Rome's Chance (Reapers MC #6.6)(15)

Astoundingly, the band was back up on the stage, and while they hadn’t started playing yet, they clearly weren’t packing up their instruments, either.

Crazypants.

I couldn’t see Rome anywhere, so I headed for the bathroom to assess the damage. I’d made it about halfway when Peaches looked up and saw me. Her eyes went wide. Then she dropped her broom and charged over to me.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded, catching my shoulders hard enough to hurt. I flinched, and she loosened her grip, but she didn’t let me go.

“Flying cowboy,” I said, feeling suddenly tired. “Oh, and a beer bottle attacked me from the ground.”

Peaches raised a brow, then let go of one shoulder to raise a finger in front of my face.

“Follow this with your eyes,” she said, waving it back and forth.

“Why?” I asked, obediently following the finger.

“Checking for head injuries,” she said. “Either you hallucinated a flying cowboy or you actually got hit by one. Neither scenario is comforting.”

I frowned. “No, I think my head is fine. Whacked the hell out of my face, but I’ve had a concussion before, and this doesn’t feel like that.”

Peaches nodded, apparently satisfied. “Let’s get some ice for that eye. C’mon.”

I followed her to the bar like an obedient puppy, because ice sounded really nice. The initial, throbbing pain had died down a little, but the swelling was getting worse, bringing a whole new kind of discomfort.

Making up an ice pack didn’t take Peaches long. I settled in with it on a bar stool, watching the cops haul out the guys who’d climbed over the fence. Suddenly I remembered the young couple outside.

“Hey,” I said to Peaches. “You have some underage kids hiding on the patio. They’re scared shitless that the cops will catch them.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Like we need more crap going wrong tonight. I keep telling Gus that we have to get serious about fake IDs, but he’s owned the place for thirty years and doesn’t think it’s a big deal. We’re gonna lose our fucking liquor license if we aren’t careful.”

“So what should they do?” I asked. “I told them to wait out there. Said I’d let them know when it was safe.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Peaches said, sighing. “For the record, it really sucks that the tips are so good here. I’d love to find a different job, but I don’t think I could take the pay hit.”

Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and I felt a warm, solid body press against mine. Rome was back. I wanted to lean into his strength more than anything. My brain might’ve decided he was a mistake, but my body wasn’t quite there yet.

“What happened to—” he started to ask, but the words cut off abruptly as I twisted my face to look up at him. His eyes went hard. Then he very gently caught my chin in his hand, studying my eye. “Who did this?”

I couldn’t help but flick a glance toward the cowboys on the floor.

“I’ll fucking kill them,” he snarled, starting toward them.

“No!”

I lunged for his shirt, catching the white fabric just in time for him to pull me off the stool. My head crashed into his thigh, sending new waves of pain radiating through my bruised face.

“Shit.” Rome lunged for me, catching me before I hit the ground. Settling me back on my feet, he wrapped his arms around my shaking body, holding me steady. Despite all my pain, the exhaustion, and the remnants of my Coors Light buzz, his arms still felt wonderful. I wanted to stay like this all night. Make him cuddle me and my ice pack while I had a good cry.

What the hell is wrong with you? Snap out of it!

I knew I should pull away, but up close his pheromones were like some potent drug I couldn’t resist. Then the crackle of the police radio broke through my thoughts, and I remembered why cuddling was such a bad idea.

“I want to go home,” I said into his chest, and in my mind the words sounded very firm and final. In reality they were more of a soft whimper.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Rome said, rubbing his hand up and down my back. “We were just supposed to have a good time. I thought you were safe behind the bar. You seemed fine when you handed me the first aid kit.”

“I was fine,” I told him. “But then I started feeling sort of overwhelmed, so I went outside for some air. That’s when cowboys started flying over the fence. One landed on me and smushed my face into a beer bottle.”

The hand rubbing my back paused, and then he was catching me by the shoulder, studying me the same way Peaches had.

“How hard did you hit your head?” he asked, frowning.

“Not hard,” I replied, and tried to roll my eyes. That didn’t go so well. I took a second to recover from the fresh wave of pain, wondering how long black eyes lasted. My right eyelid was completely shut now. At least it’d happened after my job interview. “They decided they weren’t done fighting, so they climbed the fence to get back in. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t have left me. Next time—”

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” I said, cutting him off. Rome frowned.

“Randi, it sucks that this happened, but you and me—”