West too could not recall the last time he'd had this much to drink -- in public, at least. He and Griff had their share of beers when the children were in bed, of course, but that was an entirely different matter than this New Year's Eve ball. It had been more of an insistence from his agent than anything that had brought him out to this thing -- you haven't been feeding your
image, they'd tried to tell him.
As if he cared anything about his image any more. If they weren't going to fire him over being a bloody pouf, he was quite certain he'd have to lose an arm or a leg permanently to be kicked off his team now. He placed a hand on the back of Estella's neck to toy with her hair, his lips twitching into a charming smirk.
"And you're not mine, kitten." And yet he was still feeling very much drawn to her, to the rhinestones on her mask. He brought a fingertip up to trace the curve where the mask met her cheek. "But that ... doesn't seem like such a problem."
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