“Let’s go!” she shouts over the music and points to the makeshift dance floor that always forms itself in front of the raised stage, for live music Sundays.
Wes rears his head back, confused by my sudden change of attention, then looks at Sophie in question as well. I take a chance, and lean in, kissing his cheek gingerly.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper into his ear.
That earns me a cheesy grin from him, as he grabs my hands, helping me to my feet.
“Have fun,” he says, chuckling.
I scurry over to Sophie who grips my hand, and pulls me roughly to the center of the relatively young crowd. They must be out of towners, or tourists. It’s that time of year that our small town gets busy.
We immediately start jumping and dancing. Well, we’re half dancing, half acting out the song like we’re in the music video. Especially when we both grip our throats for “Choking on your alibis.” The song ends, but we don’t leave the dance floor. We dance for a few more songs, twirling each other around, in our own little bubble.
We’re having a blast and minding our own business, when I feel hands grip my hips from behind, and someone start to move against me while we’re dancing. Sophie looks over my shoulder and her eyes widen, then she winces. My body instinctively stiffens under the unfamiliar hands.
“Hey, gorgeous,” the unknown man says into my ear. His breath is hot, and reeks of whiskey. I get the urge to gag and I grab at his hands in an attempt to shove them off of me. He tightens his grip in protest, holding fast, making my heart start to race.
I start to panic, and begin to try and pry each of his slim fingers off of me.
“Hey, asshole!” Sophie yells over the music once she sees the look of horror on my face.
He whispers in my ear again, “Woah, chill. I’m just trying to–” his sentence is abruptly cut off, and the hands on my hips disappear.
I whirl around and see a very angry Wes holding a preppy looking blonde man by the back of his shirt. The guy is half Wes’s size, and looks like a boy compared to him. He can’t be that much taller than I am.
Fuck.
“Wes…” I warn him.
The crowd around us starts to part and I see Maverick mouth “Oh shit” from across the room, and start running over.
“Did you push him off you?” Wes asks me, cool as a fucking cucumber.
“Get the fuck off of me,” the tiny blonde man snarls. His legs flail and I realize Wes is actually holding him so only his toes can touch the ground.
Jesus Christ.
I nod at Wes. “Yes, but–”
“And he didn’t take the hint?” the incredibly handsome caveman asks. He asks so calmly, as though what he’s doing isn’t completely crazy—and if I must admit—a little impressive.
I shake my head. “No, but Wes-”
He doesn’t let me finish, only dips his chin once and turns, dragging the smaller man with him. Maverick intercepts them and holds his hands up in an attempt to calm his brother. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it looks like Wes quickly explains the situation when he shakes the handsy guy’s entire body. Maverick’s eyes narrow on the guy, and then steps out of Wes’s way, gesturing with his hand to continue.
Wes stomps toward the entrance of the bar and Maverick follows behind, until they vanish behind the giant wooden door. Sophie and I stand stock still, staring at the door, totally dumbfounded by what just happened. We turn to each other, and Sophie slaps a hand over her mouthin an attempt to stop the laugh that comes bubbling out.
The crowd starts returning to normal, and finally, we walk off of the dance floor.
“Oh my god,” Sophie gasps, laughing and wiping under her eyes, “He shook him like a ragdoll!”
“I don’t want Wes to do anything stupid on my behalf, I have to go out there,” I stammer, turning toward the door. I couldn’t forgive myself if he got hurt or god forbid, arrested because of this.
I begin to scoot around a table, but my steps are halted by Wes and Maverick already walking back into the bar. Maverick has a shit eating grin on his face, and Wes looks fucking pissed.
He finds me almost instantly, and starts toward me. I’m paralyzed by the fury I see on his face. I can’t move a muscle. Is he mad at me, or mad for me?
Well, I’m about to find out.
