Since it looked like I was leaving heartbreak city in my rearview, it was time to ovary up and get out there. Since shit had recently gone down with Gwen and Cade I decided that motorcycle men were not the way to go for us. This brought me to the conclusion we needed to gussy up and check out the nightlife this town had to offer. But first I had to get Gwen out of that awful football shirt.
Sipping delightful cocktails, talking to some attractive men in well-tailored suits…I mentally slapped myself on the back. I had divested Gwen of her shirt, replaced it with Gucci and taken us to Laura Maye’s chic bar.
I was impressed with the tasteful furnishings and sleek décor, not to mention the view. Within minutes of getting there we had scored free drinks from our current companions. Now a couple of hours later I was completely happy. And also reasonably drunk. I didn’t think the two were connected. I was sitting very close to an advertising executive whom I had forgotten the name of. Not that his name was important. He had been telling some boring story which I was half listening to, I was trying to figure out what kind of body hid under that shirt. He looked lean, like one of those guys that did marathons regularly and had wheatgrass growing in their apartments.
“Do you run?” I interrupted, needing to sate my curiosity.
He stopped talking and looked confused. “Excuse me?”
“Are you a runner?” I repeated. “Like marathons and stuff. You look like a runner.”
He stared at me for a second and then smiled confidently. “Why yes, I am. I just completed a 20k last weekend,” he declared with a slightly puffed up chest.
“I knew it,” I whispered, almost to myself. I was about to ask how his wheatgrass was growing when an angry male voice penetrated the conversation. I was glad. Who ran 20k voluntarily? This guy was nuts.
“You won’t be buying her any more drinks.”
I blinked up to see Cade glowering down at the guy Gwen had been talking to. I started to smirk until I spotted Brock directing the same look at Marathon Guy.
I got what Cade was doing here. I was even happy about it; I had hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let Gwen get away. Plus, she had been pining around the house for him for days. She needed Cade. They had a freaky deaky connection. Anyone could see that. But I didn’t get why Brock was here. I had met him once, shared some sexual chemistry with him, then argued with him. He certainly didn’t need to back up Cade, he could wipe the floor with these guys. Not that he needed to, since he was currently directing Gwen toward the restrooms. Kinky bastard.
“Sparky.” Brock spoke to me and I glanced up at him.
I still didn’t know why he called me that. I hadn’t gotten around to asking. Last time we spoke I was concentrating on not scratching his eyes out or jumping on his lap. I couldn’t remember which.
“Brock,” I returned politely, sipping my drink.
“A word,” he commanded evenly.
I looked back up at him, hopefully with a disinterested expression. If he tried to drag me off I was totally dragging Marathon Guy along for the ride.
“Sorry, I’m sharing drinks with my new friends and it would be awfully rude of me to just leave,” I countered, glancing around at the table. The men looked slightly uncomfortable. Who wouldn’t be with Cade and Brock directing badass death stares in their direction?
“Fine,” he declared tightly, “I’ll join you.”
To my horror he sat down in the seat Gwen had just vacated, next to Trent or Troy or whatever his name was.
He flagged down our waitress. “I’ll have a Bud, darlin’. Thanks.”
Brock leaned back in the booth, casually slinging his arm along the seat. He grinned at me. I scolded myself for being momentarily stunned by how hot he was. Hotter than I remembered, if possible. His hair was in a bun again and with his cut, tattoos, and bulging muscles he put these suits to shame.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at him quietly, even though the men at the table were practically silent, watching us awkwardly.
Brock’s grin widened. “I’m sharing a drink with my new friends here.” He gestured to the table. “By the look of those suits I’m guessing you boys aren’t from around here.”
Marathon Man cleared his throat. “No, we’re just passing through on business,” he said, eyes warily inspecting Brock and his cut.
“On business? So what is it you do? Lawyers?” he guessed, eyeing their suits. He didn’t give them a chance to answer. “If you are lawyers I might be interested in hiring you. Providing you’re defense attorneys. You see—” He retrieved a long knife from his jeans and the suit clad runner’s eyes widened. Thankfully he didn’t start disemboweling anyone; he just started using it to clean his nails. Which was gross, but I knew for a fact his hands were clean as I had inspected them upon his arrival.
“I’ve found myself in some hot water in regards to the law. I’m sure I’ll be found innocent. Especially once they see the reason I broke that smarmy bastard’s jaw. And ribs,” he added with a smile and his possessive gaze moved to me. “After all, you gentlemen have had the pleasure of my lady’s company—you can see just how special she is. And why a man such as myself would be inclined to teach any man a lesson if he thought he could try and touch what’s mine.” He raised an eyebrow at the runner who seemed to have scooted as far as humanly possible away from me.
“Brock,” I hissed again, glaring at him.
He ignored me. “So any of you men willing to give me some representation?” he asked mildly.
“Actually,” the runner from beside me stuttered, glancing at his Rolex, “we’ve just realized we’ve got to get on the road.”
Brock nodded. “I think that might be a good idea.” He stood up to let the guy beside him out of the booth. “You have a nice night now.” He tipped an imaginary hat as the men scrambled out and walked away without a backward glance.