“Your money ain’t no good here, boy,” Mack grumbled.
“Put it in the tip jar, then.”
Mack merely shook his head and grinned.
“I’m drivin’,” Bailey announced.
“No, ma’am.I’mdrivin’,” Rafe told Bailey as they started for the door.
“Uh-uh. You’ve been drinkin’. That means your butt’s in the passenger seat.”
It was Rafe’s turn to roll his eyes. “One beer, Bailey. I only had one beer.” And he hadn’t even finished it.
Chatter erupted behind him, but Rafe ignored it. Or tried to, anyway. It helped that Bailey put her smooth hand on his arm and steered him in the right direction.
“But I like drivin’ your truck,” she drawled, probably more of a distraction than anything. “Plus, you look cute sittin’ in the passenger seat.”
That had only happened once, and that night, Rafe had been too drunk to walk, much less focus on the road.
“Look at the pussy runnin’ out the door,” Daryl called from behind him, laughing like a hyena. “Still can’t fight like a man. Someone oughta check, make sure he ain’t got a gun.”
Daryl’s drunker sidekick laughed along with him while the hustler looked on with interest.
“Ignore them,” Bailey whispered, her tone no longer cordial.
“Girl, if you had a lick of sense, you’d steer clear of that one,” the sidekick hollered. “You ain’t safe with him. One wrong move, and he’ll likely shoot you, too.”
Rafe stopped when Bailey’s feet abruptly came to a halt. She spun on her little white tennis shoes, a finger coming up as she pointed in the direction of the words. Her dark blond ponytail swung around, hanging over her shoulder.
“You keep your mouth shut, Flynn. I don’t quite like your tone.”
Rafe grinned at the cute little woman now fuming mad beside him. That was one of the things he loved about Bailey. She took no shit from anyone. At five-foot-three, a strong breeze could knock her over, but she would stand up to the orneriest of men.
“We’re just watchin’ out for you, sweetness,” Daryl said as he moved closer.
Rafe did turn then, positioning himself between Daryl and Bailey when Flynn and the hustler moved in to offer their support.
“You don’t wanna do this,” Rafe warned softly.
“And what if I do, boy? Whatcha gonna do about it?”
Rafe didn’t speak, didn’t move. He inhaled slowly, exhaled. His mind was clear as he tracked every person in the room, every move. Without a doubt, Rafe could take Daryl in a fair fight, but he knew this wouldn’t be fair. Daryl wasn’t about to get his ass kicked in front of his friends. Those fuckers would be on Rafe like stink on shit as soon as Daryl took the first fist to the face.
Bailey moved to stand in front of Rafe. “You start somethin’, Daryl, and I’m gonna go tell Lulu how you were suckin’ face with that floozie last Friday night. That what you want?”
Daryl’s dark eyes shot to Bailey’s face.
“That’s what I thought,” she said firmly, then waved toward the bartender. “Mack, you’ll keep him in here till we leave?”
“You know I will,” the man said, used to keeping these rednecks in line.
“Come on.” Bailey turned and placed her hands on Rafe’s chest, forcing him backward.
It wasn’t until his back came in contact with the door that Rafe turned, pushed it open, and motioned Bailey outside. They stepped out into the hot, muggy July night, and Rafe felt like he could breathe again.
“I’m so glad you’re here tonight,” she said as she marched around to the driver’s side. “But I don’t like the way those buttholes talk to you.”
“Buttholes?” Rafe laughed. “Are you twenty-four? Or fourteen?”
