Mended (Connections, #3)(32)

Nix scowls. “You’re so immature, Flynn. Get a life and get out of mine.”

Leif walks across the lobby wearing neatly pressed jeans and a starched button-down—slightly more dressed up than the rest of us—Ivy excluded, of course. Who the hell irons their jeans anyway? Ivy notices him and quickly gets off the phone, and they both approach us at the same time.

“Are you doing okay?” she asks Leif.

He nods. “Never better. I’m ready to let off some steam on the dance floor.”

“Are we going to a dance club?” she asks, looking my way.

“I’m not sure if it’s a dance club per se, but they must have a dance floor since there’s a band.”

She giggles. “Still don’t dance?”

I give a slight shake of my head and our eyes find each other and lock together for a moment. A flush passes over her face. Was her question a slip? This is the first acknowledgment she’s made out loud in front of others that she knows me from years ago. The softness in her voice and the look in her eyes tell me she remembers how she used to try to get me on the dance floor. Her only victory was her senior prom, where I danced every slow dance with her.

“Let’s hit it. I’m ready to party.” Leif steps in, oblivious to the connection Ivy and I are sharing.

When Garrett adds, “Yeah, let’s party like it’s 1999,” our stare falters and laughter overtakes all of us.

Outside, the night is warm and the sky is clear—a perfect summer evening that holds the prospect of a good time. This is just what we all need after the vigorous schedule we’ve been keeping. The waiting SUV approaches and Nix hops in the front seat while Garrett and Leif climb in the back, leaving the middle bench seat open. “Your carriage awaits,” I joke, bowing and motioning with my hand that she is next.

She laughs. “I wish!”

When she disappears into the vehicle, I can’t help but notice how perfect her ass looks. I step in and before I even settle in my seat, I feel it—the energy that zaps through my body whenever she’s close. The guys are talking about the city and what they plan on doing tomorrow, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. I glance down, unable to stop myself from looking at her. When I do, I find that her minidress is riding up so high I can see the lacy bottom of her boy shorts. I run my hands over my face—the sight of her skin mixed with the lace does things to my body that I have to make myself suppress. I’m also pretty sure I could see the crotch of her panties if it were light enough in here.

Leaning over, I whisper, “Don’t you think your dress is a bit short?”

She laughs and tucks into my side. Her warm breath on my neck makes me grip the seat to stop from running my hands between her thighs. “I like it that way. You never know when it will come in handy,” she purrs.

My jaw clenches and I shut up—I’m not used to hearing her talk like that, and I don’t trust what might come out of my mouth if I say anything else. I know she doesn’t mean it. I know she’s not that kind of girl. I also know I’d never let anything like that happen.

We arrive at the Black Dog later than I planned. It’s a bit off the beaten path, so I’m already expecting the hole-in-the-wall that we walk into. It’s dark, dingy, and smells like smoke, but jam-packed. We push our way through the pulsating throng of people and toward the bar. “Five shooters,” I mouth to the bartender. He nods and melts away into the cries of the other thirsty customers. My eyes adjust to the darkness as I look around. Bright lights from the neon signs on the wall illuminate the faces in the crowd, but I can’t locate the band. There is a floor above us that seems to be a loft of sorts with tables and chairs, and a floor directly below us where I can see the tops of people’s bopping heads, which tells me there’s a dance floor down there.

When the band starts playing, my ears go on instant alert so I can zero in on their sound. I hear a trumpet in the mix of a guitar and drums, and it reminds me of something my dad would appreciate. Anything out of the ordinary, anything that would bring attention and help speed a single up the charts. Something he would latch onto and study—that was just his thing.

“Is this the band you were telling me about earlier?” Nix asks.

I blink myself out of my thoughts. “Yeah. I think they call themselves Echo, and the trumpet player also plays keys. A buddy of mine told me I had to look them up. I figured I’d listen for myself when he said he was surprised they hadn’t made it bigger over the years.”

“Great concept. I really like the horns mixed in,” Nix comments.

“I need to hear a few more songs, but yeah, I agree.” It’s a memorable sound, and I’m glad I found the time to come listen. Soon the bartender returns with our drinks. I hand the shots around and let my fingers graze Ivy’s hand as I pass one to her. Her face remains stoic, but her body responds instantly. Her nipples harden and I can see them through her tight dress. Leaning over, I ask her, “Are you cold?” She smirks at me and in the most casual way she gives me the middle finger. I nearly drop my glass trying not to laugh. I’ve never seen her do that.

Leif raises his shot glass. “Here’s to everyone getting lucky tonight.”

I shake my head, knowing he’s out to get laid and hoping he stays sober enough to get it up. I order another round of shots adding beers as well and we all stand around shooting the shit. After a couple more drinks Leif turns toward a redheaded chick in a tight pink dress sitting at the bar and starts talking to her.