TOP OF THE ROCK

☆ | 11.0

☆

THEY NEEDED SOMEONE QUICK AND DIRTY, someone who could learn fast, play dumb, and act on instincts.

Yeah. They needed him.

It was a dive. Even for her. A shallow space of long-lost records of the '80s and blurry polaroids tacked to the walls and stickers for indie bands out of Brooklyn, tucked under the J on Broadway, teetering dangerously on the edge of Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.

And there he fucking was.

Leaning forward, elbows propped on the bar, speaking lowly to a group of girls beneath the sound of Van Halen. A lazy smile on his face.

One of the girls said something, and he backed away, a playful glimmer in his eyes. It was almost mesmerizing, watching from a safe distance as he held her gaze, reaching for glasses and bottles, twisting wrists and quick fucking hands. All with that flirty grin.

"Hmm." A soft smile settled on her lips. "Interesting."

Suddenly, his gaze flickered to her. Surprise flashed in his eyes, but it was fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it had come, only to be replaced with the teasing glint that made her want to hit him.

As she took a step forward, he cocked his head to the side, those dark eyes wandering down her body. One side of his lips quirked up. "Will you look at that?"

Her brows rose in a silent question.

"Ay, está bien," he snickered, sidling down the bar to level her with a knowing look. "La Estrellita is looking a little dim tonight."

The three girls giggled quietly, already sipping on their drinks, batting eyelashes, following his movements with fucking thirsty admiration.

Fuck him. Maybe Blue was their leader, but in here... Vans was the King.

Well, these bitches didn't know her.

A scowl twisted at her lips as she swiveled, shooting them a dark look. Her patience was wearing thin tonight, but it was satisfying when all three of the girls stiffened and fucking scrambled away from the bar with soft apologies.

"Seriously?" Vans grumbled, shaking his head. "I've been working on that all night. Pretty sure I was going home with all three of them."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she offered with a sweet smile, twisting a lock of hair around her finger innocently. "I didn't realize that you were into barely legal college girls that put out for the first guy who knows how to make a drink."

His expression fell.

"My bad." She shrugged, peering up at him with a taunting smile. "Vans."

Slowly, so fucking slowly, that flirty fucking grin returned. "Did you track me down?"

"I just want a drink," she said, feigning innocence.

"Mmm." Vans leaned over the bar, holding her gaze with something hot. "Okay. Do you want your drink with holiday spice and everything nice, baby?"

There he was. Vans bounced back, resilient and reckless, and that was what they needed.

"Sí. Everything... nice."

Vans snorted. "I'm on it."

It worked with Vegas and Cadillac; it had to work with Vans. It was another fucking weakness. Men. All you had to do was dress yourself up as a good girl... looking for a good time.