Chapter 11 #2
I’m at the back, close to the wall and semi-obscured in the darkness. Rainbow lights flash around, and somebody must’ve spotted the guys. The band breaks into a raucous version of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and everybody starts hooting and strut-dancing. One lady twirls a handkerchief.
We don’t get hassled much when we’re out, thankfully. People will give us high-fives or shake our hands, but that’s about the extent of it. Occasionally, someone will ask for a picture, but usually everyone’s drunk and living in their own world.
What’s happening now makes me laugh, because even with as much complaining as we see online, we’re winning. That’s what matters most. We’re on a streak, and if we go all the way, all will be forgiven.
Baker puts a shot glass in my hand, and we clink before I throw back what turns out to be Fireball.
“Shit,” I cough, reaching for the ice water.
“Too strong for you, little girl?” he taunts loudly in my face, and I’m about to shove him.
My first shot was Fireball, all the way back in Newhope at my family’s restaurant and bar Cooters & Shooters, where my mom worked as a waitress every summer before she married my dad and my uncle Garrett dressed up in gold lamé hot pants on Thursday nights along with my “uncle” Craig, who danced on the bar with the waitresses to fire-themed music while my aunt Dylan served her special “Dare Dishes,” and everyone did shots.
It’s a whole thing.
“I wasn’t expecting Fireball.” I turn to replace the shot glass on the bar, and when I look up, my eyes lock on hers.
She’s out on the patio, standing with another woman near the flaming fountain. Our eyes meet, and my heart revs to 90. Her smile melts, and she blinks away quickly.
I don’t hesitate. I’m drawn to her, weaving through the crowd to where she stands, looking away almost like she’s trying to hide. Yes, beautiful, you’ve got some explaining to do.
The closer I get, her friend sees her glance in my direction and turns to me.
She’s about the same size as Melody, only with long, kinky-curly dark hair.
The friend is all decked out in Saints colors, black and gold, but Melody is wearing a simple beige linen dress that shows off her smooth, muscular legs in heels.
She looks amazing, and even if I’m angry, even if she referenced our first meeting in her critique of me, I want to touch her.
Instead, her friend steps between us. “Hello, there.” She holds up a hand in the center of her chest. “Lindsey Walsh. You’re Knox Bradford, aren’t you?”
I take her hand, giving it a brief shake and a nod. “Nice to meet you, Lindsey.”
I don’t say, Now get lost.
She doesn’t move from her defensive position in front of Melody. “Can I help you?”
My brow lowers, and I meet her eyes. “No.”
I try to step around her, but she steps to the side, blocking me. “What exactly do you want, Mr. Bradford?”
I’m starting to get irritated, and I notice Melody fighting a grin as she takes a sip of her drink, her blue eyes dancing between me and her friend, who is clearly on a mission to guard her.
Her friend has no idea how far that ship has sailed.
“I want to speak to Melody, if you don’t mind.” I’m about to lift this Lindsey person off her feet and move her out of the way.
“Maybe I do mind.” Lindsey lifts her chin, and I’ve got to hand it to her. For a petite woman standing in front of a guy like me, she’s brave.
Putting my hands on my hips, I give my pursuit of Melody a pause while I look down at her guard dog. “And what is your objection?”
“Protocol.” She crosses her arms over her chest, doing her best to appear wider. “I’m the producer of Girl’s Got Game. If you have something to say about the show or anyone having to do with it, you can say it to me first, and I’ll decide if it’s worth passing along to the interested parties.”
“I’m not here to talk about the show.” It’s not entirely true, but it’s mostly true.
I’m less worried about the show than I am her thoughts on how I played tonight. Secondary, of course, to my concern for putting my dick in her sweet pussy one more time.
“I can’t say I believe you, K-Brad. You barely know my friend and business partner, yet you seem to have an almost menacing approach to her.”
“Melody,” I say over Lindsey’s head. “Can I have a word with you, please?”
Her lips tighten, and she has the nerve to raise her eyebrows, tilting her head as she leans into her friend’s ear.
Lindsey’s brow lowers, and she listens, blinking slowly. At some point, her eyes snap up to me, and she bunches her lips in a disapproving way.
“I see,” she says in a low tone. “In that case…” She steps closer to my chest, pointing up at me. “I know where you live. Hurt her, and there will be consequences.”
I don’t even grace that with a response. Reaching around, I catch Melody’s hand, dragging her with me into the side area of the bar, all the way down a narrow hall and into a somewhat spacious, single-serve restroom.
She exhales a little noise when I pull her to me and drag her inside, slamming the door and sliding the lock into place.
When I step back, I look down at her, breathing fast, her blue eyes wide with… excitement? Fear? Curiosity?
“GPS?” My voice is low. “Really, Mel? You used GPS to criticize me?”
Her lips press, and her shoulder rises in a shrug. “It was the first thing that popped into my head.”
Stepping closer, I put both hands on her waist and lift her so her ass is perched on the edge of the sink. It brings her face closer to mine, and I lean down to slide my lips along the line of her jaw.
“You were brutal tonight. Why?”