40. Chapter 40
Chapter forty
Zac
T he sharp sting of what he was sure was a hand-shaped welt prickled across Zac’s cheek. He tracked the angry sway of Bethany’s hips as she marched through the tent exit.
Fuck.
Bethanne .
He’d struggled with her name the entire time he’d known her but gave himself a little slack since they’d only met forty-eight hours ago. He’d tried to bestow the moniker Beth, but she did not like that, and since his goal had been to get in her pants, he avoided doing anything that would piss her off. Fortunately, she enjoyed it when he referred to her as beautiful, sexy, and lovely, so he stuck with similar terms of endearment.
The struggle had come when others approached them at the wedding. Since introducing her as his “friend” seemed to cool her jets, and he couldn’t very well call her his bang buddy, privates pal, booty call, or ( gulp ) girlfriend, her name was the safest bet.
Or would have been if he could freaking get it right.
She must have slid to the end of her rope because when Stella, the smoking hot server at The Rooftop Tavern, came over to say hello, everything got out of hand.
To be honest, Zac couldn’t really say with any real certainty what had gone wrong because Stella’s dress was so low cut and her tits were more buoyant than usual, so he’d been pretty distracted. He could have called Bethanne Bart or Bradley for all he knew. Whatever came out of his mouth deemed him worthy of a drink in the face and a slap.
“It’s all in a day’s work,” he chuckled to the wide-eyed bartender, whose mouth hung open like something shocking had just happened. Zac licked the lemon drop from his lips and used a couple napkins to dab the rest of the sticky drink as it dribbled through his trimmed beard. “Shot of tequila. Make that two.”
A solid hand clamped onto the back of his arm and Zac prepared himself for the brotherly razzing of his best friend. But when he turned, instead of Jonathan, Miguel stood there with a dark scowl and some pretty impressive nostril flaring.
“Can I talk to you privately?” At nearly forty, Miguel was the oldest member of their friend circle and never missed an opportunity to act like the patriarch of the group. The frequency of his advice and heart-to-hearts had increased since he’d become a dad last year, as though knocking up his wife gave him infinite wisdom that he felt compelled to bestow on the rest of them.
“Later, pops. I’m about to down these two bad boys and make my way to the dance floor.”
“You really think that’s a good idea?”
Zac inclined his head and gave a wink as he shot back the tequila in rapid succession. Spitting the lime rind into one of his napkins, he hissed at the campfire burning down his throat. “Best idea I’ve had all night.”
Brushing past his friend, bumping shoulders just enough to not be taken as an overly aggressive gesture, Zac settled his eyes on the pint-sized target he’d been trying to nail for years: Frankie Miller.
The blonde bombshell stood a few feet away, hands on her hips, face contorted in a chastising scowl fit for an uppity school teacher. He’d be all too happy to take a ruler to the knuckles if it meant she’d be the one doling out the punishment. The day she’d turned twenty-one was the day Zac had launched Operation Nail Jonathan’s Little Sister. And while the mission name lacked a certain finesse, his various attempts had run the gamut from exceedingly clever to downright blunt.
Unfortunately, nothing had worked.
But imbued with numerous doses of liquid courage, despite the rage that radiated off of her like cartoon squiggle lines, he saw the virtue in making another attempt.
Even though another woman had just thrown a drink in his face.
Even though two large men were holding a subdued pissing contest to win her.
Even though he already knew what she would say.
Because either she’d finally crack or it would be another humorous rejection to file away under “Zac’s Failed Attempts.”
“I must not have made myself clear earlier.” Her sharp words landed like a soft leather flogger on his chest. Stinging yet offering tingles of pleasure with every scolding syllable. The ice in her usually warm amber eyes complemented the cool velvet of her incredibly sexy maid of honor dress. Cut low and slit high, the getup showed off the lush curves she’d brought back with her from her first term at NWU. He’d always found her tight and sexy, fit from hiking, climbing, and rafting, but her new, more shapely design made his mouth water. “What the fu—”
In a hail Mary, he swept his arms around her and twirled her onto the dance floor. Shocked at his boldness, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gripped his arms with nails clawing through his button-up shirt, his tuxedo jacket abandoned somewhere long ago.
