“You got it.” The bartender was pretty and leaned over the bar, showing her ample cleavage. “You don’t visit here.”
“Nah, I really don’t.”
“Pitty. Could use more pretty guys like you. I’m sick of the rough jackholes who come in here and start fights.” She jutted her chin toward the group of men in a booth near Jordan. “I’ve kicked those fuckers out three times this year, yet they’re back.”
“Kicked them out why?”
“Fighting. Causing a scene.” She tapped the bar top before pushing off. “This is my bar, and while I like a little roughness, it’s getting old.”
She grabbed a glass and poured my drink, but my mind was on how close the men were to Jordan. If they started a scene, she’d get hit.
The bartender barely set the glass down as Jordan’s laughter filled the room. Every guy at the bar glanced at her, smiling as they took their time checking her out. I tore up the napkin in front of me, needing to do something with my hands as my stomach tightened.
I loved that laugh. It was carefree and throaty. I used to think only I could make her laugh like that, but I was so wrong. She was just loud and amused all the time.
It was exhausting to have feelings for your closest friend, who truly only viewed you as a buddy. She flirted with me, always, but that was who she was.
And it wasn’t like I could offer her much right now if I wanted to pursue her. My family life was a mess, I was avoiding all of them, and the hockey season was in full swing, so I had zero time. Plus, I had no idea what I wanted in the future, and my parents wouldn’t come to games together anymore, yet they were constantly putting pressure on me to play better. All of it fucked with my head.
So yeah, I was a creeper, making sure Jordan was safe while avoiding my mess of a life. What a fun Saturday night for me. I sipped the beer as a thud and a slam of a glass rang out.
“What was that, you fucker?”
“Fuck you!” an angry voice roared back.
“Jesus, not again.” The bartender grabbed a bat and marched toward the table, her face set in anger.
I hopped off the stool, immediately seeking Jordan out, who’d jumped from her chair. Her eyes were wide as her date uselessly remained sitting. The group of rowdy guys tossed beer bottles into the air, the glass shattering right near Jordan as she reared back and ran into a large dude with a leather vest.
“Watch yourself!” he yelled, gripping her arms and shoving her away.
Seeing his hands on her arms did me in.
“Jordan, let’s go,” I barked, closing the distance between us in four short steps. Her lips parted in shock. “Come on.”
I grabbed her hand and led us toward the exit, all while the sounds of fighting grew louder. My pulse raced, and I didn’t care if there were photos of us leaving this place. I didn’t give a shit about anything but keeping her safe.
“What are you even doing here?”
“We can talk in the truck.” My voice came out harsher than Imeant, but my adrenaline was spiking. “Get in.” I yanked the door open, and when she didn’t move, I picked her up, hand on her ass, and pushed her in.
“Preston, what the hell?”
The entrance to the bar burst open, the fight moving toward the parking lot. This was the reputation of this place that I’d heard about for years. The previous seniors on the team warned us about here, and it held true to the rumors.
I quickly got in and was on the road within thirty seconds. My heart fucking raced, and I gripped the wheel tight, my throat working twice as hard to swallow as my feelings meshed together. “Why the fuck did you go there, knowing that fights happen?”
“I didn’t think one would, but seriously, why were you there?”
“I told you it would. It’s a shitty place, yet you go there anyway. Are you that fucking desperate for attention? Why? Why go there when you could’ve been hurt?” I hated myself for letting my anger and frustration come out at her. I wasn’t an asshole, even though my words sure made me sound like one. “I want yousafe.”
“Going for the low blow, huh? Sure, I am desperate for attention. You’re right. That’s me.” She crossed her arms and faced the window, her tone icy and hurt.
“Jordan, please,” I swallowed the urge to yell again. “I’m sorry I said that.”
“No, you’re not. You mean it. You’ve been judging me the last few months for dating and putting myself out there. You think I’m some slu?—”
“No, I fucking don’t. Don’t you finish that sentence.” Was that what she thought? Truly? That I was judging her? I thought for sure she realized I had a crush on her and wanted her to try datingme.
