Warrior (First to Fight #1)(29)

“She looks like she’s going to be late,” I tell him instead.

“I’m not changing, Jack. You can kiss my ass,” Oliva spits out, eyes flashing and her hip cocked. With her red hair in thick curls that whip around her heart shaped face, she looks like a goddess about to wreak havoc on the world…or maybe just me.

“You’re being a jerk,” Sofie says, slinking to Jack and wrapping her hands around his waist. His attention immediately reverts to her own “assets.” Forgotten, Olivia rolls her eyes and walks over to me. The smirk on my face freezes as I catch the scent of her perfume.

“Do you mind if I ride with you? They’ll be all over each other and I love Sofie, but I don’t need to know her that well.”

I laugh. “Sure, hop in.”

Sofie finally manages to get Jack distracted and in the truck. Thank God. The state carnival wasn’t much to write home about; just a bunch of rides that had seen better days and junk food guaranteed to shave a couple years off of your life. This year, though, they’d managed to snag a band I’d been dying to see.

That is, if we didn’t miss them.

“I can’t wait until we get there. I’ve been craving a funnel cake,” Olivia says, leaning a shoulder against the window. Her curves are illuminated in the light of oncoming traffic. I manage to keep my eyes on the road…barely.

“That shit is horrible for you, you know.”

She lifts a creamy bare shoulder. “I don’t even care. I’m headed straight there.”

“After the concert,” I say pointedly.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

The ride to the fairgrounds is short, but the line to find a parking spot snakes through the Florida back roads until there’s nothing in front of us but hundreds of twin red lights.

“Where are you headed to next?” Livvie asks.

“Hawaii.”

Her mouth gapes open. “You lucky bastard!”

“I know. I’ll think of you while I’m there.”

She slaps my arm. “Just for that, I hope this line takes a looooooong time.”

“You’re an evil, hateful woman, Spitfire.”

“Nope, just a hungry one.”

I look at her and watch the play of carnival lights over her face. When I first met her, she’d been this knobby kneed ginger with an attitude. She sure as hell wasn’t knobby kneed anymore and her hair was now a deep red, but I could tell she hadn’t lost that attitude.

We sit in a silence for a while, listening to the soft music on the radio and the horns from passing cars. Her fingers tap out a beat on her exposed thigh and my eyes go right to them. My fingers twitch where they rest on the steering wheel as I wonder what the skin there feels like.

Livvie clears her throat and I meet her eyes. Busted.

I open my mouth to—what, I don’t know—when someone starts banging on my window. Thank God. I turn and find Jack glaring at me, which effectively kills the growing hard-on I’ve got going on in my pants.

He motions with a hand and I roll down the window. “Line’s not moving. Those dudes told us to pull over here and park.”

Probably a good thing. Being in an enclosed space next to Livvie is proving to be more of a clusterf*ck than I thought it would be.

We join the mass of people making their way toward the fairgrounds. I hear the squeal of an amplifier in the distance and stretch to see over the heads of those in front of me. A sharp elbow connects with my ribs and causes me to grunt.

“Chill out,” Livvie says. “You’re gonna make it.”

“You’d be the same way if you’d been locked up with a bunch of other dudes for the past year, too.”

The concert arena is jam packed by the time we make it there, full of rednecks and rodeo queens from the surrounding counties. Peanut shells litter the ground and beer flows freely from surrounding taps and concession stands. Jack automatically hovers over the girls. I stay close, though I keep a healthy distance between me and Livvie. There’s no way I want a repeat of the awkward moment in the truck.

A sense of peace washes over me as the first opening band starts up. I manage to coerce a vendor out of a glass of beer. They saw my military haircut and nodded without a word. Buzzed, relaxed and having a damn good time, I weave through the crowd back to Jack and the girls.

I find Olivia, face flushed and damp with sweat. Without asking, she takes the beer from my hand and takes a deep swallow. Dumbfounded, I watch her throat bob. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and says, “Thanks. It’s hot as hell out here.”

Jack is luckily focused on keeping Sofie out of the hands of the surrounding guys, so he doesn’t see her hand the beer back to me. “You tryin’ to get me killed?”

“Oh relax, Ben. One sip won’t kill me. Besides, the band’s about to start. I didn’t want to lose my place trying to get a drink.”

“Yeah, but—”

A shrill scream breaks through the night and is followed by a roar. The crowd surges forward, carrying us with it. I wrap Olivia in my arms to protect her from the sharp elbows and burly guys who’ve had way too much to drink. My arms and back get pummeled, but the crowd flows around us. We lose Jack and Sofie somewhere in the melee. By the time the riot is calmed by the patrolling cops, the headliner is halfway through the first set.