Page 67 of Hard to Handle

I rest my hips against the bar and watch the sax player do his thing—fingers pressing on keys, sunglasses shading his eyes, body moving to the rhythm he’s creating—and let myself fall under the haze of the shot I’ve just downed.

I’m still watching him while the blonde studies me, and all I can think about is a different woman: Dekker Kincade.

The fourth shot is much smoother, simply because I no longer taste it. I’m distracted though. Preoccupied.

You better stop thinking about her, Maddox.

The question is, do I really want to?

Maybe she’s the distraction I need right now.

Perhaps she’s the something I can get lost in—the chase and the challenge and then the reward—that will get me out of my own head.

But I know more than most, a little bit of Dekker was never enough. Nights of wanting and needing and pretending, are my proof of that.

But why would she want you after the bullshit you put her through tonight? The crappy comments and accusations?

Surprise, surprise. You fucked up again, Maddox.

I pull bills out of my wallet and set them under an empty shot glass. Time to go. To stop thinking. To sleep this off even though my thoughts have already sobered me enough.

Shit. What a waste of good alcohol.

“Hey there.” The smooth voice belongs to the blonde from the corner of the bar and as much as I need to get lost in something for a while, she’s not her.

“Have a good night.” I take a step away but her hands grab one of mine and pull it toward her as she tries to lace her fingers with mine.

Interest doesn’t even flutter to life.

“Don’t be a party pooper.” She pouts and then paints a siren’s smile on those glossed lips of hers. “I saw you looking. I know you’re interested.”

Doesn’t she know that subtlety goes a hell of a long way?

I laugh a few notes. “I’m interested in a lot of things. Going to my hotel right now is one of them.” I pull my hand from her grasp. Her fury can be heard in the stomp of her foot.

“I could give you a lift.”

“I’m more than capable of getting there. Thanks though.” I give her a smile and take a step back.

“You’re the first guy to say no, you know.”

I turn back to look at her. “That line in itself is the reason I’m walking away.”

She mutters something I can’t hear and don’t fucking care because the sudden movement tells me I’m still buzzed enough. I laugh as I push the door open and breathe in the frigid air.

That’s a slap to sobriety right there.

It’s when I step a few more feet under the covered entrance that I see Dekker near the carpark. She’s standing with her arms crossed over her midsection, shivering from the cold, as she looks from her phone to the car that’s pulling up and back again in what I can only assume is checking the Uber drivers.

The shit feeling I had inside about what I said returns at the sight of her.

But so does my resolve to want to lose myself to her—in her. Please don’t say no to me.

CHAPTER THIRTY

DEKKER

“DEKKER.”