Air oozes out of my mouth in grateful relief now his attention is diverted. My limbs loosen as a layer of tension evaporates.
“Don’t mind him,” Ash says. “He’s an overprotective idiot, and his bark is worse than his bite.”
“Sometimes,” Ronan drawls.
“Why would you need protection from me?” I ask Ash, confusion clear in my tone. “Have you guys had a bad experience with Americans in the past or something?”
“Honestly, don’t take it to heart,” Ash says. “Dillon is…complicated.”
“He’s a grumpy prick,” Ronan says. “But it’s nothing personal. He’s angry with the world most days.” He flashes me a dazzling smile. “Forget about him. Tell me more about you. What part of the US are you from?”
I’m grateful for the subject change, even if talking about myself gives me a major case of the heebie-jeebies these days. I’m a little on edge, praying someone doesn’t recognize me and out me to my new friends. Yet I don’t want to lie. I can be vague and fudge the truth. That way, if my identity is ever revealed, I can still look my friends in the face. “Los Angeles.”
His eyes widen. “Really?”
I nod, instantly warming to him. He’s the polar opposite of his brother and as friendly as his sister.
“My dream is to emigrate to L.A. and make it big on the music scene. We’re good enough to make it, if we can just catch a break.”
“You’ll realize quickly both my brothers have extremely healthy egos,” Ash says, steering me toward the opposite end of the table.
“I got us some drinks,” Catriona says, patting the comfy leather seat beside her. “Sit with me.”
Noticing the pile of coats and jackets on the window ledge behind our table, I unbutton my coat, folding it and my scarf and placing it on top of the existing mountain.
“Holy fuck. You look smokin’，” Ash says, grinning.
Feeling eyeballs on my back, I turn around, meeting Dillon’s heated stare. Slowly, his eyes rake over me from head to toe. It’s as if he’s peeling off my clothes, leaving me naked and exposed to his hungry eyes. I squeeze my thighs together as desire coils low in my belly, and my heart is thumping wildly in my chest. Aoife narrows her eyes, scowling in my direction when she notices Dillon’s attention has strayed. Her arms wrap more possessively around his neck, but he’s not showing her any attention.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jamie and the guy with the long hair staring at me too, and I’m wondering if it was a good idea to wear this top after all. I’m not sure I’m ready for attention from the opposite sex, even if a part of me is thrilled at their reactions.
My chest heaves as Dillon’s eyes linger on my black bra, and my mouth is suddenly dry.
“Wow. You’re beautiful,” Ronan says, admiration evident in his gaze and his tone. His words break the hypnotic spell I was in, and I wrest my gaze from Dillon, focusing on Ash’s younger brother. “If all the women in L.A. look like you, I’m even more determined to make it there someday.” He waggles his brows.
“Most of them don’t look like me,” I supply. “I think there are more blondes with fake tits in L.A. than any other place in the world.”
“I’d really love to chat to you about it,” he adds, as I maneuver my way around the table, flopping down on the seat beside Cat.
“Not now.” Ash nudges her brother aside so she can claim the last seat beside me. “We’re here to have a good time. Grace can talk to you about L.A. another time.”
“I’m happy to talk to you. Maybe you and Ash could come over to my place for lunch sometime, but just understand I know nothing about the music scene in LA,” I admit, curiously eyeing the pink concoction with floating strawberries in the large wineglass. “What’s this?” I ask, turning to face Cat.
“Pink Gin with 7UP. It’s delicious. Try it.”
I’m more of a vodka girl, but I take a sip, instantly liking the sweet, fruity, refreshing taste. “This is good.”
“It’s too sweet for me,” Ash says, bringing a bottle of beer to her lips.
“I still feel like pinching myself being able to openly drink,” I admit, even if I’m luckier than most because at private industry parties back home no one bats an eye if I drink.
“You can’t drink in America?” Ronan asks. He’s leaning against the wall, sipping a beer.
Someone hasn’t done their homework. “Legal age is twenty-one, and they’re strict.” I’m not sure how the music industry works, but if it’s anything like Hollywood, I think he’ll get by.