Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(28)

“He hardly looks at the dancers, Kace,” she says. “And I’ve seen you looking at him all night, too.”

“I have not!” I claim too quickly, my voice shrill. I’ve tried not to, I tell myself. Apparently I’ve failed miserably.

She ignores me. “I think Trent really likes you and he seems like a nice guy. There’s nothing wrong with going to talk to him, at least. I know you’re not a mean person, deep down.”

I fight back the guilt that’s swelling inside. Yes I am, Storm. I am mean. I do it intentionally. It’s safer that way. For everyone. “I’m not interested.” I set my jaw as I keep cutting.

She lets out a huge exhale. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m going to ask him out then ‘cause he is fine.”

My jaw drops as my eyes fly to Storm’s face and I’m sure there’s outright murder shining in them. How can she betray me like that? And she calls herself a friend?

“Ha! Gotcha!” Storm holds up a finger. “I knew it. Admit it. Admit you want to go over and talk to that sex on a stick.” She slides away with a teasing grin, singing, “Trent and Kacey … sittin’ in a tree …”

“Shut up.” Right now my face feels like a burning hot forest fire. I try to ignore Storm, Trent, and the ever-looming Nate as a customer comes up order a drink. “Two Whiskey Sours, coming right up!” I announce, slamming two tumbler glasses onto the counter. I have no clue what goes in a Whisky Sour and I doubt this guy wants me experimenting. I raise an expectant brow to Storm.

She responds by crossing her arms over her chest. “Not unless you go talk to him.”

I purse my lips. “Fine,” I hiss. “After. Now would you help me with the drinks before I poison this fine gentleman?”

With a victorious smirk, Storm tosses two drinks together and slides them over the bar.

“That sweet southern bell thing is all an act, isn’t it?”

The smirk morphs into an innocent pout. “I reckon I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” she drawls, fanning herself with a dish cloth.

Somehow, whether it’s her teasing or her obvious ecstatic mood over wearing me down, my face splits into a grin.

“Halleluiah! Look at that! Miss Kacey is smilin’ again!” She presses the back of her hand against her forehead. “Ain’t it a blessed sight?”

She flinches as the piece of lime I pelt at her hits her thigh. But then I follow up with a deep bow. “Teach me, you must. Become great, I will.”

Storm gives me a playful shove and then goes back to serve the next guy, while a sudden flurry of nervous activity erupts inside me. Oh God, what have I agreed to? My hands go to my abdomen. One … two… three … I concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. I’m not used to this feeling. It’s awful and stressful and if I accept it, exhilarating. I lean down to put the knife back in its safety drawer and stand to move toward the bar exit.

A deep set of dimples meets me.

“I can’t seem to get a drink at the table without being accosted,” Trent murmurs with a crooked smirk, leaning across the bar. “I have no idea why.”

I pull in a slow and wobbly breath. Don’t lose your cool around him, Kacey. For once! “Some people must find you very … accostable,” I respond as my insides liquefy. Christ! Even my ni**les are hardening. Worse, through this thin black satin sheath dress, Trent will see them if he looks down.

“Is that even a word?” His eyes twinkle and I have to pace my breathing as my heart starts hammering against my ribs. Now that I’ve come to terms with the fact that the bastard is going to affect me whether I like it or not, he’s even hotter than before. Breathe, Kace.

“So, no more snake incidents?” he asks. If my cruelty the other day bothered him, either he’s gotten over it or he never cared to begin with. It’s a relief to my conscience in any case.

“No, Superman Tanner is on it.” In reality, Tanner has transformed into my mini-hero. While I showered at Storm’s and headed off to the gym that day, he secured our apartment like a dutiful pot-bellied guard dog, not leaving until the doors were in place and locked. And then Storm heard through the apartment’s grapevine that Tanner went to Pervie Pete’s apartment and tore a strip out of him, threatening to make a bowtie out of his balls if there’s ever another incident like that again. Tanner is turning out to be a mud-covered gem.

Trent places his drink on the counter. “So, would you mind accosting … er … pouring me a drink?”

My focus drops to the limes in front of me as I work to regain my composure. He’s flirting with me. I don’t remember how to do that. I don’t know if it’s all the flesh or music around us or the fact that, Storm’s right, he is sex on a stick, but suddenly I feel the urge to try. “That depends. Do you have I.D.?”

His elbows support him as he leans onto the bar, frowning playfully. “For a club soda?”

That catches me off guard. He sat in a strip club all night and he’s not drinking? I quickly gain my composure and shrug. “Suit yourself.” I pull the knife out of the drawer again and I begin slicing limes, my movements focused and slow so I don’t chop my shaking fingers off in his intense presence.

“Stubborn,” I hear him mutter as he slides his I.D. across the bar. With a curious grin, I pick it up. It’s hard to read it under the dim light, but I exaggerate with one closed lid as if I’m straining to read. “Trent Emerson. Six foot-three.” My gaze drives up and down the length of that gorgeous, hard torso, stopping at his belt. “Yeah, that’s about right. Blue eyes.” I don’t even have to look at them to know, but I do anyway, staring intently until I feel a blush creep in. “Yup. Born December thirty-first?” Two weeks after my birthday.