Groaning, he stands and lets me lead him back to our rooms. “The idea of dancing right now is not appealing in the slightest. I think I’d rather take a nap. Can we do that?”
Giggling, I send him through the door to his room. “If you don’t go, my brothers will never let you live it down, and I promise that’s not something you want. Go get dressed while I fix my hair.”
I take my time getting ready. With the rodeo, I wanted to look cute, but for tonight? Tonight’s destination calls for something edgier. Using my flat iron, I straighten my hair until it’s smooth before pulling it back into a tight, high ponytail. I know I’m going to get sweaty while dancing, so I apply light foundation and powder to make my skin look smooth and flawless. Foregoing blush, I brush some bronzer over my cheekbones just to highlight them. A neutral but shimmery eyeshadow, thin swipe of eyeliner, and lengthening mascara is all I do, but it’s enough to make my normally boring brown eyes pop. And just because I know it will drive Teagan wild, I apply a bright red lipstick.
Rummaging through my suitcase, I dig out the outfit I purchased with a night like tonight in mind. I feel giddy just thinking about my Irishman’s reaction when he sees it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Teagan
Jaysus, Mary, and Joséph and all the saints.
Layla prowls into the living room where I’m hanging out with her brothers and we all go silent. Starting from the top, my gaze does a slow descent of her body. She has her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her make-up is subtle apart from those crimson lips. I get hung up on those for a moment before continuing to the black corset top that’s pushed her breasts together and up so that they’re nearly overflowing. She’s paired it with black leather leggings and some red fuck-me heels. The only jewelry she has on are some large silver hoop earrings. I’m about to stand and pull her back to her room to show her just how much I enjoy this look when Marcos cuts in.
“What the fuck are you wearing, Layla? You can’t go outin public like that!”
I’m instantly enraged that he has the audacity to try to dictate what she can and cannot wear, but this is one instance where she doesn’t need me to fight her battle.
“First of all,Marcos, I can wear whatever I damn well please. Second, you are not my keeper. You may be my big brother, but you, and every other man on this planet, havezerosay in the choices I make pertaining to my own body.”
Scoffing, he turns to Rafael for support but doesn’t find it. Raf gives him a disbelieving look and shakes his head in disappointment.
“What about you?” Marcos directs at me. “You’re okay with your girl going out like this?”
Standing, I square my shoulders and move to Layla, kissing her cheek before sliding behind her and wrapping my arms around her middle. I look pointedly at her brother and say, “Aye, I am, but it doesn’t matter what I say. She’s right, mate. Her body, her decision. You’ll do well to remember that with your lass.”
Marcos’ eyes narrow at me. He starts to puff up in indignation but deflates quickly when Layla steps out of my embrace and goes to him, curling a hand around his bicep. “Don’t be a dick, Marcos. Let’s go have a good time, okay? No one is going to mess with me while the three of you are around anyway if that’s what you’re worried about. Right Raf?” She looks to her other brother who, as usual, has kept quiet this whole time.
“Sí, chaparrita,’ he says with a wink. “But I don’t think Teagan will be taking his hands off you the entire night, so there won’t be any question about your status.”
“Too right,” I agree. My lass can wear whatever she wants, but I will make it known that Layla ismine.
* * *
The drive to the club is tense, despite my attempts to lighten the mood. I expected Layla to receive some slagging from Marcos but was surprised by his outburst. From the small amount of time I’ve spent with him, he’sseemed pretty easygoing with a more progressive outlook, but maybe I’ve pegged him all wrong. Talking to Layla about it now is out of the question since he’s currently sulking in the front seat.
After parking the car in the lot across the street, we make our way to the entrance where a decent-sized line has formed. The thump of the bass can be heard, but it doesn’t give away what type of music they’re currently playing. A group of guys around my age zero in on Layla, leering at her in a way that makes my jaw clench. I’m already holding her hand, but I release it to lay my arm over her shoulders once we reach the end of the line, drawing her closer while staring the wankers down. She must sense the tension in my body because she glances up at me with a questioning look.
Bending my head, I whisper in her ear, “Those tossers keep looking at you like that and I may have to go caveman on you just so they know you’re spoken for.”
A low, throaty laugh sounds from Layla before she turns inward and slides her hand up my chest to cup my jaw. Before I have a chance to register what’s happening, she’s kissing me. And it’s not your casual shifting—this is full-on lobbing the gob with wide, open mouths, tongues fighting for dominance kiss. The hand not holding my face curls into my shirt, pulling me close. On instinct, my hands grip her hips then snake down to cup her arse. I’m about two seconds away from backing her into a dark alley when I hear someone clear their throat loudly.
“If you two are done tongue fucking each other, can we please move?”
Marcos is eyeing us with disgust when we pull apart. There’s a large gap between us and the people we got in line behind, but the fuckers who thought to stare at my lass are no longer looking this way.
“Right, sorry, mate.”
Securing Layla under my arm again, we move forward while Marcos grumbles to Rafael about having to pluck his eyes from his head after watching our public display. I’d feel the same if it were my sister, but I can’t find it in me to give a single fuck if it means the rest of the world knows Layla is mine.
Once we’ve paid our cover charges and received our bracelets provingwe’re of the proper age to drink, we enter the club. I usher Layla in ahead of me, keeping a hand on her at all times. I’m surprised at how bright it is in here. Rather than the dark and hazy atmosphere that’s common for nightclubs, it’s dimmed just enough to be soft and moody. There are no fog machines or flashing lights, just a large dance floor in the middle of the room full of people line dancing to the country song ringing out. Along the outskirts of the space are tables and booths similar to how Pat has things set up at O’Nelly’s. To the right of the entrance is the biggest bar top I’ve ever seen. It extends along the wall to the right before curving into an L-shape at the back wall. There are four bartenders - two men and two women - evenly spaced along the bar, all with their own fully stocked shelves.
It’s amusing to see predominantly women grouped around the first bartender. He reminds me of the male version of Alicia with his jet-black hair, tight black t-shirt, and both well-muscled arms sleeved in tattoos. He knows exactly what he’s doing with every smirk and wink if the full tip jar is any indication. The next bartender is a curvy lass with a high blonde ponytail who is just as popular, but the majority of her customers are men. She’s clearly as skilled as the counterpart, leaning over the bar to speak to a patron, fully aware that he’s looking down her low-cut shirt. She blows him a kiss when he drops a twenty-dollar bill in her tip jar. The other two bartenders are busy as well, but it appears to be only couples at these two stations.
“What are you two drinking tonight? The first round’s on me,” Rafael calls out over the music, surprising us both.
“You don’t have to do that,” Layla replies, but he holds up a hand to stop her.
