His Mafia Queen

Taken By Force

RILEY

"I haven't drank this much in years," Brynn shouts to me. Which is totally unnecessary because I'm standing only a foot away. While it is loud in this place, it's not impossible to hear. "Is it drank or drunk? I never remember my grammar."

She collapses into giggles and smacks me on the butt.

"Easy now," I say.

We're both pretty drunk. Even though I had a head start on her, somehow she not only caught up, but surpassed me, and now she's swaying. Barely able to stand on her feet. Thank God for these barstools.

"Is being drunk a bad thing?" ask of the two guys who bought us drinks earlier. His name is Matt, and his friend's name is Austin. They both guffaw in that way guys do when they're around women and think they're adorably incompetent.

Gabriel never did that.

"On a Friday night in Florida? No way," Brynn says, then downs a shot that one of the guys bought.

They'd actually bought several, and they're all lined up, tiny glasses filled with green liquor. Brynn, Matt, and Austin had bought them while I was in the bathroom, so I wasn't part of this terrible decision.

Matt seems quite interested in Brynn, which normally wouldn't bother me. But that's putting pressure on Austin and me, and I'm not prepared for anything involving the opposite sex tonight.

I can't say the same for Austin, though.

I take a shot glass off the bar and toss it back.

Immediately upon swallowing, I grimace and stick my tongue out. The shot is syrupy and bitter, with notes of licorice and fennel. It hits my stomach and immediately starts fighting with the tequila and rum already residing there.

"Oh, fuck, what was that?"

"That was heaven!" Brynn says, reaching for another shot.

"I think I'm going to stop drinking," I declare to no one in particular. The bar has become uncomfortably warm, probably because the crowd has doubled in what seems like a matter of minutes. Then again, I have no idea how long I've been here.

Could be a half hour, could be five. Time is irrelevant. There's everything that happened before I saw Gabriel at Catherine's gallery, and the dismal moments since.

I shoot a withering look at Austin, who's staring at me with all the eagerness of a Labrador retriever. A retriever with too much hair gel. Poor dude. He's cute and probably doesn't deserve my sour snark.

"So you're a reporter. That's really cool," he shouts.

His enthusiasm is way too much for me to deal with.

"Why is everyone shouting?" I grumble, then take a sip of my now-watery margarita. I've lost count of how many I've had. So much for not drinking anymore.

"What do you write about?" Austin yells.

Maybe I have superhuman hearing and I'm being unreasonably sensitive. "Art. Music. Fluff."

He nods thoughtfully. "I don't read the news. Or read at all."

"Great." I paste on a plastic smile.

But even if Austin was a contender — which he isn't, even for a one-night rebound, no matter how much Brynn nudges me in that direction — the fact that he doesn't read disqualifies him from my hookup pool.

Don't fuck a man who doesn't read, has always been my motto.

The thought only makes me think of Gabriel, and how he'd consume books in his spare time. How we'd cuddle in bed and each crack open a book, how we'd sit by the pool and talk about what we were reading, how he had an entire library at his disposal...