“I got your message, honey,” Trevor says.
“Excuse me?” I repeat, now genuinely confused.
I’m drunk but not so drunk I’d forget sending him some sort of message.
Ugh, is he one of those weird stalker-ish fans who believe a musician is secretly sending them coded messages through songs?
“You’re wasting your talent, touring the country with that lame old fart.” He tugs on the sleeve of his silk pearl button shirt and flashes another blinding grin.
My lip curls with disdain. “Mind your mouth, boy. Don’t you have a girlfriend? Go and play with her, kiddo.”
Trevor completely ignores my interjection. “I’ll buy you a whole record studio. You just gotta get rid of that stinky geezer and come home with me.”
I slam my empty bottle onto the pool table.
That’s it.
I don’t give a shit if this guy’s family owns the town. I don’t give a shit if his daddy owns the whole damn world. With Rex on my ass, I’ve had my fill of arrogant men who think they can get away with anything.
Being famous, I’m used to people getting overly familiar or inappropriate with me, giving backhanded compliments, or shit-talking me. But I won’t have anybody talk badly about Rust. He’s been glowing since we walked off the stage and I won’t let this wannabe cowboy manlet ruin it for him.
I spot the back of Rust’s head sticking out over the crowd by the bar. That means I got time to teach this stupid kid some manners.
Emboldened by the alcohol, I step closer and get a nauseating whiff of Axe body spray layered over old sweat. You still can’t buy taste. Or personal hygiene. Guess blondie isn’t his girlfriend for love but for the oil money.
“Take. That. Back.” I poke Trevor in the chest for every word. He’s taller than me, but almost everyone is cause I’m fun-sized. That won’t deter me.
He laughs as he grips my wrist. “Honey I’m not taking back the truth. Don’t you see that he’s ballast keeping you down? Don’t be a fucking cocktease. You gotta?—”
My palm flies and connects with Trevor’s cheek. Hard. He squeals like a mouse, the impact knocking the hat from his head as a red handprint blooms on his face.
With perfect timing like in a fucking soap opera, his woman steps out of the bathrooms behind us. “Oh my God, Trevor!” she screeches and stomps in my direction, red bottoms clicking.
With her ironed pantsuit and a pearl necklace peeking out of a light pink blouse, she looks like she stepped out of a finance firm. Or a courthouse. Either way, I’m certain she’s never seen a dirt road or a dive bar before tonight.
That’s probably why I underestimate her.
“Keep your hands off my fiancé, trailer trash!” she yells, throwing a punch.
I’m drunk and slow and her knuckles graze my jaw.
Ouch.
I rub over the ache. Fuck this! I’m gonna have a bruise to cover tomorrow.
“Now I ain’t the type of woman to start a bar fight, but I’m sure gonna finish it, city girl.” I take off my hat and put it upside down on the pool table before I raise my fists. “Bring it, bitch.”
I swing. She ducks. I miss.
Oh God, how embarrassing.
If the ground could open up and swallow me right now, that would be awesome. I stand there, smiling awkwardly.
“In my defense, it’s been a hot minute since I got in a tipsy brawl.” I chuckle thinly.
“How dare you try to hit my snookums!” Trevor screams, his voice cracking.
They come at me two against one. This ain’t good, but I’m not gonna run. I’ll stand my ground and go down fighting. I’m calculating which one of them will be easier to take out first, when a wall steps in front of me.
