Page 103 of Pretty Poisoned
"A whole fucking snack," I tell him, and he laughs.
They both are. Both tall, muscled rockstar gods. Both dangerous, moving through the room as if they're just like anyone else here, brushing shoulders with men and women completely unaware of who and what they are.
Or what they're capable of.
The two of them lean against the bar, talking and waiting. I lean into Luca's back, slipping my hands under his shirt and wrapping my arms around him. I run my fingers up and down his abs, looking up when I feel Declan's eyes on me.
"What?" I ask.
He smiles a little. "Nothing," he says.
"This is taking too long," Luca says. He shoves me toward Declan. "Hold this for me."
Declan throws his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his side, and Luca jumps over the counter the same way he did the night we met.
"Hey! You can't be back here!" the bartender yells.
"Oh my god! That's Luca De Rossi!" a girl shouts from her barstool.
"What's up, guys?!" Luca says.
He opens his wallet, hands a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills to the bartender, and then starts passing out bottles of liquor and beer to the people at the bar as they cheer.
"So much for lowkey," Declan says, laughing. "He's a fucking animal."
I look up at him and laugh. "Might as well take your sunglasses off now, Elton John."
He shakes his head, but takes them off anyway, stuffing them into his back pocket.
"Luca!" someone yells. "Can we take a selfie?"
"Hold on," he tells her, mixing a drink. He adds a cherry on top before he brings it over to me. "This for you, my angel."
He kisses me on the lips and sets the drink in front of me.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I don't know—I'm not a fucking bartender," he says. I laugh, and he adds, "It's mostly vodka. It probably tastes like shit."
"Thank you," I tell him.
"You're welcome, baby," he says. "I'll be right back."
He turns, then grabs a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. "Heads up, bro," he yells, throwing the bottle to Declan. Then he doubles back, pulls himself up onto the counter, and starts taking selfies with everyone around the bar.
"Oh my god! Declan is here, too!" someone else yells.
"He's a goddamn menace," Declan says, shaking his head as he pops the top off the whiskey and takes a long pull.
After about twenty minutes of signing autographs and impromptu photo ops, club security comes over and instructs everyone to give them some space and let them enjoy their night. They stay close as we move onto the dance floor; Luca and I dance to some kind of techno music that I know must drive Declan crazy, but he seems content enough watching me and sipping whiskey straight from the bottle.
But I can feel the music on my skin now. I can taste it, I can touch it. I want to taste and touch him, too.
I grind against Luca at my back while he watches. I recognize that look in his eyes; I've seen it before.
I reach for him, hooking my finger into his belt loop and pulling him into me as I sway my hips between them.
"I'm not doing this, Teagan," Declan laughs.
