Lick (Stage Dive, #1)(41)

The bar was a traditional wooden wonderland with a big jukebox and three pool tables. Staff called out “hello”s to Pam as we walked in. No one even blinked at me, which was a relief. The place was packed. It felt good to be back out among people, just part of the crowd. Pam had phoned ahead but the order wasn’t ready yet. Apparently the kitchen was every bit as busy as the bar. We grabbed a couple of drinks and settled in to wait. It was a nice place, very relaxed. There was lots of laughter and country music blared from the jukebox. My fingers tapped along in time.

“Let’s dance,” said Pam, grabbing my hand and tugging me out of my chair. She bopped and swayed as I followed her onto the crowded dance floor.

It felt good to let loose. Sugarland turned into Miranda Lambert and I raised my arms, moving to the music. A guy came up behind me and grabbed my hips but he backed up a step when I shook my head with a smile. He grinned back at me and kept dancing, not moving away. A man spun Pam and she whooped, letting him draw her into a loose hold. They seemed to know each other.

When the guy beside me moved a little closer I didn’t object. He kept his hands to himself and it was all friendly enough. I didn’t know the next song but it had a good beat and we kept right on moving. My skin grew damp with sweat, my hair clinging to my face. Then Dierks Bentley came on. I’d had a terrible crush on him since age twelve, but it was all about his pretty blond hair and nothing to do with his music. My love for him was a shameful thing.

Dude One moved away and another took his place, slipping an arm around my waist and trying to pull me in against him. I planted my hands on his chest and pushed back, giving him the same smile and headshake that had worked on the last. He might have been only about my height, despite the huge hat, but he was built solid. He had a big barrel of a chest and he stank of cigarette smoke.

“No,” I said, still trying to push him off me. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’,” he yelled in my ear, knocking me in the forehead with the brim of his hat. “Dance with me.”

“Let go.”

He grinned and his hands slapped down hard on both my butt cheeks. The jerkoff started grinding himself against me.

“Hey!” I pushed against him, getting nowhere. “Get off me.”

“Darlin’.” The letch leaned in to kiss me, smacking me in the nose with the brim of his hat again. It hurt. Also, I hated him. If I could just wiggle my leg between his and knee the asswipe in the groin, I’d be able to even the playing field. Or leave him writhing on the floor crying for his mommy. An outcome I was fine with.

I shoved my foot between the two of his, getting closer to my objective. Closer …

“Let her go.” David miraculously appeared out of the crowd beside us, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Oh, shit. He looked ready to kill.

“Wait your turn,” the cowboy yelled back, pushing his pelvis into me. God, it was disgusting. Puking could happen. It would be no less than he deserved.

David snarled. Then he grabbed the man’s hat and sent it flying off into the crowd. The man’s eyes went round as plates and his hands dropped away from me.

I skipped back a step, free at last. “David—”

He looked to me and in that moment, the cowboy swung. His fist clipped David’s jaw. David’s head snapped back and he stumbled. The cowboy dove at him. They landed hard, sprawled across the dance floor. Fists flew. Feet kicked. I could barely see who did what. People formed a circle around them, watching. No one doing anything to stop it. Blood spurted, spraying the floor. The pair rolled and pushed and David came out on top. Then just as fast he fell aside. My pulse pounded behind my ears. The violence was startling. Nathan used to get into fights regularly after school. I’d hated it. The blood and the dirt, the mindless rage.

But I couldn’t just stand by, caught in a cold stupor. I wouldn’t.

A strong hand grabbed my arm, halting my forward momentum.

“No,” said Mal.

Then he and another couple of guys stepped in. Relief poured through me. Mal and Tyler wrestled David off the cowboy. Another pair restrained the bloody-faced fool who bellowed on and on about his hat. Goddamn idiot.

They hustled David out of the bar, dragging him backward. Through the front doors and down the steps they went while his feet kicked out, trying to get back into it. And he kept right on fighting until they threw him up against Mal’s big black Jeep.

“Knock it off!” Mal yelled in his face. “It’s over.”

David slumped against the vehicle. Blood seeped from one nostril. His dark hair hung in his face. Even in the shadows he looked swollen, misshapen. Not half as bad as the other guy, but still.

“Are you okay?” I stepped closer to check the extent of his wounds.

“I’m fine,” he said, shoulders still heaving as he stared at the ground. “Let’s go.”

Moving in slow motion, he turned and opened the passenger side door, climbing in. With a mumbled goodbye Pam and Tyler headed for their own car. A couple of people stood on the steps leading into the bar, watching. One guy held a baseball bat as if he expected further trouble.

“Ev. Get in the car.” Mal opened the door to the back seat and ushered me in. “Come on. Cops could be coming. Or worse.”

Worse was the press. I knew that now. They’d be all over this in no time.

I got in the car.