She was just turning to Jax to say the same, when, to Greta’s horror, her friend leaned past her and held out her hand. Her plump breasts would be front and center to their ghostly neighbor.
“Hi, I’m Jax,” she said. “Great session tonight.
Greta tried to sink into the barstool. Hadn’t Jax just told her he didn’t like to be touched? And he wasn’t exactly putting out “I’m-on-the-prowl-for-companionship” vibes with two bodyguards keeping people away. As though unable to look away from a train wreck, she couldn’t help turning to the guy next to her.
Unbelievably, he bothered to raise his shaggy head, but the look he gave Jax was filled with faint disgust and he didn’t take her hand. He just left her hanging there.
Then his eyes flicked to Greta, flicked away, slowly returned. They widened.
His eyes were dark, so dark she couldn’t really see the color in them in this pervasive red light. The faint disgust in his expression turned to something almost startled and then… revulsion. He thrust himself away from the bar, snatched up the bottle, his pack and his coat and dashed for the back of the house, mumbling something she couldn’t hear.
Greta was stunned. Insulted. And, God help her, fascinated.
She watched him push through the crowd, bearing the pats on the back by the men and the clutch of his arm by several women as though they were blows. He disappeared into the hallway that held the kitchen and the restrooms.
“Well, shit,” Jax said, beside her. Then she shrugged. “At least I saw him.”
“You won’t see him again tonight.” Greta threw two fifties on the bar and caught the barman’s eye. “Let’s get out of here.”
Night Magic Page 35