Trent leaned up to say something to Daisy. The guy just couldn’t leave her alone. Beckett put his hand in front of Trent’s face, which wasn’t difficult with his arm across Daisy’s chair. He gave the guy a hard look.
Trent shoved Beckett’s hand and he inadvertently hit Daisy in the head. She jerked forward and flipped around to stare at Trent. He pointed at Beckett. Beckett glared. “He pushed my hand,” he said right when the music cut off.
Daisy blindly checked her hair by patting different sections.
“Here, let me scoot out and I’ll walk you to the ladies’.” Trent began to stand.
“She looks perfect. She doesn’t need to leave.” Beckett braced his hand on the back of his seat, ready to get up if necessary.
“Why don’t you let her decide what she needs?” countered Trent.
“Why don’t you keep your hands to yourself—you’re all over her.”
“I’mall over her? You’re smothering her.”
“Excuse me.” Daisy jumped to her feet.
Beckett hadn’t realized he had stood up. Right now, he towered over Trent. The only thing keeping him from bumping chests with the guy and knocking him over was the chair between them.
The whole club had gone quiet. Beckett glanced at the stage to see Mimevizzion pressing both hands to his cheeks, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide as he watched the two of them. Their argument had hijacked the show.
“I’m going to have to ask your group to leave,” said a balding man in a black vest and white button-up shirt. His tag said “manager.”
“No. It’s not them.” Daisy waved her hand towards the group. “I’ll go.”
“Me too,” Trent said quickly. He reached for Daisy’s arm to guide her out of the maze of too-close chairs and tables. This place was a fire code nightmare.
Beckett pushed Trent’s hand away. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
A woman gasped, “Did you see that?”
“Beckett.” Daisy’s hand went to his shoulder. “It’s fine.”
He focused on Daisy. Her hair was still in place, her dress fabulous, but there were worry lines framing her mouth like tiny parentheses.
“I suggest the three of you take this outside.” The manager left no room for argument. Trent’s jaw hardened and he stomped off. Beckett motioned for Daisy to go first. She went, her head held high. He stuck right to her heels, not wanting to give Trent a moment alone with her in the lobby. As he walked, cell phones followed him and he realized that they’d been filmed.
His stomach soured. This was not good.
Chapter Fifteen
Daisy managed to get out of the club with her chin up. She hit the safety of the parking lot, where the only cameras on the premises were there to discourage breaking and entering, and her hands shook. She had no desire to show her face in the club again after tonight.
She spun around and whacked Beckett and then Trent with her purse. They both flinched. “What is the problem with you two?”
“I—”
“He—”
“Bzzz. Bzz. Bz.” She made a zipping motion with her hands and they cut off. Trent stuck his hands in his pockets and ducked his head. Beckett kept his arms out to his sides, his chest lifted.
“I’m not even sure what happened in there.” She rubbed her temple, trying to figure out what had set them off. The night was going fine. Trent was being his normal, fun self. They always sat by each other and they laughed—not the kind of laughing she did with Beckett where her sides hurt, but grown-up polite laughing. She eyed Trent. He was the type of guy she considered good boyfriend material. He had a steady job, didn’t let women pay for themselves on dates, opened doors, and held chairs. There should be more men like him in the world. But standing next to Beckett, he diminished. And that wasn’t just because Beckett was taller and wider. Beckett was just more … She rubbed her fingertips together, trying to come up with the right word … manly.
So much for taking her mind of Beckett tonight.
Her phone beeped. She looked down to see a text from Quinton flash across the screen.
Will you give Beck a ride home?
