Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(43)

Devil raises his brows as he comes around the car to help me out, holding a folded arm above my head to shield me from the rain.

Slamming the car door behind me, I duck under the protection and try to leap over the puddles toward the door, laughing when we reach it, and James shakes the rain off his hair.

We hurry inside.

There’s a pool table at the end. An old jukebox. A few high tables. And a bar.

“I don’t think there’s anything to eat here,” I warn as I head to the bar, determined to get something into my stomach, even if only some olives or peanuts.

James takes a seat next to me and holds out two fingers. “Tequilas.” And at my surprised, questioning look, he only grins.

Jimmy

“Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“You always go for truth.”

“Because I’m afraid of your dares,” Lizzy shoots back at me.

“Fair enough.” I narrow my eyes, letting her squirm as she wonders what I’ll ask. “First kiss. Where, when, and rate it from one to ten.”

“Back of my date’s car. Party at Sylvia Hollis’s place. I was fifteen. And one to ten? Zero.” She groans, and my eyes fly up in surprise.

“That bad?”

She nods. A perfect cherry-red flush on her cheeks. Damn, she’s so cute I can’t stop grinning. Somehow glad her first kiss wasn’t all that great. Thoughts of taking her to the back of her Audi and giving her a memorable one spin through my head as she cocks her head and sasses out, “Your turn. Same question.”

I shift in my stool. I’m sitting legs splayed wide, facing her, one arm draped on the counter as I thoughtfully tap my fingers on the cracked wood. Memories of getting it on with a busty redhead much older than me in a dark alley flit through my mind. Not really one for Lizzy’s precious ears.

“Can’t remember.”

“Oh, you totally can,” she says, shaking her head and pushing a tequila shot my way.

I laugh and toss it back, setting it down empty. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re no gentleman,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Not yet.”

I like this Elizabeth.

I like her a lot.

Her scarf’s all skewed on her throat, exposing that lovely neck. Her hair’s tangled; her makeup’s run from the rain. And she looks adorable.

So loose I want to drill into her. Figure her out. Find out everything there is to know about her. I motion with a jerk of my jaw. “You’re up next. Truth or dare?”

As if noticing the challenge in my gaze that dares her to go for the unexpected, she surprises me by blurting, “Dare.”

My brows fly up in surprise. I lean forward, unable to resist tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

“Dare you to take a snapshot of you right in this bar and text it to good ole Daddy.”

Judging by the widening of her eyes and slightly hanging jaw, she’s not taking. “Damn you,” she hisses, the cherry-red color back in her cheeks as she shoots me a playful glare.

“No?” I give her a moment to retract her cowardice, and when she can’t, I use the back of a curled finger to shimmy a tequila shot all the way up to her side of the bar. “Drink up, baby,” I croon.

“Thanks a lot, Devil,” she mumbles, tipping the glass back and downing it in one gulp.

Oh, I think to myself, grinning like a Cheshire cat in my mind. Don’t thank me yet.

Elizabeth

We’ve been playing truth or dare for a while. I can’t even remember how many shots I’ve had. And if James really did say that he’s slept with over fifty women. FIFTY! He couldn’t even remember the exact number. I’m woozy. And a little jealous. Maybe more than a little—more like a lot.

I can’t help but swoon a little while I stare back at those devilish blue eyes as he asks truth after truth, dare after dare.

I’m dizzy, and I’m not even standing, and he’s all to blame.

Suddenly in the background, someone’s working the jukebox. And the song “Get outta My Dreams, Get into My Car,” by Billy Ocean, starts playing.

“Oh! I love this song!” I cry, leaping to my feet and heading to any vacant place where I can dance to it.

I raise my hands and lock them at the wrists above my head, twisting my head side to side, my hair flapping, my hips swaying, the song playing.

We’re pretty drunk at this point, both of us.

While I’m dancing, Devil is somewhere in the bar, with a thousand girls whooping as he twirls on his back on the floor like Michael Jackson.

When I see him, I stop dancing altogether. Everyone is cheering and clapping. When he leaps to his feet, I’m genuinely feeling hurt that he’s never told me this about him.

“I didn’t know you could dance like Michael Jackson.”

“That makes two of us.” He smirks.

“What?” I laugh, and he pulls me away from the crowd to shield me from the chaos. “Want to head home now?”

I nod, grabbing a tequila shot from the counter as a memento. I guzzle it down.

“Hey, bitch, that was my drink!” some burly dude calls out.

Suddenly James is pushing me behind him and confrontationally pushing his chest out. “Who the fuck are you calling a bitch, motherfucker?” James pushes him.