I was halfway there when someone rammed into me from behind and I fell forward. I threw my hands out in front of me, hoping to catch myself before face planting on the floor. I never made contact.
A pair of hands gripped my arms and hoisted me up until I was placed firmly back on my feet.
“Watch where you’re going, love.” I was given a full face of Alan Cole’s toothy grin. Damn, he was good looking. I was a little dazzled.
“Uh, thanks,” I muttered, trying to get steady on my feet.
“You a yank?” he asked, his grin, if possible, becoming much wider.
I nodded. I wasn’t star struck. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but he had this strange effect on me. On nearly everyone around him actually. You could only stand and blink like an idiot as he bestowed you with his attention.
His curly blond hair was buzzed into a faux hawk. It was adorable. I wanted to ruffle it with my fingers as if he were a toddler.
Alan leaned in close, his eyes twinkling. “Everything you American’s say sounds like sex to me.” He was teasing. Trying to knock me off balance.
I snorted, the spell broken. He was just a big flirt. I could handle those. Famous or not.
“And you sound like Mr. Bean,” I lobbed back. Yep, I was still slurring.
Alan laughed loudly, slapping his hand on the bar. Everyone around him laughed too, though obviously having no idea why. They just wanted to be a part of the joke. “You know who Mr. Bean is? I think I might love you.”
I rolled my eyes. “And I have to take a pee. So if you’ll excuse me.”
I turned and walked, a little clumsily, back to the toilets. Alan had already forgotten about me. I could hear his voice as clear as day once I had shut the door to the bathroom.
It smelled like bad air freshener but it was empty. And quiet. The persistent throb at my temples just wouldn’t go away. Alcohol and Morgan didn’t mix.
I had just finished my business and was coming out of the stall when the door burst open. I jumped nearly three feet in the air, my elbow connecting with the sink, sending a shot of pain straight up my arm.
“Fuck. Help me out here, love.” Lucas Bradley stumbled into the bathroom, his presence large and looming. I froze, shocked at the intrusion.
Up close he was…overwhelming.
He was tall. Taller than I thought he was. He seemed less…intimidating when he was sitting on a bar stool nursing a beer. I had to crane my neck to look up at him. And he was beautiful in a conventional sense. With dark blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Full lips and a dimple in his chin. He gave me a smile that would have made me swoon a little bit if I wasn’t freaked out by his sudden appearance in the ladies restroom.
He fumbled with the lock, trying to turn it.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. Was he trying to lock himself in the bathroom? With me in here?
The tight space felt even tighter.
“I’m trying to lock the door. Can you help me?” he slurred. He rested his forehead against the door with a loud thud. “Fucking hell.”
“This is the women’s bathroom,” I told him, my voice sounding tiny. I felt trapped. I didn’t like that feeling one little bit. I was enclosed in a small space with a very large, very drunk man, who was blocking the doorway.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest. The alcohol in my system made me feel shaky. But I was pretty sure I could at the very least, knee him in the balls if I had to.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging painfully into my palms. It helped clear my head a bit.
“It’s hot out there. I’m a bit pissed. I need to take a leak.” Each sentence ran into the other and I had to listen hard to understand him.
“You’re pissed? Why are you angry?” The last thing I wanted was some huge, angry football player taking his rage out on me.
Lucas Bradley squinted in my direction, as if trying to focus his eyes. “Who said I was angry?”
“You said you were pissed.” I frowned. He could barely stand up right. He was teetering dangerously to one side.
“I am pissed. Can’t you fucking tell?” he snapped.
