He continues to talk, but my brain has fogged over. I’m trying not to be rude, I’m really not, but this guy is clearly more interested in the Seattle Shooters—and every single play they made last season—than me.
I pull my phone from my pocket and set it on my lap. I shouldn’t bother Rider. Heck, he’s probably doing the horizontal mambo by now. Still, I can’t sit here for one more second. I’d excuse myself, but every time I try to get a word in, he starts on another story.
Okay, that’s it. I can’t take one more second of this. I pick up my phone and type in ‘karaoke.’ My hand hovers over send. Dammit, I can’t do this. I can’t break up his night. I’ll just have to find another way to get out of this situation. I sigh, and I’m about to shove my phone into my pocket when someone bumps me. Before I realize what’s happening, my finger hits the send button. Shit. Shit. Shit.
But instantly, my phone pings, and the word karaoke comes flashing on my screen.
Rider!
I glance up, but Tate is too busy talking to notice my excitement. I jump up and he finally stops babbling. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” I shake my phone. “My friend needs me.”
Tate looks at me like he can’t for the life of him understand why I’d want to leave when he has so many more stories to tell me.
“Nice to meet you, Tate. The next time I see Rider, I’ll let him know you’re a fan.”
“Do you think you could get me an autograph?” he asks and I shake my head. The man is far more interested in Rider than me.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He flashes me a big smile, and I spin, so ready to be out of this place.
I hurry outside, phone in hand, ready to text Rider when I reach the sidewalk. But when I exit the bar, I run smack dab into a brick wall. A brick wall with big warm hands that are wrapping themselves around my waist.
5
Rider
Rider
I slide my hand around Jules and tug her to me. Her skin is so warm, her frame so tiny, it brings out the protector in me—not that I think she needs my protection. She’s a smart girl who knows how to take care of herself. But everything about her still brings out the defender in me, and while she didn’t seem to have a problem going off with Tate, for some reason, it made me go all caveman inside. Yeah, it’s true, I wanted to punch Tate in the face and toss her over my shoulder like a damn Neanderthal showing possession.
Dude, you set her up.
“Looks like we were texting each other at the same time,” I say, putting my mouth to her ear.
She inches back. “I wasn’t going to hit send. Someone bumped my arm.”
I inch back to see her pretty face. With her nose scrunched her cute freckles bunch together. “You typed it out, but changed your mind?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
I’m not sure what it is I want to hear her say, but ask, “Why?”
“I didn’t want to ruin your date with Dani.”
“What did you tell her anyway?” I move us away from the door and position our bodies under the shelter of an awning, as rain pounds the sidewalk. “I saw you hold your arms out about this wide…please don’t tell me—”
“Oh, no,” she exclaims playfully. “Is that why the date went south? You didn’t live up to your reputation.” She wags her eyebrows and points a finger downward.
I give her a smug grin. “I always live up to my reputation.”
She plants her hands on her hips, and I glance at her snug jeans. Jesus, she’s sexy in ways she probably doesn’t even know. “Then why did the date go south?”
“First tell me what you told her.”
“I told her your…” I cock my head and wait for it, but she surprises me and says, “…ego was this big.” I laugh at that. “Then I told her you could back it up.” She pokes me in the chest. “Now you tell me why it didn’t work out.”
“She didn’t love art.”