6

AS IT TURNS OUT, PHIL FINDS DESERTION TO BE THE WORST OFFE commit. I guess he was in ROTC in high school or something. And even though he decided to defend our country by providing a high-quality night out instead of joining the military, he still stands strong behind these convictions.

I just hope he gets over this quickly because I’ve been here for three hours and I’ve made half of what I normally make in one. And without the perk of good tips, I’m about 1.26 seconds away from throwing my stilettos at him and quitting.

I’m also stuck with the most obnoxious bachelor party in the history of bachelor parties. Who has a flipping bachelor party on a Tuesday?

Bachelor parties on any given day mean drunk, dumb assholes. Tonight you can add loud and too handsy—which I do not handle well—to the list. But considering I almost lost my job yesterday, it’s in my best interest not to cause a scene tonight, something Jacob, who I have not-so-lovingly dubbed Best Man Douchebag, is making very difficult.

“Hey, baby,” he slurs. “Why don’t you show us some of your moves?”

“I’m not a performer.” I take a small step backward and point to the stage only ten feet away. “I think there are a few chairs open if you’d like me to go hold one for you.”

“I know where the stage is. I’m drunk, not blind, woman.” Jacob tries to wiggle his eyebrows at me, but it looks like he might be having a stroke.

“Which is why I wanna see yooouuu dance.”

“Sorry, I just deliver drinks.” I also suffer from an ailment of zero rhythm, but that’s really not the point at all. I turn to head back to the bar to get the order of tequila shots Groom Douchebag called for.

These jerks better tip well.

I manage to take only two steps before a sweaty hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back.

“Don’t be like that.” His hot breath burns my skin and turns my stomach. “Just one little dance, maybe in the back room.” Disgusting.

I pull away, but before I can make my escape, his arm is around my midsection, pulling me back until his erection is pressing against my back.

Don’t get fired. Don’t get fired. Don’t get fired.

I remind myself of all of Ace’s activities and the back-to-school shopping I’ll have to do soon as I search the room for Dane or Jerome or any of the flipping bouncers we have scattered throughout the club.

Of course, when I actually need one of them, they’re nowhere to be found.

Who’s deserting who now, Phil?

Dick.

Best Man Douchebag moves his hand up my arm and to my neck and I’m almost positive he’s leaving a snail’s trail of slime in his path. “Your skin is so soft,” he yells, like his mouth isn’t mere inches from my ear.

“And I like your hair.”

Then he does it. He buries his fingers in my hair and asks, “Is it yours?” Oh no.

Hell no.

I raise my foot up while at the same time twisting sideways, bringing my elbow forward, preparing to break his foot and hopefully injure an internal organ or two.

But before I can strike, commotion in front of us causes him to drop his grip on me.

“No fucking way!” the one guy in the group who’s managed to keep a semblance of self-respect yells. “TK Fucking Mercer.” Oh, give me a break!

My eyes snap to him, giving him the dirtiest look I can manage.

I hold his eye contact, not wanting to be the one who looks away first, but while I’m being stubborn, I notice a few unwanted details. Details like how, God help me, he really is the perfect male specimen. His long hair is pulled back into a bun—which, over the years, has become my panty kryptonite—and his beard, though still thick, looks like it’s been trimmed since last night. His tight black sweater outlines every hard ridge on his chest and his jeans are snug enough to showcase his muscular legs but loose enough to seem as if he’s not trying to look like sex on a stick.

Ugh!

Since when do quads turn me on?

Why? Why couldn’t he be balding with a beer belly from a drinking problem?

But even looking so damn fine, why the hell is he here? To screw with me . . . again? I drop a hand to my thigh and pinch it as hard as I can to remind myself not to shove my heel right up his ass.

“Are you shitting me?” Jacob, who seconds before wouldn’t leave me alone, stiff-arms me out of his way. “You’re the man! The Mustangs gonna bring it home this year?”

“That’s the plan,” TK mutters, his stupid, gorgeous eyes never leaving mine. “Mind if I steal your waitress for a second?”

