? Or was this just going to be the typical way that they would handle matters between them?

Then a fight broke out between a man and another, the one saying, “You can’t have my girl.”

They all turned to see what the matter was.

“She ditched you, bro. Give it up.” The guy was dressed in western clothes and looked more suited to riding the range than dancing at a beach bar.