“Harlow!” I call out. “Come on. We have a table in the back.”
But Harlow isn’t listening to me. She’s wagging her finger at the guy’s chest as she shouts, “Now, get out. You aren’t wanted here. Fuckheads like you don’t get to call the shots anymore. You don’t get to make us run away. Now, you run. And you run fast.”
“Or what?” Shorter Guy yells back, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of the table of men watching the game, several of whom shoot concerned glances over their shoulders. “You can’t make me do shit. I’m not scared of bitches like you. I’m a real man, not some fucking pussy who’s going to let a bitch half his size tell him what to do.”
“Yeah,” Buzz Cut pipes up.
“Shut up, we’re trying to watch the game,” one of the baseball guys shouts, to which Buzz replies, “Shut your fucking ass, asshole!” which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but signals that brawl I’ve been trying to avoid isn’t off the table just yet.
“Harlow, come on!” Evie calls out, but Harlow is already launching into another demand for the men to leave and the bouncer is still nowhere in sight.
Evie starts back toward her, but I squeeze her hand tight and lean down to whisper in her ear, “Take Jess to the back and find Cameron. There’s another exit by the bathrooms. I’ll get Harlow and meet you there.”
“No,” Evie says, “you’ll get hurt. They won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that, and I can take a punch from one of those guys a lot easier than you can,” I say, squeezing her hand tighter. “Now, go, Evie. Or I’m going to carry you out first and then come get Harlow, and by then she could be in real trouble.”
She glances swiftly over her shoulder and then back at me, clearly torn. But the sound of Shorter beginning to shout over Harlow again seems to convince her I’m right.
She nods. “Okay, but if they jump you, I’m coming in hard with a beer bottle or a dart or something. I’ve got your back.”
“Me, too,” Jess says. “Even though this is all bizarre. Isn’t it, Evie? Who knew mating rituals were so…illogical?”
“What’s happening?” Cameron asks, appearing beside me. “Is that Harlow?”
“Yeah, and we need to—”
I’m cut off by a deep voice booming, “Back off. Now.” A moment later, Harlow shouts, “No! No fucking way. Don’t you dare, Derrick, I—”
Her words end in a squeal as she’s flipped over a shoulder and toted out the front door by someone I can only assume is Evie’s brother.
Evie’s. Brother.
Evie and I lock eyes, hers widen, and a beat later we’re beating a fast retreat toward the back door, Cameron and Jess hot on our heels.
Chapter 15
Evie
Nearly an hour later, I finally get a response to the fifteen texts I’ve sent Harlow—Sorry, yes! I’m fine.
Derrick carried me back to the apartment like a Neanderthal and asked where you were a million times. I told him “I don’t know,” a million and one before he left.
Argh! I hate him so much.
But I love you. You guys have a good time wherever you end up. I’m going to hit the hay.
Tonight clearly isn’t my night.
After texting that I’m relieved she’s safe, I sag against the back of the diner booth and announce to the table, “She’s fine. She’s home, Derrick’s gone, and they didn’t kill each other. So…all’s well that ends well?”
“That did not end well,” Jess says, taking a solemn pull on her milkshake’s straw. She swallows and curls her lip. “That was dumb.”
“Yeah,” Cameron agrees. “The woman I was playing darts with was married. She didn’t bother telling me that, however, until her husband came in and glared at me like he wanted to peel my skin off with a paring knife.”
“Maybe we need to hit a better bar next time?” I suggest, casting a glance Ian’s way. But he’s still studying his plate of fries like it’s an oracle about to reveal the fate of the universe.
He’s barely said five words since we raced out of Spliffy’s and has been avoiding direct eye contact since…
Well, since I said what I said.
“No, we need a controlled experiment,” Jess says. “Somewhere to test our skills where we know there will be lots of single people and zero toxic masculine types.”
“Good luck with that,” Cam says with a sigh. “Even at the restaurant, we get guys like that every once in a while, and we don’t have a single entrée that costs less than fifty bucks per plate.” He stretches his arms over his head with a yawn. “And on that note, I’m going to head home, too, guys. I have the lunch shift tomorrow and two of my best guys are going to be out. I want to get there early and do some appetizer prep.”
Jess slurps the last of her milkshake. “I’ll come with you. But I’m not giving up on this. There has to be a good beginner-flirtation practice venue somewhere in this city. Right, Ian?”
Ian looks up, blinking as if he’s been deep in thought. “Um, yeah. Totally. We’ll find a place.”
“Good.” Jess lifts her arm, wagging the small purse dangling from her wrist back and forth. “And are you sure you don’t want us to leave some money?”
He waves a hand. “Nah, it’s my treat. Consider it your consolation prize.”
Jess and Cam both thank Ian again for the food and slide out of the booth. “You coming, Evie?” Cam asks.
“Soon. I’m going to chat with Ian for a little bit,” I say, my stomach palpitating around the handful of fries I managed to force down while waiting for Harlow to confirm that she and Derrick were both alive. “I’ll catch you later.”
Jess waves and Cam starts toward the door, holding it open for Jess like the gentleman he is before they both start down the street.
When they’re gone, I turn back to Ian, not surprised to find him watching me with a more focused expression than I’ve seen since we arrived at the diner. But then, this is the first moment we’ve been alone since I asked him to take my virginity.
He pulls in a breath, but I jump in before he can speak, “Two weeks,” I say, holding up a hand. “Just until the preseason starts. Then we go back to being friends, you can concentrate on the game, and we both pretend nothing happened.” I flip my palm to face the ceiling. “How easy is that?”
He frowns. “Two weeks. You mean—”
“Two weeks of sex,” I say, ignoring the way my cheeks burn in response. I had this indecent proposal mapped out in my head hours ago.
But thinking something and actually saying it aloud to a man who’s watching you like you’re in the process of growing another head right in front of him are two very different things.
“And practice pretending to be part of a fun, functional couple,” I hurry on, figuring there’s no turning back now. “I realized something during your lesson tonight, Ian. Something important.”
“What’s that?” he asks, looking vaguely nauseated.