To take her back to the condo building we share and cut to the right instead of the left once we get off the elevator. To show her a good time just for a few hours, and then return to my own home to sit in regret.
Yeah, it’s a bad idea.
But just because I’m aware that it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean it’s going to stop me from doing it anyway.
I order another scotch.
She orders another tequila soda.
The more I drink, the more I want to act on the attraction between us.
I know she wants it. I saw the way her breath hitched when I got close to her. I could feel her heart pounding against my chest when I backed her up against her door.
I wanted to kiss her then, too.
I wasn’t drunk then, though. I had enough wits left about me to stop myself.
But tonight, all that shit’s out the window.
We’re both staring into our drinks, contemplating probably opposite ideas, when some guy walks up on her other side and shouts to the bartender.
“Coors for me and whatever the lady’s having,” he says, indicating Everleigh. He turns to her. “Nick Crawford,” he says, his tone cocky and assuming, as if everyone has heard of him.
Newsflash. I haven’t.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?” I demand.
He holds up both hands. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know you two were together.”
“We’re not,” she assures him. “I’m Everleigh. You can ignore him. We work together.”
He glares at me. “You’re that football player, aren’t you?”
“Thatfootball player? Which one?” I challenge.
He chuckles. “Definitely a football player with the way you’re puffing your chest up right now.”
Everleigh presses her lips together, and I think it might be because she’s hiding a smile.
Well, she won’t be smiling anymore after what I’m about to do. “The fuck you just say to me?” I ask, rising off the stool and barreling around Everleigh and toward this dickwad.
Thismightbe the sort of attitude Dallas was done with when they traded me to Vegas.
“I said you’re acting like a tough guy. Stand down, soldier.”
I can’t tell if he’s drunk, too, or if I misheard him, but in any event, it’s far too condescending. Nobody talks to me that way.
Somewhere in the periphery, I hear Everleigh’s voice. “Maverick, stop!”
But it’s too late. Nothing can stop this train wreck.
I won’t stand for some douchebag insulting me.
I pull my arm back, and my fist collides with his jaw. It’s nearly slow motion as he grabs the place of my offense, and I drop my hand as I shake it out at the pain that explodes with the contact of his jaw.
I’m sure I’ll get in trouble for that tomorrow.
Maybe I’ll even feel bad about it for a change.