“There. Isn’t this better?” he crooned, eyes sweeping over her lovely—if fuming—face, the pulse pounding in her neck and chest heaving against the confines of her dress .
“What is your problem?” she all but shouted, but remembered she’d been about to chastise him for making a scene, so she lowered her voice. “You are behaving like a damn child, and you need to knock it off. Now.”
“I’m no child, Francesca,” he smirked. “Just a man going after what he wants time and time again.”
“You’re immature and insane.” He bristled at her sneer.
“I prefer youthful and optimistic.”
“You can prefer all you want, but to everyone else, you come off as a useless ass.”
Zac casually glanced around the room. Everyone watched them. Including Benjamin.
Fucking Benji.
The “best man” who swooped in after years and years of being a shit friend to Jonathan. Zac had been there, day in and day out, standing by Jonathan through the good and bad. He should have been the best man, not some snooty law guy who gets everything he wants. Taking everything Zac had been working so hard for.
“I have to know.” He plastered a grin on his face, knowing full well his eyes displayed more bitterness than warmth. “Did you fuck him?”
“Excuse you?” Frankie recoiled as though she’d been slapped.
“Your professor. In the cabin. I wouldn’t blame you. Life and death situations make people do irrational things all the time.”
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re concussed from Bethanne’s slap earlier and let you retract your words and apologize.” She shoved at his chest then practically growled as his hands stayed firmly planted at the small of her back.
“I imagine you need a pallet cleanser after subjecting yourself to the rigid and unimaginative sex that walking wet blanket gave you. Maybe that’s why you’ve been throwing yourself at Captain Clint over there. But you’re fooling yourself if you think either could compare to what I’d be able to—oof!”
What could only be described as an actual polar bear paw landed hard on Zac’s collar, flinging him around. Head swirling with drink and his own callous words, he looked up at the large sheriff in question. He wasn’t in the mood to come to blows with local law enforcement, especially with one who outweighed him by a good fifty pounds, but he’d be unable to back down if it came down to it. Sometimes fighting—or getting your ass beat, which would more likely be the case—was the only answer.
“What the hell is your malfunction, Zac?” Jonathan barked from beside Clint.
Zac’s attention snapped to his friend, whose face held so much frustration and disappointment that it made his head hurt. “Jesus . . . I. I’m sorry, brother—”
“I think it’s best if you leave,” Clint interrupted, still gripping Zac’s drink-stained collar in his mighty meat claws. “Avoid any more of a scene.”
Anger spiked Zac’s blood as though he had taken another shot of that smoky tequila. “It’s not your call, sheriff. What are you? The hired security now?”
“Zac, please.” Jonathan’s quiet plea was sobering.
Scanning the crowd, Zac’s eyes settled on Lucy. Jonathan’s fiancée—er, wife—who usually glided around town with endless warmth and joy, now stood wearing a hurt expression similar to her new husband’s. Miguel and Benjamin hovered nearby, arms crossed over their chests, ready to assist with the ejection if necessary. His eyes snagged on Patty Miller, the surrogate mother who had looked after him like he was her own since he became friends with her son all those years ago. There, he saw similar disappointment, and it wrecked him.
He needed to get out of there .
Immediately.
“I’m going.” His words were quiet but triggered Clint’s hands to release and lower. Zac strode past Jonathan, pausing momentarily to take the jacket his friend held out. “Congrats, man.”
Zac wasn’t quite sure exactly when he’d been labeled an unreliable fuck up, but he was pretty certain it was a gradual development as opposed to any one event. But as he strode from the tent, where he could hear the DJ attempting to gloss over the disruption by calling the crowd to the dance floor for the “Cupid Shuffle,” Zac was certain that he’d finally hit rock bottom.