“Not a problem, man. Don’t blame you, she’s hot as fuck.” Jacob grabs my arm—again!—and guides me toward TK, but this time his fingers bite into my skin a little deeper. It’s not that the pain is excruciating, but it does surprise me, which makes me flinch. And when I flinch, Jacob’s alcoholglazed eyes narrow in on his grip and a smile starts to form on his psychotic lips.

Best Man’s not looking at my face, so he misses it when I try to murder him with a look and the way my lips pull back, revealing all my teeth, like a dog about to attack. TK, however, does not.

With a speed and strength I didn’t know he was capable of, TK moves me to his side and then his warm, not sweaty, and—begrudgingly— comforting hand is wrapped around mine.

“Whoa there, Sparks,” he whispers in my ear. “Glad to see your fire never went out.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand as we navigate our way through the douche brigade.

“I swear to God, TK.” I yank my hand out of his grip once we’ve put some distance between us and the bachelor party. “Why are you here? I am not in the mood to deal with your bullshit tonight.”

“The way I saw what just went down, you should be thanking your lucky stars I showed up when I did.” His lips curl under his mustache and the jerk laughs. Laughs!

Wrong response.

“Actually.” I stop and poke him in the chest with my finger, wishing it was something sharper and I could inflict some damage. “You’re the reason I was stuck over there!” I poke him again. “I had it covered, I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Sienna.” He says my name like some joke I’m not aware of. “I wasn’t saving you. You think I forgot the way your eyes glaze over and you seem to grow ten inches when you’re pissed? I saw that and decided to step in and save the son of a bitch from getting his ass kicked in front of all his friends—not that he didn’t deserve it. Plus . . .” He shrugs and his pectoral muscles taunt me. “I figured your boss might not look fondly on you desecrating his customers.”

He’s right, I would’ve been fired and most likely facing assault charges. I just can’t let him know I know he’s right. “You could’ve grabbed a freaking bouncer!” I point to Jerome, who’s too busy flirting with Rochelle to notice anything on the floor. “But no, TK ‘Football God’ Mercer just had to save the day, didn’t he?” “You think I’m a god?” He would only hear that part.

“I really can’t stand you.” I close my eyes and throw back my head, sending up a silent prayer not to go to jail tonight. “You think you’re a god.

And what are you doing here again?”

“You think I’m a god!” he sings out, drawing even more attention to himself. “I brought some of the rookies. Mini camp is in a week and they were bored and sad and missing their mommies, so I figured, what can get your mind off your mom better than scantily clad women?”

“You’re ridiculous.” I roll my eyes so hard, I worry for a second they might get stuck in the back of my head.

TK has always been fun and playful, something I see in Ace every time he’s with his friends. Always the center of attention, making everyone around him laugh and smile. I used to crave being on the receiving end of his silliness, now I’d pay him to leave me alone.

Except he’s loaded and I’m not, so I don’t offer him my tips.

“Come outside with me for a bit?” he asks, oblivious to my wanting to end him. “I ordered them a ton of food and bottle service, so they’ll be fine on their own for a while.” He looks up to the third floor and rubs his hands against his jeans.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “Phil’s still pissed about yesterday, I don’t think taking extra breaks is in my best interest tonight.”

And I don’t trust myself to be alone with him. I’ll either kiss him or choke him . . . but I’m not sure which one.

“It’s fine,” he reassures me. “I talked to Phil when we came in. I told him I’d recommend this place to all my teammates, but I needed to talk to you without him interrupting this time.”

My mouth falls open and I put my tray on the unoccupied table beside us.

“You can’t do that.” I put my hands on my hips instead of wrapping them around his throat like I really want. “Seeing you once in ten years does not give you the right to come into my work and talk to my boss about me.”

“Please, Sienna.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

“Yesterday didn’t go well. I just want to talk to you without the running and screaming. Just for a minute.”

“I’m busy.” I pick up the tray, prepping for my escape.

“Please,” he says again. “I promise, after we talk, I won’t come back again.”

I would like it if he didn’t come back again.

I inhale Deeply, thinking it might be a mistake before I even agree. “Just for a minute.”