Love Resolution - By Michelle Mankin Page 0,69
Avery shivered, wishing she had brought her coat. She took deep breaths of the smoke free night air as Bryan led her to the bus. Removing her sunglasses, Avery ascended the bus stairs in front of him. She turned the corner and froze in total shock.
War had his jeans down around his ankles, his naked ass exposed, hips pistoning. The totally nude brunette bartender was sandwiched between him and Dizzy.
Cheeks flaming, Avery spun around and ran into Bryan’s chest.
“Shit guys!” he fussed, hauling her behind him. “Did you have to do that out here in the lounge?” He quickly took Avery’s hand and led her back the way they had come.
Outside the bus, Avery let go of his him, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry, Red,” Bryan apologized with a grimace. “The guys, well…they’re not used to having a woman on the bus.”
She raised both brows.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah I do.” She rubbed her fingers against her pounding temples.
“There’s a convenience store across the street.” Bryan gestured. “Why don’t we go over there and get you some Tylenol?”
She was washing two caplets down with an Evian when War entered the store. She glanced down at her feet, wondering if she’d ever be able to look him in the eye again without that particular mental picture.
“Hey, Avery, did you drop something?” War asked, giving her a wicked grin when she looked up. Apparently he wasn’t embarrassed at all. “James brought the bus around front. I’m on a mission to restock the liquor.” He glanced over her shoulder. “You need anything, Bullet?”
“No. I’m all set.” Bryan held up a carton of Marlboros.
As soon as they re-boarded the bus, Avery sat and leaned her head back against the couch cushion. “How far is it to the hotel?” she asked, closing her eyes.
“Ninety minutes probably,” Bryan answered. “Our driver says there’s nighttime construction that’s gonna hold us up.”
She sighed.
“Who’s ready for shots?” Someone flopped down on the coach next to her. She opened her eyes to see War uncapping a bottle of tequila.
“I’m in,” Dizzy answered, pulling some shot glasses out of the cabinet above the sink.
“Sure,” Bryan said, turning to her. “What about you, Red? It might help with your headache.”
Avery looked at Bryan for a moment, blinking a couple of times before replying. “Sure.” She took a deep breath. “Why the hell not?”
Marcus’ heart slammed against his ribs. Grimacing when he noted the time, he grabbed his ringing cell off the hotel nightstand.
Two fucking a.m.
His muscles tensed. Nothing good ever happens after two a.m.
“Yeah,” he answered, sitting up in bed.
“You better get down here quick, Boss,” Ray said ominously.
“Where? Why? What’s going on?”
“The hotel bar. It’s Avery.”
“I’ll be right there.”
He pulled on a pair of jeans over his boxers and swiped his room key off the dresser. Once in the elevator, he ran his fingers impatiently through his tangled hair and tapped his cell and the plastic room key together. The ride down from the twentieth floor seemed to take forever. The lobby was quiet, except for the piped in piano music. He skirted through it without seeing another soul.
Alongside Ray, two hotel security guards manned the entrance of the hotel bar. Both men were about Ray’s height, not near as intimidating though, but they more than made up for that in bulk.
“Is that Avery I hear singing?” Marcus asked, cringing at the off key rendition of ‘Maneater’ emanating from inside.
Ray paused before answering. “Unfortunately.”
“What the hell’s going on in there?” Marcus raised a quizzical brow.
“You’ll see.” Ray patted one of the men on the shoulder. “It’s ok Charlie. He’s with me.” He moved into the small dark red and gold themed club, gesturing over his shoulder for Marcus to follow. As soon as they turned the corner, Marcus immediately came to a halt.
Avery was totally hammered. From the way she swayed, it appeared that the microphone stand she was leaning on was the only thing keeping her upright.
Not only that, she was practically naked from the waist up, her black shirt open to the waist revealing a lacy black bra and an enticing amount of cleavage. The lights were low, the chairs turned over on top of all the tables. The bar was completely empty except for Sam, his brother, and the Tempest guitarist, who was slumped down in a club chair, his long legs splayed out within inches of where Avery was performing on the club’s small stage.
“Red,” the Tempest guitarist coaxed as she paused to