Lucky for us, there’s a stage crew that hauls our equipment out back. Usually, I take my sweet-ass time helping out, but tonight I’m all business and efficiency. So much so that Romeo’s raising his brows. “Who slapped your ass?”
Before I can tell Romeo to eff off, Sam says, “His new lady friend is here.”
Romeo’s brows rise even higher. “You’re serious about this girl?”
For one stupid moment, I’m embarrassed, like I’m whipped or something, but then I proudly say, “Very.”
Romeo gives me a curt nod and we finish loading the van.
Afterward, I rush inside the bar and start making my way over to Allie, ignoring the people who try to get my attention or stop me. She’s leaning against the bar, talking to the guy next to her. A twinge of jealousy erupts in me, but then I remember her caveman comment from a few weeks ago and push aside the possessiveness. It’s an initial reaction but one I can ignore. Allie’s not that type of girl. Shit, I was the first guy she’d been with since her divorce.
“Well hello,” she says as I step in front of her and put my hands on her waist.
“Hello, pretty lady. I couldn’t help noticing you back here all by yourself.” She’s hot in her standard tank, jeans, and boots, but tonight her hair is in two braids. The ends lie right above the soft expanse of her cleavage. Very nice.
She smiles seductively and that’s all the encouragement I need. I kiss her long and slow, showing her mouth all the things I want to do to her body.
When we part, the guy who was talking to her closes
Allie lets out a rare giggle as her hands tighten around my waist. “The show was great. I didn’t know you played acoustic so well.”
“I really don’t. I only know a few songs.” I reach for her hand at my back. “Come on. Everyone’s in the back room.”
“Holly’s coming,” she says. “I should wait for her.”
“Just text her to go to the back room.”
“Oh, okay,” Allie says, pulling out her phone.
I walk behind her as she texts, touching her waist but wanting to touch even more.
When we get to the back room, it’s full. Even Romeo and Riley are here tonight. I introduce Allie to Riley’s best friends, Marcus and Chloe, who ooh and aah over her sleeve tattoo. Riley gives Allie a wave, but of course doesn’t leave Romeo’s side. At the end of the table, Gabe sits as usual with his girlfriend in his lap.
The two of us grab the seats at the middle of the table, and then share the beer that’s there waiting for me. I order two more. It’s different and nice to just talk instead of trying to lay the moves on someone I hardly know with the expectation of whoever it is taking me home. Allie and I laugh at Sam’s story about going out for a smoke, then getting locked out of his apartment for four hours while the girl he’d brought home slept off the body shots they did. Chloe, Riley, and Allie talk school and classes while Romeo drones on to Sam and me about next Saturday’s recording session.
I’m arguing that I’d rather break it into two more sessions instead of an unbearably long one when I notice Allie is gone. Chloe picks up on my confusion and tells me Allie went to get Holly. After a thankful nod in Chloe’s direction, I continue arguing, but after more than ten minutes pass without Allie’s returning, I get up and go to inspect the busy bar. I finally spot her across the room. With Trevor. Even from this distance, I can see the grip of his hands on her arms. He’s leaning over her. She’s leaning back as her face turns fearful.
Pushing people out of my way, I’m across the room in seconds.
As I walk through the crowded club to meet Holly at the bar, the giddiness that has pervaded my mood since watching Justin onstage doesn’t dissipate. As he performed, all I could think was,
And I like it.
Holly and Jake are waiting for a round of shots at the bar, so I hit the restroom. On the way out, I’m still on my Justin cloud nine when someone steps in front of me. Startled to see Trevor, I stumble backward. He appears a bit menacing in all black: jeans, T-shirt, boots.
“Thought you weren’t into this guy. Thought it wasn’t serious,” he says, sneering so much the tats on his neck stretch. He’s also yelling in my face because of the loud music blasting through the speakers. “Making out in the middle a bar screams serious, Allie.”
For a moment I’m too stunned to reply, but I slowly put two and two together. I’d been talking to Mark Beech, a Dragonfly customer who’d known Trevor forever, when Justin came up to me at the bar. Obviously, the jerk had called or texted Trevor after we left for the back room.
I stand with my fists clenched but calmly say, “It’s really none of your business who I date, kiss—or how serious it is. We’re divorced, Trevor.”
His blue eyes blaze and he reaches for my arm. “We have a kid and a business together.” He pauses and leans low. “You’ll always be connected to me. Always. No douche bag singer is going to change that.” He starts dragging me toward the door.
For one quick second, I remember the past, the constant aching over Trevor. Then I imagine a long, sad future of constantly pining for Trevor. Of never feeling loved. Of sick jealousy over Jazz. Oh, hell no. That won’t be my future. I jerk back from his hold and brace myself.
“We are divorced,” I repeat, trying to pull away from him. “Let me go. Now.”
His grip grows tighter. “What’s going on with you and this guy?”
“Let me go,” I say under my breath, noticing people watching us.
“Are you fucking him?”
“Now,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Are you?” he says, shaking me.
His shaking me hits a major nerve. “Screw you! I’ll fuck whoever I want! Let me go!”
Fury fills his face, and he lets me go with a shove that sends me colliding with a nearby table. Unfortunately, it isn’t empty. Drinks fly and crash onto the floor when the table nearly tips. The people at the table jump up, yelling, “What the hell?”
I’m finding my footing as Justin gently helps me upright and searches my gaze. “You okay?”
Before I can answer, Trevor whips him around. “Don’t touch her!”
“Why? So you can push her again?” Justin’s expression is furious as he shoves Trevor.
Trevor’s mouth twists as he stumbles backward. “Fuck that,” he snarls. He lunges forward and punches Justin in the jaw.
Justin’s head snaps back, but his feet stay planted. He whips his head around, his gaze livid, as Trevor raises both fists in an aggressive stance. Justin takes a quick step back, and punches Trevor in the middle of his face before he can lift a fist. Jaw slack and eyes wide, Trevor staggers against the wall and slides to the floor.
Things are moving fast. Yet it feels like I’m watching a fight through a lens in slow motion.
Scrambling up from the floor, Trevor bull-rushes Justin, who ducks just in time to jab Trevor in the ribs.
People crowd around us—some screaming, some yelling, and some cheering. Their voices reverberate in my head as I move forward, intent on pulling Justin away from Trevor’s reach, not caring that I’ll end up in the middle of their fight.
As I reach for Justin, Gabe flies out of the crowd at Trevor, who cuffs him in the side of the head. The punch
