That One Night: A Pucking Around Prequel Novella (2)

Chad dares to look all wide-eyed at me as he stands. “Whoa—hey, easy. What’s with the attitude? We’re just having a nice chat.”

My nostrils flare. “Nice chat?” I say, utterly incredulous.

He huffs a laugh. “Listen—”

“Amy!” a deep voice calls. “Amy, what the hell?”

Chad glances over my shoulder, eyes narrowed towards the voice.

“I’ve been waiting for you for like twenty minutes. I thought we were meeting downstairs.”

I spin on my stool to see a man striding towards the bar.

Holy shit, do they put something in the water here?

This guy is gorgeous too. His chocolate brown hair sweeps down over his brow as he hooks me with those hazel eyes. He’s got the perfect amount of stubble covering that chiseled jaw. Not to mention the way his chest and arms fill out his too-tight t-shirt.

He’s a pro athlete, I’d bet money on it. I’ve spent too long in the industry not to know a player when I see one. I’m guessing football. Defense. It’s not just the body, it’s the confidence, the look of luxury, the sucks-all-the-air-out-of-the-room effortless swagger.

Oh, and he’s swaggering now, right up to Chad. He’s got easily five inches on him and fifty pounds of muscle. “Is this guy bothering you, Amy? Are you bothering my sister, asshole?”

I suck in a breath. Sister? Am I that drunk? This isn’t Harrison, I—ohhh, we’re acting. He’s offering me an out. I slip into character. “It’s fine. He was just—”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Chad confidently squares off against his new competition.

New guy folds his arms across his broad chest. “Well, from over there it looked like you were touching my sister, and she didn’t seem to like it. You want a broken hand?”

“No—”

“Cause no one touches my sister unless she asks for it first,” he growls.

I reflexively reach out, putting a hand on his arm. “I can take care of myself,” I warn. “And he was just leaving.” I stare daggers at Chad. “Weren’t you?”

Chad flashes me another smile. “Yeah…yeah, I gotta get going. But hey, let me give you my number—”

“Nah, she’s good.” My new friend glances at me. It’s quick, but the look is there, the genuine concern, the unspoken question. Are you okay?

I give him a curt nod.

“Hey man, I can give her my number,” huffs Chad. He’s letting his fear of embarrassment outweigh his survival instincts. I’m not surprised, seeing as his jerky friends are sitting across the bar laughing at us. “I’m in town for the rest of the week, and there’s the regatta I was telling you about—”

“Look, I don’t mean to be a major cock block, but I didn’t fly across the country to watch my sister flirt with some Cabela’s model.” He drops his gaze to me, his entire mood shifting from surly to puppy dog. “Come on, Amy,” he whines, his voice softer now. “Please don’t do this. Not again. No more random bar hookups while we’re on vacation. You promised we’d go see the Space Needle. And I want to watch them throw fish at the wharf.”

I’m fighting my laughter now. This guy is too much. “Okay, yeah,” I reply. “We can do the Space Needle. And how about I get you a dragon fruit tea from the original Starbucks?”

“Awesome.” He wedges himself between me and Chad, forcing him to take another step back.

“Well, I’ll just…go,” Chad mutters.

But my new seat mate is totally ignoring him. He’s scanning the menu QR code with his phone. “Hey, did you see they have mozzarella sticks?” he says, his tone falsely bright and cheery. “I’m ordering some. You wanna share? Oh, shit—you’re allergic to dairy. Well, I’m still ordering them.”

I’m smiling now. I can’t help it. This guy has effectively neutralized my Chad problem without me having to be a bitch and make a scene. And now the bartender is taking his order—craft beer, mozzarella sticks, and a basket of fries with blue cheese dressing instead of ketchup.

Chad snatches his Macallan neat off the bar and returns to his table. They welcome him with hoots and jeers.

“Assholes,” new guy mutters, accepting the beer the bartender slides his way.

I settle back on my stool, unable to deny the sudden shift in energy. Why do I feel nervous? This guy’s presence is undeniable. It’s like he’s a magnet, and I’m being pulled closer against my will.

Great, now I’m the creep.

I sigh, draining the last of my Old Fashioned, and flag the bartender down. I order a hot tea instead. No more booze for Rachel.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” he says. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be a dick, you just looked like you needed the save.”

“It’s fine,” I reply, accepting my hot tea. I squeeze a wedge of lemon into the cup adding, “It was entertaining.”

He smirks at me, those hazel eyes flashing with amusement, but they quickly fade back to sad. I want to know what this beautiful man has to be sad about. A moment ago, he was like a puppy wagging his tail, now he’s a puppy sitting alone in a puddle.

“And don’t worry,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder towards the rowdy brunch table. “I’ll sit here just to keep up appearances, but I promise I won’t bug you. I know you wanna be left alone.”