Page 63 of Don't Make Promises
THIRTY
Savannah
Ithink I might smell. And not in a sexy pheramones way.
It’s the only reason I can think of that would have any man within a five foot radius completely ignore me. My attempts at finding someone to even flirt with have dwindled as the night has gone on.
And to top it all off, Ben got distracted and deserted me, leaving me with grumpy guts, Noah. He’s been such a buzzkill.
When I left the apartment, I was feeling sexy and like I could take my pick of any man I wanted. It’s nearly time to go home and every guy I’ve so much as made eye contact with has grimaced and run in the opposite direction. I’m blaming Noah for being bad luck or something.
A warm body crowds me as I lean over the bar, waiting for a bartender to notice me. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Turning in arms that cage me in between his body and the bar, I come face to face with the handsome guy from a while back.What was his name? I can remember a whole script and cues for a show, but not the name of a guy I kissed a matter of weeks ago. My brows pull together. He laughs, his white teeth sparkling down at me as he clutches at his chest. “You wound me, cupcake. Jamison, my name is Jamison.”
Oh crickets, of course it is.
My error creeps across my cheeks as I let out an embarrassed chuckle. “You’ll have to forgive me. I am the worst when it comes to remembering names.”
Jamison bends, his eyes level with my own as he swipes something from my cheek. There’s still no spark, and I’m distracted on why that could be when he asks, “Any guesses as to why no man in this whole place will come so much as ten feet in proximity to you, despite being a total fucking knockout, cupcake?”
It’s like he’s been listening to my internal conversation… it’s a little creepy.
“Sure,” I shout over the music, bending away from him, trying to get a read on him.Does he think there’s more here than there actually is?
The barman chooses that moment to come and interrupt us. “What can I get you?” they shout over the music.
Darn it, I want to know what Jamison knows. But first, I need a drink.
I order a shot of vodka and a double vodka cranberry, as Jamison moves to stand next to me, leaning against the bar. He shakes his head at the bartender, declining a drink. His gaze is intent on me, and when the barman walks away to make my order, I turn to face him.
There’s a knowing smirk on his face and if I wasn’t on the receiving end of it, I’d find this whole situation hilarious. We’re in a standoff of sorts, neither of us speaks. Why would I when he’s the one with something to tell me? If he’s just come over here to mess with me, he’s picked the wrong woman.
When the barman returns with my drink, I down the shot of vodka before taking a deep pull on the vodka cranberry. I’m seconds away from walking.
As if he can sense it, he looks to my left before he leans in, his hand on my hip as he murmurs, “Your bodyguard has been scaring everyone off. You’ve had every eye on you since you stepped foot in here, but nobody is going to step up and risk their life for a taste, cupcake.”
My bodyguard?It’s not going to be Ben. He was on a mission tohelpme ‘clear out my cobwebs’, as he put it. That just leaves one person.
Noah, freaking, Parker.
Urgh,I’m madder than a wet hen. He doesn’t get to tag along onmynight out and then proceed to scare off any man that might be interested in me. Especially when he’s not interested himself.
Throwing the straw from my drink in the garbage can on the other side of the bar, I bring the glass to my lips and tip back the contents, finishing it in one go.
I slam the glass on the counter and say distractedly, “Thank you, Jamison. Next time, I’ll try to remember your name.”
I’m on the move before he can reply, but his deep chuckle follows me, mingling with the sound of the music. My eyes are set on Noah, sitting in a booth along the back wall of the club. His stormy gaze is glued behind me on Jamison as his jaw grinds.
Oh, he’s angry.
That makes two of us.
When I reach him, an energy flows through me; my fury and a hint of confusion fighting below the surface. The anger wins, because how dare he? Noah stands, his stupid hands going into his stupid pockets. Why is that so hot?
Focus, Savannah.
I come to a stop in front of him and jab my finger into his chest. He looks down at where I’ve made contact, then back at me. For good measure, I jab him again. This time, he falls back into his seat and I’m thrown off balance. In these stupid heels and with the drink I downed running through my system, I tumble forward, into his lap.