“Maybe I prefer privacy,” I snap. “End of,” I turn to Sean, “and you’re annoying me.”
“That’s what little brothers do,” Sean snarks. Ignoring him, I glance over at Elijah, who’s focused on the fight, relieved that I won’t have to pry my brother off him for the moment. Mark or not, Dom’s not going to last much longer.
Sean lets out an exaggerated sigh, fidgeting next to me until I cut my gaze his way. “What?”
“We’ve been in Vegas nine hours, and you haven’t had one taste of that pathetic girl drizzle you call a drink.”
“I don’t drink on the job,” I eye his beer. “You should try it sometime.”
“Live a little, man. Don’t you think we deserve it?”
“I’ve got plans for later.”
“Oh, yeah? Did you schedule your first smile?”
My glare lands on the side of his head, his smirk disappearing in his cup before he obnoxiously gulps down his beer. “Ahhhhh, delicious.” He sloshes the liquid around. “I would offer you some, but you’re probably allergic because it tastes a lot like a good time.”
Dom chuckles next to me and shakes his head.
Spending time with Sean and Dom is completely different from dealing with Antoine in his pit full of vipers. As relaxed as I am with the two of them for the most part, it’s sometimes hard for me to acclimate from one role to the other.
Here in the States, I’m not constantly on guard the way I am in France, but the stakes are just as high.
Sean plants his elbow on his knee, cupping the side of his face as he gazes over at me, batting his lashes. “I just can’t at all understand how you don’t dazzle the ladies with your glittering personality. Wait, Dom,” he palms my chest, brushing my nipple with his thumb, and I slap his hand away. “I think I saw the twitch of his lips.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh.
I snatch his beer and tip it, smiling into the cup as Sean’s own smile vanishes.
“Anyone else noticing a pattern here?” He looks between the two of us as I down his drink, and he narrows his eyes. “Every fucking time I have a bottle, you take it away,” he growls when I hand him back his empty cup. “Do you know how fucking long I had to wait in line for that, asshole?”
“Appreciate it.”
Dom chuckles next to me, and I glance over at him, noting the rare smile on his face. At twenty-two, his future is so much brighter than mine, his worries fewer these days, making all of my efforts worth it.
It was all worth it, just to see him thrive. Dom looks back at me and draws his brows.
“What?”
I shake my head as Sean again palms my chest. “Three o’clock, T. Brunette built like a brick shithouse. Damn, is she smoking, and she’s only got eyes for you.” He turns to me. “She’s jonesin’ for some of that mean man meat.” He chuckles, and his brows pinch. “Aren’t you even going to look at her?”
“Roberts,” Dom clips.
“Yeah?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Sean kicks back in his seat, restless as usual, the mirror image of Tarzan, who’d been forced to comb his hair and told to sit still.
“Here’s an idea,” I say, “why don’t you watch the heavyweight fight taking place feet in front of you.”
“I’ve had haircuts more entertaining than this,” he whines. “These are boring until they stop waltzing in the third or fourth round and really start throwing. I don’t even know why we’re here anyway. We’ve got everything in fucking place. We didn’t need to waste cash on this bullshit.”