Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(29)

I was usually home before dark. Lame existence, I knew. What twenty-year-old was in bed by ten? That was probably why I agreed when Connor asked me to dinner and a movie. To save me from total, utter lameness.

It was nice. Nice to be out with someone with similar interests. Even if all we ever talked about was Dr. Chase’s research project and mutual classes we’d both taken and his grad program and what I might do after graduation. So very adult. So very boring. Nothing like Logan, who said outrageous things that made my face burn fire. But who needed that?

I knew going out with Connor on a Friday night was a risk. I had timed most of my comings and goings around when Logan was working so we didn’t have to run into each other. The shift schedule was conveniently posted on a wall in the kitchen, and after I agreed to the date I had checked and seen that Logan was working that night. It had taken sheer willpower not to reschedule with Connor. I refused to be that big of a coward. So what if I saw him again? He wouldn’t try anything. He’d made that much clear. Not unless I expressly invited him, and that so wasn’t going to happen.

Mulvaney’s parking lot was packed. I knew it would be on a Friday night. As Connor pulled up to the curb and peered through the window at the rowdy line snaking out the back door, he looked concerned. “Want me to walk you in?”

“No, it’s fine. I can squeeze through.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine. Once I’m inside it’s a short walk to the kitchen and no one can go in there except staff. The door to my loft is in the back of the kitchen.” At his still dubious expression, I added, “It’s safe. Promise.”

His gaze flickered to mine, the brown eyes softening. “I had a really good time, Georgia.”

“Me, too.” I nodded, hating this part. The awkward good-night. Would he kiss me? Did I want him to? He must have read something in my demeanor because he settled back in his seat without making the dreaded move. “I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for tonight.”

When I opened the car door, all the sounds that had been muffled were suddenly amplified. It was like diving into a pool of voices and activity as I pushed through the back line.

“Hey!” one girl exclaimed. “No cuts. We’re waiting.”

I ignored her and kept moving until I spotted the familiar face of Chris, one of the bouncers checking IDs at the door.

He waved me through, snapping at people to get out of my way and let me pass.

“Thanks,” I said loudly over the din. He nodded and flashed me a smile.

I continued ahead, trying to hurry toward the kitchen, but there were a lot of people crowded around the counter, ready to place their orders, and they were very protective of their space, glaring at me like I was trying to cut ahead of them in line.

I felt out of place in my maxi dress. It was sleeveless, held up only by tiny halter straps that wrapped around my neck.

Good for a date, but not exactly what one wore to a bar, and I felt that keenly in the lingering looks I was getting.

“Excuse me,” I said to a trio of guys who blocked my path to the hatch door in the counter that I needed to reach. They all wore baseball caps and their faces were flushed from beer and heat.

They stopped talking and looked down at me.

“I’m trying to get through,” I explained, pointing beyond them as though that would help make them understand.

The taller guy in the group pointed to his chest. “Through us?”

I nodded. “Yes. Excuse me,” I said again.

“What will you give me?”

I blinked.

He pushed back his cap, revealing sweaty dark hair at the crown of his head. “Yeah. You gotta pay a toll.”

I laughed nervously.

I was about to start my third year of college. I’d been to plenty of bars. Been hit on by drunk guys. However, I was usually in the company of Emerson or Pepper or Suzanne. And usually it was Emerson’s mouth that did the talking—telling guys like this off.

“Come on, guys,” I coaxed. “I’m not cutting in line. I just need to get to the kitchen.”

He looked at his buddies and cocked his head as if considering my request. “Maybe just a kiss?”

His friends laughed.

Anger flashed through me. Who was he to make demands of me? I get that some other girl with a few beers in her might not have minded the attention. She would probably be happy to play his game, but I wasn’t one of them.

He leaned down until our faces were on level. “Come on. Give me some sugar.”

I clenched my jaw, tempted to take a swing at that face with those puckering fish lips. My fingers curled into a fist, ready to take a swing at his ruddy, perspiring features. “Get out of my way.”

Then suddenly he was out of my face. Logan was there, stepping around me. He shoved Fish Lips hard against the shoulder and knocked him off balance. The guy staggered. Clearly the alcohol didn’t help his equilibrium.

Regaining his footing, he came back at Logan with a double-handed shove.

Logan stood his ground, hardly budging from the force. He stared Fish Lips down, indifferent to the two guys on either side of him who suddenly looked ready for a fight. I licked my lips and glanced around to see if help was coming from any of the other bouncers. Three to one weren’t the best odds.

And then Fish Lips’s gaze flicked to the Mulvaney’s logo on Logan’s shirt, clearly recognizing him as staff. Some of the tension ebbed from him as he demanded, “What the f*ck, man?”