CHAPTER 17 #2
As he raises his fist, Palmer steps between the two of us. “Clay, stop! Please.”
I place my hand gently on her arm. “Palmer, it’s okay. I’ve got—”
She puts a finger up to cut me off. “No, I’ve got it. Clay, stop. You need to leave. Do you want me to call a ride for you?”
He narrows his eyes at her, and his mouth curves into a cruel smile. I can feel the shift in the room. Clay doesn’t like me; I’m well aware of that. He thinks I’m nothing compared to him. He doesn’t like that I have embarrassed him in the past. It’d be weird if he did like me.
But he hates Palmer.
For someone who had been with a woman for five years, and to have been the reason the relationship ended, the vitriol he directs at her is harsh and palpable.
“Why? Don’t want me to tell your little man candy what you’ve been up to?”
She doesn’t respond.
He persists, “Or are you planning to do the same shit with him, too?”
Palmer places her hands in front of her in a placating position, keeping her voice low and neutral. “Clay, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Clay sneers at her, a gleam in his eye. “I know exactly what I’m saying.
This bathroom seems a little busier though.
Might be kind of hard to suck his dick without getting interrupted.
Or maybe you plan on setting up for a train?
” He turns and shouts to the rest of the bar, “Anyone here feel like getting your dick sucked by a fat bitch? Line starts right here!”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I sure as shit don’t like the way he’s saying it.
I start forward, but Palmer stands firm in front of me.
She shakes her head without turning to look at me, but I know what she’s saying: Not right now.
Please don’t make it worse. Because it’s her, I stand my ground, but I let her handle him for now.
She doesn’t know exactly how much worse I would like to make this.
His turns his gaze back on her, his hatred apparent. “Look, P! I’ve got you a whole clientele base. Isn’t this what you wanted? All the attention on you?”
Palmer seems to realize there are a lot of eyes looking our way, listening, even over the twanging of the guitar. She turns as if to say something to me, her eyes seeking mine, when Clay grabs her face roughly and jerks it toward his. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, you useless fucking cunt.”
That does it.
As Palmer reaches to pry his fingers off, I step around her and grab his wrist. He releases his grip on her face, and I twist his arm up behind his back.
“She said”—he squirms, and I wrench his arm up slightly toward his shoulder blade— “it’s time for you to go. Now, move.” I use his arm to propel him forward.
“Let go of me, you motherfucker!” Clay writhes drunkenly in my grasp. As we draw near the bouncer, he cries out, “Help me! He’s trying to kill me!”
The bouncer looks him over with disgust. He must’ve seen what he did to Palmer. “You got him, or you want me to take care of him?” he asks.
I flash him a smile. “I got him. Thanks though!”
He holds the door open for us to slide through. Once we’re outside, I keep my grip on his wrist and walk him into the alley behind the bar. Only then do I release him.
Clay rubs his wrist, shooting daggers at me from against the wall. “You fucking sprained my wrist.”
“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have.”
He lunges toward me, but he’s off balance. Probably seeing two of me with how potent the alcohol on his breath smells. I catch him easily and pin him against the wall. At the same time, I slip my knife from pocket and flick open the blade. The tip of my knife pokes his stomach, indenting his skin.
Clay yelps in pain and cries out, “Stop! You’re stabbing me!”
“Shut the fuck up, Clay. No one cares. They don’t care about you or what you have to say, which is why no one stopped me when I brought you out here. I could stab you if I want, and no one would care. Hell, I could kill you, and no one would ever notice because you don’t fucking matter.”
The look he pins me with is one of desperation. “She fucked my best friend, you know that?” he spits. “Palmer did. She sucked his fucking dick and let him come all over her ugly—”
I press the knife harder, drawing blood.
He winces and changes his words rapidly. “All over her fucking face. She videoed it and sent it to me, because she’s a sick fucking person who likes hurting people.” His face becomes smug. “I bet you don’t like hearing that about your precious little girlfriend, do you?”
Clay’s not entirely wrong. I don’t love hearing that she fucked someone, but what I really don’t like is how that person wasn’t me.
A smile spreads across my face, and I laugh. Clay’s face drops the mask, quickly replaced by confusion.
“I don’t care what Palmer does,” I say. “What I care about is whether she feels good and is happy, and if that’s what made her happy, then I’m glad she did it.
” I withdraw the knife from his skin and begin wiping it slowly across his chest, streaking his shirt in blood.
“What I do care about is you leaving her the fuck alone. You won’t bother her anymore; do I make myself clear? ”
He opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak, but I draw the knife up closer to his neck, so he nods instead.
“Good. You will not so much as talk about her, to her, or think about her. Because, if you do”—I skim the knife along the skin of his cheek, shaving off a line of stubble—“they’ll never find your body.” I look deep into his eyes, my lips raising slightly at the corners.
His pupils dilate in terror. I let go of his shirt, but he remains paralyzed against the wall, unblinking.
I wave the knife at him. “Run along now.”
Without taking his eyes off me, Clay stumbles backward down the alleyway and disappears around the corner.
Whistling, I flick my knife shut and put it in my pocket. I turn to head back into the bar and come face-to-face with Palmer. Her eyes are wide, and I realize what she likely just witnessed.
“Palmer, I—”
I don’t get more than two words out before her lips crash into mine.
I back her up against the same wall where I had just pinned Clay.
Her arms wind around my neck, and my left hand drifts to grip the sweet curve of her ass under her skirt.
My other hand grabs her face, and I run my thumb along her jaw and down her neck.
Our tongues intertwine, each of us wanting more of the other.
She moans against my lips, murmuring my name, and I lose any semblance of control I might have had.
Bending down, I pick her up from the ground and wrap her legs around my waist. My hands wander all over any part of her I can get to as my lips lay claim to hers, my hips bucking involuntarily against hers.
I press my length into the warmth between her legs and groan.
Just a quick undoing of my zipper and pushing past the tiny thong she’s barely wearing, and I could be inside her.
This wasn’t exactly how I envisioned it, but it is highly likely that I’m about to fuck this woman in the alley behind a bar.
Several howls and catcalls draw us back to our senses as college kids cheer us on. Our foreheads lean against each other, and both our breathing comes in pants.
“Um, could you—” Palmer gestures at the ground.
“Oh! Sure thing.” I set her down gently, my touch lingering on her skin as long as it can. Her cheeks are pink and not because she’s embarrassed. Softly, I cradle her face in my hands, kissing her lips firmly, as if to say I want this, too.
I pull my face back, and Palmer slowly blinks her eyes open. “You know,” she says, her voice husky and lips swollen from my kiss. “My house isn’t that far.”
Drawing her mouth up to mine again, I graze my lips along hers softly. “I know where your house is, Palmer.”
“We could—” She kisses me back, tentatively at first then more forcefully. “Um, well…”
“Tell me what you want, baby.” I nip her bottom lip. “Use your words.”
Her body presses against mine, and she grasps my erection through my jeans. “We could go back to my house.”
“Oh, we could, could we?” I tease, my tongue tracing the line of her jaw.
“Yeah. I mean, if you wanted to,” she gasps, her pulse pounding against my lips as I gently suck.
I kiss my way back up to her lips, claiming her mouth with my tongue. Palmer’s body sags against mine, and I know I’ve won our little game. There’s no more flirting, no more accidental grazing or coquettish comments, no more will they-won’t they.
There’s only this: me and her, limbs tangled with each other, unable to tell where I end and she begins.
She gazes at me, blinking slowly, awaiting my answer.
Through gentle kisses, I murmur against her soft skin, “I thought you’d never ask.”