Baby Be Mine(Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book 1)(12)

The atmosphere was high, as if they were all addicted to this infinite drug. As the music increased in tempo, so did their energy level. The air itself was a mixture of sweat and perfume, intoxicating and overpowering his olfactory sense. But, man oh man, did he love it. He felt so alive, so happy, so carefree.

Looking around him, all he saw was a sea of blurry faces, each consumed in their own world of passion. He tried to keep to the centre of the dance floor, where all the action took place, but as more people clamored into the throng, the others got pushed to the side. Himself included.

As he took a side step to avoid another wave of bodies hitting him, he collided with something soft. Turning to see what he’d damaged, he found the sexiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. She looked up at him and at that very moment, as if they sang the same tune, she gave him a seductive smile. He, in turn, smiled at her.

Liking what she saw, the girl moved towards him. Her hands immediately went to capture his neck, and as the music changed from Lady Gaga’s “Applause” to J.Lo’s “Papi,” she was butt-swinging around him, arms and legs assaulting him at every turn, and man was he turned on.

The mysterious girl suddenly leaned into his lips, nipping and sucking at him like there was no tomorrow, until he was puffed out of energy, his lungs starved for oxygen. There was no electricity shooting through his body, just a lapping, distasteful kiss, the amount of saliva flooding the floor of his mouth almost drowning him alive.

How can someone so hot be such a bad kisser? Hunter thought as his libido got crushed. Pushing the girl away gently, he went in search of water for his parched throat. How ironic when just mere moments before he was almost drowned in her saliva. The girl looked slightly wounded for a second but then was off galloping to her next victim like the trollop she likely was. Hunter felt sorry for the poor sod who would experience the same predicament he just did.

Paving his way to the bar was an incredible mission that required more than strength and stamina. Standing at almost 1.9 meters tall, he still had to squeeze past those high-craze, energetic animals, like raging bulls, their heads bumping into him at every turn. The more he tried squeezing between them, the more he was pushed back, like a rag doll tossed about.

Summoning his energy, he willed himself forward, pushing among those sweaty bodies until he was safely on the other side of the dance floor. By then he realized he needed more than just the standard drink to get his energy up and pumping again. Again, he cursed himself for not eating beforehand. Dancing really was a strenuous exercise in itself.

When Hunter reached the bar, he eyed the bartender, slamming his hand down on the counter and shouting for a pint of Speight’s, but the bartender was blind to his request, as he was currently in an argument with a couple of women. Inching closer, he heard them speak.

“She’s thirty,” one of the women said to the bartender.

“Thank you, Whitney, for clarifying,” the other one said, smiling. And turning to the bartender, she shouted, “I’m thirty. My friend just confirmed that fact.”

“No,” the bartender said, looking a bit flustered.

Who in their right mind wouldn’t be flustered when faced with two gorgeous women demanding his attention like that? Somehow, for that split second, he envied the bartender.

“Can’t you see? I’m not a twenty-year-old kid,” the woman whined.

Obviously, this must have had something to do with fake IDs. Kids these days wanted to drink alcohol way before their time. Even though he considered himself a kid still, he was way over twenty-one and looked well over twenty-five, so there was no need for a fake ID there.