Where One Goes(21)

George stands in the doorway, one eyebrow quirked. “Maybe I should put you two on the floor to entertain the guests. Dinner and a show,” he says, dryly.

“I was thoroughly entertained,” Ike chirps.

“You’re just jealous of my moves,” Sniper jests as he twirls River around in his arms.

“Put her down, Sniper!” Anna feigns disapproval. She knows Sniper is harmless, but giving him a hard time is her way of flirting with him. I think she likes him by the way she always slaps his arm playfully in the kitchen and always gives him shy smiles. “Who knows where your hands have been.”

Sniper places River on her feet and strides up to Anna. “No worries, love. I only like matured women,” he adds as he waggles his brows and takes her in his arms and spins her around.

“Are you saying I’m old?” she scoffs.

“I’m saying I like MILFs, love. And you . . . are a MILF.”

Anna turns bright red. “What’s a MILF?” River asks innocently, her brows scrunched. We all laugh.

“A mom I’d like to be friends with, love,” Sniper answers. “Very good friends, that is.” He winks at Anna who turns an even darker shade of red.

Anna cuts him a look that says many things at once; You’re being naughty, but I like it, but you should stop. “You do realize this is the only place you could ever work where the females would tolerate your behavior, don’t you?” She purses her lips.

“I have been bad,” Sniper answers and grins. “I need to be spanked. Think you could help me out?”


“All right,” George interjects loudly. “Time for you to return to the kitchen where I can hide you from the world.”

Sniper pouts his bottom lip. “It was fun dancing with you, little lady.” He bows like a gentleman to River and she blushes, much like her mother.

“You, too,” River giggles.

Sniper makes his way into the kitchen and Anna takes River’s hand. “Time to go, bird.”

“I want to dance to Elvis some more!”

“Not today.”

“Next time,” I promise. “I’ll play you another Elvis song. Okay?”

“Okay,” River huffs.

“See you tomorrow, guys,” Anna calls as River drags her out the door.

George holds his hand out to me. “What?” I ask; confused. Is he asking me to dance? My heart beats rapidly at the thought. Should I say yes? No, probably not. But I kind of want to say yes. Why do I want to say yes?

“My sunglasses.” He clears his throat.

Oh.

Now I feel stupid. A heat comparable to volcanic lava blankets my face. Why would he want to dance with you, Charlotte? He hates you. Slipping the glasses off, I hand them to him, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Sorry. I needed them for proper effect.”

“I need some help stocking liquor.” He turns and walks back into the kitchen.

“Okaayyy . . .” I say, cutting a glance to Ike.

“He’s got a stick stuck up his ass.” Ike laughs. “Always Mr. Business.”

I head to the back exit where George has the door held open with a trash can. A small, black truck is backed up to the door and he’s pulling boxes to the tailgate. Stepping down, I grab the first box I reach. It’s opened, with eight bottles of various liquors divided by cardboard set inside.

“These boxes are heavy,” George notes.

“I think I can handle it,” I say, snidely. What does he think? That I’m a wuss? He takes his box and heads in and I follow behind. The box is actually pretty heavy, but I’ll never admit it. When I enter the doorway to the kitchen, I forget about the last step I took when I exited, and trip. A more graceful person might have caught themselves on their knees, but this is me we’re talking about. As I tumble down, I pull the box against me and twist, attempting to land on my back and save the bottles, but mid-twist I realize my effort has been in vain. I flail my arms, trying to catch my footing . . . which I don’t. In the end, I’m on the floor, soaked in liquor, lying on broken glass.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Ike asks as he kneels down beside me. His brown eyes look panicked. I can tell it’s killing him not to be able to help me.

“What the f*ck?” Sniper had run from behind the line when he heard the bottles crash to the ground. “Jesus, love. Are you okay?”

Am I? I take a quick inventory. My hands seem fine. Sniper offers me a hand and pulls me up. I brush the broken shards of glass from my legs and turn my back to Sniper.

“Did I get it all?”

“What the hell happened?” George gripes as he approaches. “This is like four hundred dollars’ worth of liquor.” I cringe. Of course it was. Damn my clumsiness and lack of coordination.

“I tripped. I’m so sorry,” I apologize sincerely.

“What a dick. He talks about money before asking if you’re all right.” Ike shakes his head in disappointment.

“Uh, love.” Sniper taps my shoulder. “You’ve got a nasty cut on your arse here.”

“What?” I ask, twisting my neck, trying to see my ass. Blood trickles down my leg and at the sight of it, I feel the cut. Rubbing across my butt cheek, I find the spot where the fabric of my shorts are ripped and feel the warm fluid. “Shit!” I grumble.