Troy grun
ted and said hello to a few members of the crew nearby, but kept himself mostly hidden behind the cash register, watching Giselle when his line of sight wasn't obstructed by loiterers.
She had her elbow propped on one of the few tall tables, and the man mirrored her, his back toward Troy. He stood too close and touched her entirely too much-his hand covered hers, his fingers drifted up her arm, he'd reach out and wrap one of her curls around his finger.
Giselle didn't respond, but she didn't exactly discourage him either.
Which didn't matter, he reminded himself. What she did or didn't do with other men was none of his damned business.
Z elbowed him and Troy’s gaze went to the bartender he hadn't noticed.
“Shots,” he said. “Jamison. Half a dozen. Line 'em up.”
The bartender’s brows shot up, his eyes darted to Zahara, as if expecting her to veto that order, but she just smiled and said, “Thanks.”
Casey strolled into a conversation nearby.
“I heard you bailed on Casey and Becca at the club for a blonde,” Z said. When he didn't look at her, she added, “I thought you hated blondes.”
“I do.”
“Because of her?”
“Yep.”
“How long are you going to let this eat at you?”
“Until I stop making stupid fucking mistakes, I guess.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He shook his head as the bartender lined up six shot glasses and filled them with whiskey.
Troy tipped back two in a row.
“I wish you'd talk to me,” Z said, taking a sip of the cosmo the bartender left for her.
“Wouldn't do any good.” He tossed back a third.
Keaton slipped onto the stool next to Troy, and he froze, aware Giselle's assistant was probably somewhere nearby. “Dude, you made it. Looks like you're making up for lost time.” He reached over, picked up one of the shots, and drained it. “Thanks.”
When Keaton didn't say his name, Troy relaxed again.
Duke came up beside Zahara. “Come dance with us, Z.”
She slipped off the stool and tugged on Troy's arm. “Come with us, have some fun.”
He nodded. “Let me finish these. Be right there.”
Keaton tried to steal another one, but Troy smacked his chest hard.
“Dude,” he said, laughing as he rubbed at the pain with one hand and grabbed the girl's hand with the other, turning toward the dance floor.
Troy sighed. “Finally alone with my booze.”
Well, not exactly. Giselle was still smiling and laughing while she dodged the handsy guy. She was also on the screen above the bar, mostly in silhouette, wearing next to nothing, writhing on a wooden floor to the movie's title song, “Around the World.”
Troy tipped back another shot and watched the screen where she arched her back and slid her fingers over her skin in a way that was clearly sexual, a way that matched the lyrics and style of the music. The sight pushed blood into his cock, and the ache that had lived in the pit of his stomach since the day Giselle walked out burned like a hot coal.