Throwing the car into reverse, he backed away from the house and turned down the gravel driveway. They drove a few hundred feet before they hit the road, giving him enough time to figure out where to take her. He could drive aimlessly. But after a while, they’d hit the border and he’d have to turn back. Unless she was planning on getting a head start and beating Grey to Boston? If she wanted to chase him, she’d have to go it alone. Antonio wasn’t having any part of that.
“I want a drink,” she croaked.
He took his eyes off the road for a second. Long enough to catch her scowling at the windscreen. “I’ll stop at the gas station.”
“I want liquor.”
His brows rose as he glanced at her again, meeting her determined stare. “Okay, then.” Fixing his attention on the road, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, whistling a tune. A careless front to cover the internal Titanic reenactment his gut was working. At least he’d be there to keep her from doing something she’d regret. Making use of a side street to double back the way they’d come, he drove into town.
There were two places the townsfolk went to get a drink: Mama’s Roadhouse and Grill, or The Beam Bar. Mama’s served alcohol on the side of a mean plate of southern goodness. The Beam aimed to ply its customers with eighty-proof before sending them home with a designated driver. Or a cab. The owner had been known to confiscate keys before he’d let folks leave. And you were damned lucky if you got a handful of beer nuts to soak up the kick from the drink. O’course, the nuts came with a side of E. coli, so it was best to avoid them altogether.
The Beam was a bad idea. Sooo bad. He almost shuddered.
Yep. Mama’s it is.
“And don’t you dare go to Mama’s.”
Okaaay. Jesus. She was determined to wipe Greyson from her brain cells. Would I get blind drunk if the love of my life walked out? He slid his eyes sideways. Yeah. Yeah, I would.
Pulling into the parking lot of the bar, he stiffened on seeing Jake Johnson’s red Mustang. He would have to be here. The guy went after anything with tits, but he’d taken a particular liking to Lory back in freshman year and hadn’t let up. Not since Greyson and Clay made her the forbidden fruit.
“You sure you don’t just wanna pick up somethin’ from the liquor store, and park out in the field?”
“I’m sure.” She flung open her door, and marched for the entrance, disappearing inside before Anton had a chance to turn off the engine.
Damn.
After he slid from his seat and locked the truck, he jammed his hands deep in his pockets as he approached the impending train wreck. He hoped she’d find the darkest corner to nurse a low ball, and snarl at any poor soul who tried to approach.
The bar was a little worse for wear, its neon sign long since giving up the ‘h’ and a ‘Be’, renaming the establishment T e am Bar. Local football fans claimed it was in honor of their beloved sport, but the bar culture was more indiscriminate. He’d seen a golf cart parked there once; it didn’t matter what your sporting preference was. If you had any at all. The only requirement was a mutual need to get shit-faced.
Rockabilly tunes spilled from the open windows as easily as beverages poured from the tap. Clustered conversations added to the decibel barrage. Anton waited outside, scanning the windows, to assess what he was walking into. It seemed like a regular night at the bar. Piss talkin’, one-uppin’, and back slappin’. Anxiety yanked his hairs on end when he saw Jake leaning over a table, his body mostly covering whom he was talking to. The only visible part of his companion was long blonde hair covering one shoulder.
The same shade as Lory’s.
Fuck.
Antonio wanted to march in there and pull her into the safety of his arms, assuring her everything would be okay. And to tell her that his brother was a dick for letting her go. Would she appreciate it? Nope. Would she listen? Hell no. Lory had a mind of her own.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The odor of smoke, sweat, alcohol, and bad decisions hit him before he opened the door. Every bar smelled the same; he preferred the scent of the barn any day.
As soon as his feet crossed the threshold, his shoulders braced for a fight. Shit. Lory leaned over the pool table, preparing to take a shot. Her skirt rode up the backs of her thighs, giving several roving eyes a show. Including that fucker, Jake, who’d taken her vacated chair.
Anton’s eyebrows lowered, and he counted to five before finding that dingy corner he’d prayed she’d be in. Catching the eye of the bartender, he held up two fingers. Viv nodded, and in less than a minute, he had two beers joining him for the shit show.
The song changed to a Keith Urban favorite, and Lory’s hips began to sway. Anton downed half his beer in three gulps, hissing before clanking the glass on the sticky wooden surface.
Jake rose from his seat, and sidled up behind Lory, placing his hands over hers on the pool cue. She turned, lips pulling into a tight smile, and shouldered his chest. He raised his hands but didn’t retreat the required step. Jake was a big guy at about six foot two, and two hundred plus pounds. There was no way a tiny thing like Lory could make him budge with a mere shove. But she had all the power in the world to bring a man to his knees if she wanted.
What are ya gonna do, princess?
After
