The Protector

FORTY-SIX

The line for ORO was wrapped completely around the corner when we arrived, just past 11:15 p.m. I hesitantly climbed out of our car, soon relieved to discover I was not the most scantily dressed person here, not by a long shot. I followed Avery to the back of the line, but he surprised me by holding open a small metal door in the back of the building.

"Protectors, especially royal ones, never wait in line, darling," Avery said with pride. He pulled his phone from his pocket as we entered the club, music booming. "They're by the main bar, waiting for you to pay your drink debt," Avery smirked, grabbing my hand and leading through the crowd.

"I didn't know Protectors were such big texters," I grumbled.

"Just because you're technology free tonight doesn't mean the rest of us have to be," Avery yelled above the pounding '90s techno mashup playing overhead. The music was actually quite good, and I glanced around in awe of the strobing lights and metal cages hung intermittently throughout the club with scantily clad men and women dancing inside of them.

"This place is awesome," I yelled, tugging on Avery's hand.

"I'm glad you like it," he said as a beautiful girl brushed a finger against my bare stomach as I passed by her.

"Didn't you promise me you would keep other girls' hands off me?" I groaned as we saddled up to the bar, and I tried not to make eye contact with the couple next to me.

"I made no such promise. Now, stop overthinking and overanalyzing everything and have a good time," Avery scolded and I nodded. Right. A good time.With my ex and his fiancée.

"Two tequila shots," I shouted to the gorgeous male bartender when it was my turn.

"Make it three. You still owe me a drink, Andrews," said a beautiful Russian voice behind me. I turned around slowly. Alana Radulov looked even more beautiful than her usual gorgeous self. Her dark hair hung in long glossy waves, above a simple tight red dress that hugged her every curve and stopped just above her knees. Cinched around her thin waist was a large black flannel shirt, I could only imagine belonged to Kyler. I immediately fantasized about ripping off the shirt, and victoriously whipping it through the air above my head. Instead, I smiled, trying to push back the feeling I was both over and underdressed at the same time.

"I like your shoes," I said with little to no enthusiasm, nodding to her thick white retro tennis shoes.

"Are you kidding me? Look at yours!" She gasped as she grabbed my arm, forcing me to spin both directions. "Are those vintage Chanel?" she asked over the pounding bass, and I shrugged. I had no clue what brand they were, but I prayed they weren't Chanel, knowing how expensive they'd be if they were. My mother's combined paychecks never allowed the purchase of designer goods.

"Regardless of the brand, you look absolutely amazing," Alana praised, her violet eyes quite genuine, until she glanced sideways to examine if the tall man next to her also appreciated my thigh high boots. My lips parted as I followed her gaze. Kyler was still a bit taller than me, towering over his petite fiancée, and pretty much every other person in the club. I felt his eyes on me, so I took a moment to study him as well. His typical distressed cowboy boots were replaced with stylish white tennis shoes, but he still wore his standard dark jeans and plain black t-shirt. The only noticeable difference was the retro white Dallas Cowboys baseball cap that shielded his dark eyes, but accentuated his strong jawline while allowing his blonde locks to peek out from underneath. I bit my lip at how incredibly handsome he looked, even underdressed.

"Perry looks so hot, doesn't she, babe?" Alana asked as she grabbed his hand. I frowned, tearing my eyes away from his hat and back to her innocent smile. What a strange and uncomfortable question to ask. Kyler shifted his stance, visibly caught off guard by the sudden change in her tone.