Baiting Him (How to Catch an Alpha #2)(2)

An hour later, with my feet killing me and my throat dry, I shout over the music into Leah’s ear while I motion toward the bar. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”

“No!” she shouts back, grinning drunkenly.

“All right, I’ll be back.”

She nods, and I move off the dance floor and fumble my way through the crowd, saying “Excuse me” and “Sorry” dozens of times. When I finally reach the bar, I let out a happy sigh when I see an open stool. I take a seat and wait for one of the three bartenders to notice me. This—I know from experience—will take a while, because unlike most of the extraordinarily beautiful men and women here, I’m not special in any way.

I’m five three on a good day and have brown hair that is confused about whether it’s wavy or straight and sits just past my shoulders. My eyes, which are one of my more unique qualities, are hazel in color. My face is cute in a chubby cherub kind of way, and I’m plump. I’m not exactly overweight, but I do carry extra pounds that are the result of owning a bakery and enjoying the treats I make a little too much.

“Do you think maybe next time you’ll not tell every fucking woman in my club that they should use the men’s room?”

The question is growled into my ear, and I spin around on my stool to face the man pressed against my back, which brings us face to face.

“What?” I blink, trying to focus on him, but with the lights flashing every few seconds and the alcohol that’s still in my system, it’s not exactly easy to do.

“The line for the men’s room is now just as long as the one for the ladies’, since you made your exit and shared your wisdom about it being empty and clean.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth.

“Yeah, oh.” They slide back up to meet mine.

“I’m sorry, but in my defense, I only told one person.” I hold up a finger, and his eyes narrow on it between us.

“Yeah, and as usual with women, that shit went viral in about two point five seconds.”

“Did you say this is your club?” I ask, leaning back, not sure I heard him correctly. He looks young. Not as young as me, but definitely young.

“Yeah.”

“Then maybe you should think about having a couple more restrooms put in.”

“Thanks for the advice, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to get on that.”

Even though I know he’s being sarcastic, I still smile and chirp, “You’re welcome.”

His gaze lowers, skimming over my tight black dress. Without thinking, I cross my legs, causing my dress to ride up my thighs, and his jaw seems to twitch in response. Even though I tell myself I feel nothing, I still feel the flutter between my legs, and my heartbeat seems to pick up speed.

“Fuck,” he rumbles right before his gaze meets mine once more.

“If that’s all, I’m kind of busy trying to get one of the bartenders to notice me,” I tell him, and his eyes narrow; then he lifts his head and lets out a loud whistle.

“What can I get for you, boss?” a man asks behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder at one of the three bartenders behind the bar.

“Water,” the guy in my personal space orders, and I frown.

“Got it.” The bartender nods, reaches below the bar, and sets a bottle of water on the wooden surface before moving away.

“I actually wanted a glass of wine,” I state, turning to face the man who’s too hot, too close, and smells too good for my sanity.

“What’s your name?” he asks, reaching around my side and then handing me the bottle after he’s unscrewed the lid.

“Pardon?” I take it from him.

“Your name—what is it?”

“Chrissie,” I say, taking a sip and enjoying the way the cold water feels on my throat as I swallow.

“Chrissie.” My name rolls off his tongue slowly. “Nice to meet you, Chrissie. I’m Gaston, but most people call me Gus.”

I blink. “Did you just say your name is Gaston?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, horrified. “You’re like the worst villain ever.”

“What?” He looks equal parts offended and confused.

“No one looks like Gaston. No one cooks like Gaston. No one refuses to read a good book like Gaston,” I sing.

He chuckles. “Pretty sure those aren’t the words to that song, babe.”

“You get the point,” I mumble.

“Yeah.” He suddenly seems closer than before. “I’m guessing by your getup that one of your girlfriends is getting married and you’re here celebrating with her.”

“Why do you say that?” I pretend to look confused, like I don’t know what he’s talking about.

“I don’t know . . . maybe the penises gave it away?” He smiles.

Lord, he has a great smile. Full lips that showcase his straight white teeth. And with him this close, I can smell his earthy yet dark and mysterious scent. God, I need to get away from him, and soon.

“Obviously, you are not up to date on what’s trending,” I say, wondering if my voice really sounds as breathy as I think it does. “Penises are all the rage this season.”

“Aren’t penises always the rage?” he asks with a straight face.