Forty-Four
Reece
Outlaw’s Den is a classic Nashville country music bar with live bands, crazy cheap shots, and neon signs littering the walls.
It smells the same as it did yesterday when I bust in like I have a warrant, like stale beer, heavy perfume, and sweat all melding together.
The band that was on stage last night has since been replaced by a DJ, on account of New Year’s Eve I suppose, and the whole room is packed shoulder to shoulder as people bump and grind to the remixed pop song playing on the sound system.
“Do you see Stacy?” I shout to Miles as my eyes scan the crowd, the other guys hobbling off in different directions to search for the girls.
Miles shakes his head, his own eyes bouncing around from face to face in the impossibly crowded room. “Let me call Mae,” he yells back, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.
I gnaw on my lower lip as anxiety creeps up into my chest. Mae said herself that Stacy’s fine but her nasty comment left a sense of panic and dread lurking in my stomach.
Not to mention, I’ve never seen Stacy indulge in more than a few glasses of wine or a couple of cocktails.
Why’s she so drunk? Why’s Mae so pissed at me?
What the hell is going on and why do I feel like my ex has something to do with it?
Right before Miles can put his phone to his ear, I see a mane of wild, red hair break through the crowd.
Mae strides up to us, her lips set in a grim line as she sizes me up.
She’s wearing a silver sequin mini-skirt, a black crop top, and black heels that make her damn near my height, but she doesn’t wobble, doesn’t falter.
How the hell can girls walk in those things?
Okay, Reece, not important right now.
“Why didn’t you girls tell us you were coming out to the bars?” I demand as soon as Mae reaches us.
She props her hands up on her hips and glares at me. “First of all, you’re not my dad so cut the attitude. Second of all, Stace wanted to come out a little early and drink before we met up with you guys. Guess she needed a little liquid courage before facing you again,” she sneers.
I scrub my hands down my face. “Look, I don’t know what Stacy said to you, but I swear—”
“Don’t care,” Mae cuts me off, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to hear it. Follow me.”
She doesn’t say another word, turning on her heels and nearly whipping me in the face with her curls. I exchange a worried glance with Miles before we both hastily trail after Mae, weaving through the thick crowd of people in black and gold New Year’s Eve hats, clutching noisemakers.
When we break through the mob, I immediately see the issue Mae’s been referring to.
My beautiful, amazing, very drunk Stacy is dancing on the top of the mahogany bar tucked back in the far corner of the room. She’s not alone on the elevated surface, thank god, but I don’t recognize the girl to her right.
And I certainly don’t recognize the man to her left.
They’ve drawn a crowd, people whistling and cheering for them as Stacy grinds her ass back into the tall, bearded man next to her. The tiny black dress she’s wearing is short enough to nearly reveal her underwear and my face heats up instantly as jealousy shoots through my veins.
“Dude, I have never seen this version of Stacy,” Miles comments from beside me, gaping in shock at the events unfolding.
Me neither and the man with his hands on her waist will never see any version of Stacy ever again if I have anything to say about it.
I march up to the bar, my hands clenched into fists to stop them from shaking. Stacy doesn’t notice me at first, deep in the throes of dancing to a remixed version of “My Prerogative” while her messy, blonde waves bounce around her waist.
“Stacy,” I bark up at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She barely spares me a glance. “I’m having fun. This is my friend, Blake.” She gestures to the behemoth of a man dancing on her.
“Stacy, come. Down. ”
“No, I don’t think I will,” she sneers back, gyrating her hips in a way that makes some guy behind me whistle.
If I wasn’t so focused on Stacy, I’d put my fist in his face.
“If you don’t come down, I’m going to drag you out of this bar,” I threaten.
“Fine!” Stacy stops dancing and stomps her foot like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.
She finally turns to face me, her fists balled up at her sides while Blake starts paying attention to the other girl on top of the bar.
“Come up and get me, see if I give a shit. Come drag me off of this bar but only if you really, really want me, Reece. Otherwise, just leave me alone.”
Her words are slightly slurred but she seems coherent enough that her actions are confusing me. Stacy has more sense than to act like this so what the hell is going on?
I cock a brow at her ridiculous outburst and Stacy crosses her arms over her chest like she’s challenging me.
Christ, this girl is going to be the death of me.
“ Now , Stacy,” I try one more time.
