Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)(9)

“How come we’ve never heard of you?”

“I’m an up-and-comer,” she replied with a sunny smile. “But you’ll know me eventually. Kat Kelly.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Stanley muttered.

“What are you doing in Santa Fe?” Davis asked.

“Taking in the sights,” Kat simply said, shrugging as if that explained why she was sitting on top of the bar at the Sin’s Inn in Santa Fe. “Out having some fun while I can.”

“You’ve had your fun,” Michael started, but the music cut out and everyone became quiet.

“Okay, ladies and gents, another hour has passed. You know what that means!”

Michael whirled around, trying to find the source of the voice. But as it was coming over the PA system, it could have been from anywhere. And by the way people jumped up and down, waving their hands and cheering loudly, he knew whatever was coming wasn’t something he wanted to stay for.

“Kat,” he tried, but his voice didn’t carry far. “Let’s go!”

But she was looking at Sissy, the bartender, and grinning like a fool.

That grin was going to lose him an IOU.



Kat set her beer down and did a half backbend toward Sissy. “What’s this hour’s deal?”

“It’s ten, so…” Sissy glanced at a sheet behind the bar. “Looks like it’s going to be a lip-sync battle.”

“Fun!” Kat rubbed her hands together. She was completely tone deaf—but lip syncing? She could totally get behind that. “Where at?”

Sissy just grinned and shook her head, then made a shoo gesture with her hands. “You’re gonna want to get down off the bar, fair warning.”

“Okay, but—whoa!” Another bartender—neither Sissy nor Diane—jumped up on the bar holding a microphone. She wore tiny short-shorts, a tank top that had the bar’s emblem screen printed on the back, and had her clearly bottle-enhanced, fire-engine red hair curled and pinned up into a makeshift fauxhawk. Fierce.

Before she got stomped on, Kat started to slide down onto the barstool she’d propped her feet on. When the stool began to tip, her mind went into overdrive.

Keep hands away from the beer, look for a good place to land, don’t brace your hands for impact, try to land on your side, use your ass if you can.

But her split-second calculations proved pointless as Manny Michael’s hands reached out to grab her waist and steady her descent onto the stool, which he made sturdier with one foot on the rung. Intense hazel eyes stared down at her with a clear message.

You’re a pain in my ass.

Back at ya, she thought as she twisted out of his grasp.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered in her ear from behind. She just reached for her beer with one arm and punched back hard with the elbow of her other, connecting with his stomach. The satisfying sound of air leaving his mouth was enough for her.

“Okay, crazy ladies and gents,” the redhead began, talking into the microphone. “It’s a one-on-one battle tonight with the winner taking the prize of a month of free drinks here at Sin’s Inn. Blind draw on the song, so don’t think you can bring up any old rehearsed moves. None of that garbage in my bar.”

Her bar? Was she the owner? She looked so young, early thirties at the max was Kat’s guess.

“So who’s the first victim… I mean, volunteer?” she asked with a siren’s smile and a swivel of hips. Hands thrust in the air all over. Kat jostled to the left, then right, as people rushed toward the bar with their hands extended. She felt someone press their chest close to her back, muscular arms guarding her on either side as their hands grabbed the bar’s edge around her, essentially caging her in.

She started to panic, then realized it was Michael, and felt her entire body relax a little.

“This,” Michael said sourly behind her, nearly shouting to be heard, “is why I said we needed to go.”

“Lighten up, Manny.” She set her beer back down so it wouldn’t fall out of her hands as she was nudged a little by his forearm. A forearm that looked pretty appetizing if that were possible. Could forearms be sexy? She took in the tanned skin, dusted with dark hair and, as his hand flexed on the bar, currently corded with tendons.

Yeah. Okay, she was convinced. Forearms could be sexy. Too bad this one was attached to a wet blanket babysitter.

“Our first contestant is… oh, my. Choices.” The woman on the bar cocked a hip to the left and tapped her lips with one finger in mock thought. “Let’s go with… you, stud. There we go. Yes, you. Blue button-down, blond curls, yeah you, cutie.” She made the come here finger crook, and the seas parted as a guy who looked like he’d just come from a business meeting and had loosened his tie as he’d walked in the door crawled up onto the bar. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Mark,” he said into the microphone, pumping his fist a little for his buddies who crowed and cheered.

“Let’s get out of here before it gets worse,” Michael said, his breath fanning her ear. She shivered at the feel. “It only gets wilder from here.”

“You go,” she shouted over her shoulder as the woman handed the blond the microphone and stepped off the bar via a set of stairs another bartender pushed up. Clever. “I’m staying.”