“I said I’ll think about it.”
BJ shifted his gaze between Jodie and Georgie. “I heard alright. Did you hear alright?”
Jodie giggled. “Yep, she definitely said alright, which means yes.”
“What can I get you?” I drawled.
“Shots,” Jodie answered.
“What kind of shots?”
“Tequila slammers!” Excitement rose Georgie’s voice an octave.
“You’re in for a big one then!”
“Well, if you’re going to have one, it might as well be big,” Jodie said, with a wicked grin.
“Exactly what I say.” BJ winked at her. “You know what they say about black—you never go back. Big, huuugggeee.” He threw out his hands melodramatically, losing his balance and swaying back a step. “Cocks. It’s all true.”
I laughed. “You are going to be all kinds of embarrassed tomorrow.”
I poured the shots, then handed the salt and lemon over. And never mind the responsible service code. I watched as they slammed them down, screwed up their faces, and laughed hysterically. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” filled the room.
“Yes!” Georgie shouted excitedly. “Come dance.” She dragged them off toward the dance floor. BJ had the MJ moves. Georgie and Jodie danced with wobbled side steps like they were learning to walk.
Dahlia came into the bar and perched herself on a stool. She wore the same outfit as before: black jeans, black top, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
“Scotch?” I asked.
She merely nodded in response and gazed around the bar like she was inherently bored.
I glanced at Karson; a small blonde was chatting to him. He paid Dahlia no attention—if she was an ex, he didn’t look like he wanted to reignite the flame anytime soon.
I spent the next half hour or so practically running to keep up with demand. I wasn’t sure what made me look up; maybe it was the murmur of the crowd, maybe it was the subtle shift in energy throughout the bar. But something stopped me in my tracks.
Scar-face was standing on the dance floor glaring at BJ. Despite being equal in height, BJ was only half the width of him. BJ had his palm up, and a cold look in his eyes. “Don’t touch her.”
Those words ricocheted through my head.
Jodie stood behind him, staring up wide-eyed, her hand clutching BJ’s shirt.
Scar-face shoved BJ hard and he knocked into Jodie, who shrieking and stumbling, almost lost her feet. A girl reached out and caught her, and BJ might have fallen except he landed against the back of another man.
BJ was back up in the man’s face. “I said leave her alone.” His steely determination was stupid, but impressive.
“What are you going to do about it?” Scar-face said, adding in a racial slur.
I prickled with rage as I darted out from behind the bar.
“What did you say?” BJ spoke through clenched teeth. His whole body tightened, his fists curling at his sides.
Scar-face repeated his disgusting taunt as he swung his fist. It flew through the air like a jet plane. BJ ducked and the punch missed. As he came back up, he gave scar-face an uppercut, slamming his fist into his jaw. His teeth clanked together, snapping through the room. But despite its obvious force, he hardly flinched. Instead, he clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed.
The crowd formed an arc around them. Over near the pool table, the group laughed.
“Move,” I commanded as I barged my way through, bumping my shoulder into a woman and sending her staggering.
I got through in time to see scar-face’s right fist swinging fast toward BJ.
