“Yes!” I gave him my hundred-mega-watt grin, pushing every dark thought far enough back that I could drown it with alcohol. “Tequila?”
The bartender lifted her eyebrow at me, and I mirrored the expression. What? Ember had left for Nashville a couple hours ago after not even having a single drink with me, and I didn’t need another babysitter. The bartender shook her head and slid the shot across the bar with salt and lime. I slammed it back, savoring the burn and anticipating the numb that would quickly follow.
I was so sick of feeling. Hoping. Trying.
“So what’s your story? You a local? Because I haven’t seen anything nearly as hot as you are around here.”
I took in his crew cut, arrogant grin, and West Point ring on his left hand. “Nope, Lieutenant, I’m a transplant, and entirely out of your league. But thank you for the shot.” Crap. I think that came out more slurred than intended.
“Is there anyone we can call for you?” the hot one asked, tearing his eyes off the football game playing on the big screen.
“Do I look like a baby who needs a sitter?” I spat back, my head feeling blissfully detached from my body.
“Hell no,” the mediocre one answered. “Not with those curves.”
The hot one glared at the mediocre one. “You look like you might need a ride home.”
“Well, I don’t. Thank you.” Home. Like I even had one of those. No, just a collection of different houses Mom moved us to at duty stations. But I did have Jagger’s house. Shit. Did I bring my house key? I hadn’t attached it to my key ring. Jagger was going to be pissed if I lost it on the first day.
“Bateman?” Hot one asked. Shit, I’d spoken aloud.
“You know him?”
A strange smile flirted across his face. “You could definitely say that.” He nodded to the bartender and then stepped outside.
Another shot and a cut-off warning later, the jukebox cranked, and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” raced through my veins. Dancing. Yes, dancing would be awesome. My fingers dug into the bar as I hoisted myself onto the barstool.
“Holy shit.” The guy muttered. I was past caring that my miniskirt probably didn’t cover my ass at this angle. “Need a hand?” He reached up and helped me step onto the bar.
The bartender rolled her eyes, and I almost missed the nod she exchanged with the hot one as he walked back in, but it was there. Whatever.
I moved my body to the beat, letting it rule my movements and leaving everything else behind for a song, then two. My top drifted above my waistline as I raised my arms.
“Okay, Coyote Ugly, it’s time to get down.” Jagger’s voice made me giggle, and I looked down to see his half-amused face.
“What? It’s not like I haven’t seen you drunk on the bar a few times.”
“Which is why I’m not giving you shit, Sam.” He shook his head. “But I can’t say the same for Grayson.”
I stiffened like he’d tossed cold water over me. Grayson stood a few feet away, his thumbs tucked into his pockets and his face unreadable. I refused to be embarrassed…right?
“Let’s go,” Grayson snapped.
A sly smile spread across my face. “If you want me to go, come up here and get me.” There was no chance an uptight jerkface like him was going to do that. A muscle in his jaw ticked a second before he climbed up onto the barstool and then consumed the bar. He was huge. “Will this thing even support you?”
“Now.”
I moved back, but before I could take a step, he pulled me up against him and into his arms. “We’re not repeating this morning.” He jumped off the bar with me in his arms, barely jarring me as he landed on his feet.
“How King Kong of you.”
“I wasn’t the one climbing up there in the first place.” His grip tightened on me as he strode out the door into the evening air. “Thanks for calling us, Carter,” he tossed to the hot one. Well, next to Grayson, he was a pale second.
I bet everyone was a pale second against Grayson.
Jagger walked out behind us, my purse in hand, which he handed to Grayson. “What? Like I can’t handle my own purse?” I giggled.
“You’re not getting near your keys,” Grayson growled.