She rolls her eyes at me, popping a hip out. “Or what?”
Fine. She asked for it.
“Alright,” I groan, stepping forward. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”
I don’t give Stacy the chance to respond before I’m reaching up to hook my arms behind her thighs. She starts to protest but it’s too late as I knock her off balance, throwing her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes as she shrieks.
“Put me down,” she screeches, pounding her fists against my back as I make my way through the crowded room.
“Not a chance.” I give her ass a smack, weaving us through the crowd as the bachelor group gawks at us with slacked jaws. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you.”
I effortlessly get us out of the back exit of the bar, Stacy still slung over my shoulder as she continues to wail, protest, and kick her feet.
She doesn’t stop threatening me until I bend down to set her steady on her feet in the alley behind Outlaw’s Den.
I’m hoping for a moment of peace and quiet so we can sort out the chaos unfolding.
But I don’t have the chance to articulate my questions before Stacy’s mouth is smothering mine, her tiny frame backing me up against the bar’s exterior brick wall.
She’s moaning wildly against my lips, her own tasting of tequila and strawberry Chapstick as she drops her hands to the waistline of my pants.
Jesus Christ. I’m getting whiplash.
“Stace,” I say around her lips while she fumbles with the snap of my pants.
She ignores me, grabbing at the collar of my shirt and pulling me with her until my body’s the one pressing her up against the wall. Her hands go back to my pants, working the zipper as she hooks a leg around my hip.
“What are you doing?” I pant while Stacy plants kisses down the column of my neck. “We can’t do this here, angel.”
We can’t. We really can’t but that doesn’t stop my body from betraying me as I ache for her.
“Why not?” she demands against my skin, her fingers trailing up underneath the back of my shirt.
“We’re in an alley behind a bar,” I reason. “You’re really drunk.”
“Not that drunk.”
“You’re angry with me,” I go on.
“So?”
“ So , I don’t want to do anything with you if you’re mad at—”
“Would you just fuck me up against this wall, Reece?” she interrupts me, tugging me closer to her. “ Please .”
I hesitate, my mouth hanging open in shock before Stacy covers it with her own, her hand slipping down into my pants to grip the base of my erection.
Dammit. My body is really, really betraying me.
“Baby, just wait a second,” I mumble against her mouth, trying to stifle a moan as Stacy starts to move her fist.
She huffs, pulling back to frown at me while her hand pauses. “What?” she spits.
I’m beside myself with the way she’s acting, and her hand wrapped around my dick isn’t making it any easier to collect my thoughts. What version of the story did she hear and just how bad was it?
I shake my head and finally say, “Angel, let’s take it down a notch and talk for a minute—”
“I don’t want to talk,” she cuts me off, her hand starting to move again. “I want you to show me that you care about me. Do you care about me, Reece?”
I bite back a groan, planting my palms on the brick wall behind her, my arms framing her face. “Of course I care about you. I love you.”
Stacy’s fist picks up speed and my knees start to go weak. “Then prove it. Please?”
“Stace,” I moan involuntarily, “why don’t we go back to the Airbnb? I’ll prove it there. Over and over again,” I promise, pressing a kiss to her jawline as she uses the leg wrapped around my hips to pull me closer to her.
Stacy doesn’t respond, rearranging my pants and boxers so that my cock is free.
She presses the tip against the smooth, warm skin in between her thighs before catching my mouth with her own in a desperate kiss.
I feel her reach down to pull her panties to the side, groaning into my mouth as her tongue slides against mine .
And I lose all of my resolve.
I drop my hands to Stacy’s thighs, hoisting them up around my hips and burying myself inside of her in one quick motion.
And it feels like sliding home.
She gives a surprised yelp against my mouth as I hold her steady up against the wall, setting a brutal pace while my nails dig into the skin of her legs.
Shit. Shit , she feels so fucking good. I’ve been with my fair share of women in the past year but none of them come close to making me feel the way Stacy makes me feel. The way she wraps around me makes it seem like she was made just for me, the perfect fit that drives me wild.
It’s a miracle that I can ever last more than a couple of minutes with her.
I should have more self-control. I know that Stacy’s using sex to avoid an inevitable conversation, I know a back alley isn’t the most romantic spot, I know Stacy’s royally pissed at me and I should be apologizing rather than fucking her against a dirty brick wall in downtown Nashville.