He laughs and runs his eyes over my “dress,” lingering on my t**s for way longer than is polite, and I can’t help the smug grin that spreads across my face. Not so stony after all, I see.
“What the hell kind of wedding was it?”
“My cousin’s a stripper, not that it’s any of your damn business, and she had a bit of a theme going.”
“I see that,” he says, his lips quirking up slightly in amusement.
“Look,” I say, the night really starting to wear on me. I can feel the crankiness settling in. This man may be hot as f**k, but I don’t appreciate being made to feel even stupider than I already do. “I get it. Not having a spare was dumb, walking around like a half-naked stripper is dumb, seeking help in a biker bar where everyone is grumpy and growly is also not the best idea I’ve ever had, but
