“Free?” His brows draw together and he crosses his arms over his chest while looking in front of me, where there are at least ten shot glasses, with four of them now empty.

“Free,” I concur, looking around the table at my girls when I notice they have all gone quiet. I also notice the table is surrounded by men, men that include a pissed-off looking Wes and Jax. “Um… we all got free drinks,” I say quietly, wanting to take the heat off of only me, when it seems I said the wrong thing.

“Girls’ night is over,” Jax cuts in.

I look at him and cry, throwing my hands in the air, “It can’t be over! We just started having fun.” And we did. The start of the night kind of sucked, because Dillon the Dick, who also happens to be Dillon the fuck hot gorgeous—like toss-your-panties-at-him gorgeous—showed up at the restaurant we were at. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except for when he saw Ashlyn, he made a beeline for our table to say hi, which under any other circumstances would have been nice. But his fiancée was with him, and she is not only a bitch, but a screaming bitch at that. She took one look at our table and made a face like she was witnessing a group of zombies eating the last human left on planet earth then made a snide comment about Ashlyn. The only good thing about that was witnessing Dillon tell her to shut the hell up. Even though he didn’t use those words exactly.

“Men bought you girls drinks?” Wes asks, cutting into my thoughts, and my eyes focus on July, who bites her lip then looks around at us for help, while April smiles and Ashlyn giggles.

“They were being nice, and as you can see, we are here alone, so technically, we’re still following your rules,” April chimes in un-helpfully.

I look up at Evan and ask quietly when I notice that he hasn’t come any closer or touched me, “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad, no. Pissed, yes,” he says in a tone I’ve never heard from him before, a tone that sends goose bumps sliding across my skin.

“Why?” I frown.

“Do you want a list?” he asks, and I think about it for a second then nod like the drunk I am.

“Walking into a bar, seeing men stare at you in that dress is enough to make me mad. Those same men buying your drinks is a big fucking no.”

“I like my dress,” I inform him drunkenly, ignoring the rest of what he said.

“That’s good, baby, and I’m glad you got to wear it once before I rip that shit to shreds and toss it in the trash.”

“You’re not ripping my dress to shreds,” I breathe, putting my hands over the lace covering my chest. “This dress cost me almost a hundred dollars, and that was after it was marked down two times,” I inform him, holding up two fingers, and watch his eyes heat further as he takes a step toward me, crowding me against the table with one hand at the back of my neck, the other on my knee.

“This dress,” he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, while sliding his hand up my thigh under the hem, “is fucking hot. You do not wear a dress like this unless you’re with your man.”

“Oh,” I whisper, absently hearing someone say, “I told you so,” from behind me.

“Oh,” he replies, looking down at the top of my dress. The look in his eyes conveys he’s either really, really pissed or really, really turned on, and I hope for my sake it’s the latter.

“I don’t want to leave!” Ellie cries, and I pull my eyes from Evan’s and look across the table, where Ellie is sitting with her hands wrapped around the edge of the table, holding on like it’s a life preserver.

“I don’t have a problem bringing the table with us when we leave, Ellie, but one way or another, you’re coming home with me now,” Jax growls.

“You can’t take the table. Isss not yours ta take,” she slurs, glaring at him.

“Oh, Lord,” December murmurs, picking up one of the shot glasses from the tabletop, shooting the creamy liquor back, and then picking up another, doing the same, before muttering, “I’ll clear the table,” which makes me break into a fit of giggles.

“I’ll help.” I giggle louder, picking up one of the shots, only to have it snatched out of my grasp. “Hey! I was going to drink that,” I complain.

“You’re done,” Evan says, placing the shot glass down with a thud.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Baby, if you think that, then you’ve obviously gotten shit confused.”

“No, I don’t. I’m my own woman. I make my own choices.”

“No, you’re my woman. Mine, and like I said, you’re done.” He pulls me off my stool and into his warm chest.

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