Free The Inheritance (Volume Two) by Zelda Reed Page B

their eyes. They lean in close when Neal speaks, hanging on his word, ingesting them.
    Neal's dressed casually tonight. Grey tweed slacks with a white top and black tie, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The muscles in his forearms flex as he reaches across the table for his beer, fingers stretching around the glass as he throws Chris a grin.
    There are plenty of women on the balcony, all of them beautiful and slim. Tanned skin glowing beneath the light show as they swing their hips to the music, throwing their long hair over their shoulders, lips pursed and parted, a twentieth century mating call.
    Neal and Chris and the rest of the men look, eyes zeroing in one or two of the women over the rims of their glasses, but no one stands to touch. This time of the night is dedicated to business. One of the men checks his watch. When are we getting to the pleasure?
    The bouncer steps out of the way and swings the short glass door open. “Ashleigh and guest,” he nods to me and I bite my cheek to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Guest . “Have a great night.”
    The sea of women parts when Ashleigh and I step into the VIP section, shadowed eyes and glossed lips narrowing in our direction. Who the fuck are the new girls? Ashleigh ignores them in favor of waving her arm overhead, catching the attention of Chris and Neal. Neal smiles at her, the corners of his mouth tugging lightly, before his eyes flicker over her shoulder and fall onto mine.
    His smile spreads into a grin. My breath tightens in my chest.
    “You made it,” Chris shouts, throwing his arm around Ashleigh’s bare shoulders. He pulls her into a hug, lips sliding over the shell of her ear, eyes flickering towards me. “Caitlin,” he says. “You’re still in town.”
    “Yeah, I’m here for a few more days.”
    Chris nods. “How about a drink?” He’s speaking exclusively to Ashleigh. “VIP means we have our own personal bartender.”
    Ashleigh pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. A small attempt at acting coy. “As long as you’re buying.”
    The women watch as Chris pulls her away to the right, a small silver bar set up in front of a lone bartender.
    I’m left standing in the center of the balcony, awkwardly clutching my purse, pointedly ignored by the women around me as Neal watches from the couch.
    What am I meant to do? I can force myself into a group of women, opening my mouth wide as I pretend to laugh at a catty joke. I can lean against the bar, my elbows sticking to the countertop as I sip a colorful drink, mindful of the way my back arches and my ass sticks out. I can march over to Neal, bypass the bent legs and coffee table full of booze, and drop on his lap, one arm thrown around his neck as the other plays with his tie. Hello handsome . But I’m none of those girls.
    I push through a small cluster of chatty women and lean against the glass railing, eyes cast to the dance floor. Hundreds of bodies blindly moving to the beat, grinning as wide as the brim of their glasses.
    I’ve never been the sort of girl who enjoyed going to clubs. BU is surrounded by ancient bars with six types of Sam Adams on tap, burgundy booths tucked along the wall, local music low enough you can hear yourself think. Clubs require too much effort. I don’t mind dressing up but once you’re inside alcohol is required to handle the crowd, the smell, the music, the groping.
    (I wouldn’t mind being groped by Neal.)
    Behind me, Ashleigh laughs loud enough to burst through the music, drawing both my and Neal’s attention. Chris has his nose buried in her neck, his lips blowing cool air against her skin, a tickling sensation that has her pinching his arm and throwing back her head.
    Neal and I share a glance. Crazy right?
    There’s a certain pull in the pit of my stomach. That should be us . Neal’s hand trailing down the small of my back, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, my laughter floating from my throat and into the air like a bubble, popping in time to