Read Online Blood Brothers by Keith Latch - Free Book Online Page A

a
cheek—and not the one on her pretty little face. She didn’t object
to being touched; she didn’t seem to mind it in the least. Not one
to miss an opportunity, he started a grinding motion with his hips.
To his pleasure, the motion was not only accepted, but reciprocated
as well.
    For what was surely an eternity, but seemed
to Michael the mere tick of a second, they remained that way,
eagerly working at one another’s form in the darkness, on the dance
floor.
    Then, all too soon for Mike’s taste, the two
separated. While she didn’t let go, she stepped away. Stepping
backwards, she grasped both his hands and led him to a table. Then,
finally, they broke the connection.
    “Would you like a drink?”
    The two chairs had originally sat across the
table across from each other, but after he’d scooted her seat out
for her and took his own, she’d moved closer to him.
    “Yes,” she breathed. She reached out, taking
his hand yet again. “A bottle of water would be nice.” Michael
caught the slightest inflection of an accent, a musical one.
    “Just water?” he asked. She hadn’t moved like
she’d been drinking, and Michael was sure that if she wasn’t drunk
or he didn’t offer her a lot of cash, she would not be leaving the
club with him tonight. He was a good looking guy. He wore nice,
often expensive clothing. His manners were exceptional and he was
what most women would call a good catch. But this woman—hell, he
hadn’t even asked her name—was so far out of his league, he might
as well be on Mars.
    Unbelievably, a waitress passed by and
Michael placed an order for her water and another Coke for
himself.
    “So, what’s your name?”
    “Trista,” she said simply.
    “I noticed you have an accent. Where are you
from?”
    The music was loud, so their words had to be
much louder just to be heard. Trista grinned. “The Dominican
Republic.”
    Michael nodded his head as if that were the
coolest thing he’d ever heard.
    “And yours?”
    “Michael.” Even if she hadn’t gone with only
a first name, Michael would have. It was easier, less messy that
way.
    “I’ll be right back. I need to use the little
girls’ room.”
    Suddenly, Michael was overcome by the
possibility that she was walking away and wouldn’t be back. He
quickly moved out of his chair and to her side. It was so fast and
so awkward that Trista scooted away, her eyes growing wide. “Let me
walk you.”
    Recovering nicely, she gave him a pat on the
chest. “I’m a big girl, Michael. I can take care of myself.” There
was something so very simplistic to her sensuality. Michael was
sure she didn’t know how sexy she actually was. Still, he’d been
rebuffed. She was leaving the table. Maybe she was going to the
restroom, maybe she was ditching him. There wasn’t a helluva lot he
could do about it either way. So he let her go.
    “I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he
said, realizing all too late that his words were also the title of
a cheesy Richard Marx song. She stood and began walking away. After
she took a few steps, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a
wink. It was startling how perfectly green her eyes actually
were.
    Michael sat back down. The waitress returned.
He paid her, plus tipped her a ten. As he waited, he began sipping
on his drink. And sipping.
    And sipping.
Eight
     
     
    Stephanie had been at her desk printing off a
list of intended invitees for the Benedict Society’s annual benefit
for muscular dystrophy. It was a long list, and a lot of money was
usually raised. But in all truth, it was more an excuse for people
to get together to drink and gossip and socialize than anything as
noble as combating a debilitating disease. If that’s what it took
to help, to make a contribution of some sort, however, Stephanie
was all for it.
    The list had been longer. She’d been through
it several times. At first she’d included the several pending
members the board had voted in. The society was run much like