I check my phone.
9:30 p.m.
Dax said he’d meet me, but he probably got distracted by some new booty call. I wasn’t gonna worry about him tonight. He’s a big boy—if he changes his mind, he can call. Honestly, I could use the quiet. Abigail’s party was a lot. Too many voices, too much hype. Now it’s just me and my thoughts. Dangerous territory lately, since I couldn’t stop thinking about that blonde girl.
Those legs are long and toned. That wavy blonde hair, the sharp blue eyes. She didn’t look like anyone from around here,and that just made her more of a mystery. Colt didn’t give me any real answers when I asked about her. She didn’t fit here.
Looked like she belonged on a beach, brunching with bottomless mimosas, not stuck in this no-name town with a bunch of hillbillies. That’s probably what she thinks of us anyway. California girls walk like they’ve got gold under their feet just because their birth certificate says “State of California.”
She looked like someone who’d never had to fight for anything. Never missed a meal, never counted gas money. She was everything I said I hated. But the second I saw her, I couldn’t stop thinking about her doll face.
Not that I’m desperate. If I want company, I wear the uniform, walk into a bar, a diner, hell—even a grocery store—and women come running.
Then I hear the front door swing open. A rush of cool air hits my back. My shoulders tense. I glance behind me, quickly. For a second, I think I’m seeing things. But no—she’s real.
She walks past and takes a seat to my left. I keep my eyes forward, acting like I didn’t notice. No point in trying to talk. She can’t stand me, and the feeling’s mutual. Bailey moves toward her, sets a napkin down. She smiled, then grabbed a shot glass and the Tito’s.
Sucha basic bitch.
As soon as she pours the shot, Mel throws it back and asks for another one.
Jesus. Maybe this girl was an alcoholic.
She downs the second shot like it’s nothing—no flinch, no pause. Just tilts her head back and lets it burn. Most people make a face or shake it off. Not her. Like she’s done this a thousand times.
Bailey pours a third. I shift in my seat. Part of me wants her to notice I’m here. Just enough so she knows someone’s watching. Someone who won’t look away if things go sideways. If she gets wasted and something happens, I won’t think twice about going straight to Abigail. Let her clean up the mess. But then Baileytakes the bottle and walks it back to the shelf. Mel’s staring at her phone, not the shot. Good. At least she’s slowing down.
Smart move.
It’s past eleven—still no words between us. I should’ve left an hour ago—finished my last beer thirty minutes back—but I’ve been nursing it, eyes locked on her table more than my glass.
She’s not alone anymore. Two guys joined her after her fifth shot. Never seen them before. But I’ve been trained to pick up on the energy in a room: posture, tone, body language—things most people miss. And everything about these guys screams bad news.
They started off respectful, keeping space. That didn’t last. Now I’m watching one lean in close, fingers brushing her shoulder. The other one just slid a hand along her thigh like it’s his to touch.
I clench my fist around the bottle, jaw tight. I want to intervene. I want to rip their hands off her. But I stay seated. Still. Calm. Not my place. That’s what I tell myself. But it doesn’t sit right, especially not when she’s dressed like that. Black dress, low cut, barely covering anything. If she bends the wrong way, the whole bar’s getting a show. She doesn’t even seem to care. That’s what pisses me off the most—how casual she is about it. But then again, both times I’ve seen her, she’s been like this. Like she’s daring someone to want her—and resenting them for it at the same time.
I try to focus on the music, drown it out. But it’s the same overproduced hip-hop crap—just noise. Nothing to distract me from the way my blood’s starting to simmer. She has no idea what kind of danger she’s in. Or maybe she does—and doesn’t care.
And I hate that I care this much.
“You want another one, Nick?”
Bailey snaps me back into reality as I look up at her. “Uh, no. I think I’m fine. I’m about to drive.”
“I was wondering. You’ve been babysitting that drink like it’s your last one for life.”
“Just in no rush to leave, is all.”
She gives me a conspicuous look. “Okay, I’ll tab you out, just pay whenever you’re ready.”
She walks over to the register, and my gaze follows her. I pretend I'm looking at Bailey when I’m focused solely on Mel. The guys are so close to her now that either one of them could easily slip a finger up her dress and finger fuck her right here and now, and no one would see it. What the hell was she even doing here this late? Why wasn’t she back at the lake house? Hell, she didn’t even look old enough to be in a bar. Was she even twenty-one? And why the hell do I even care?
“Be careful driving home,” Bailey says as she places my ticket on the counter. I grab my wallet and cover the bill plus a tip with the cash I toss on the table, the same time I see both those guys eyes lift and rake over Mel’s ass as she walks to the bathroom. I guess that’s why I find myself walking down the length of the bar straight over to them. They are so engrossed in their conversation about tapping that tonight, they don’t even notice me standing behind them.
Not looking over my shoulder to see if Mel is coming out of the bathroom, I clamp a hand down on each of their scrawny shoulders.
“Holy shit,” one of the guys mutters when I walk up.
