Page 70 of The Play

“Holy shit,” Micah exclaimed and grabbed Deacon’s other arm, trying to tug him back, but the guy’s friend, now visible, straightened, rising and rising and, goddamn, still rising, pulling himself up to his full height.

At least three inches more than Deacon owned.

And he’d thought the first guy was big!

“Shit,” Deacon agreed, taking a step back and then another.

“What the fuck,” the guy’s enormous friend spit out. “Whatdya do that for?”

“He insulted my boss,” Deacon said.

The guy’s brows scrunched together. “And?”

“And he deserved to stop talking.” He deserved to stop breathing, for saying that shit.

Except that Deacon already knew people were saying it—and worse. This guy’s only sin had been to do it first.

“I don’t like it,” the guy pronounced slowly. He reached down and yanked his friend up. “Apologize to Rick.”

Micah was still trying to pull him back, but Deacon was stronger and more determined, and leaned forward. “No,” he said.

Enormous Guy took a step closer. “You think you’re a big, tough guy, don’t you? ’Cause you’re a football player. And ’cause the owner of your team wants your cock.”

“No,” Deacon said. Tried to get his breathing under control, but as he realized, this is how it’s gonna be, with everyone, every moment, from now on, his temper lit like dry kindling. “You’re gonna get his name out of your mouth, though.”

The corner of Enormous Guy’s mouth tilted upwards. He looked amused. Like Deacon couldn’t possibly take him.

But the way Deacon was feeling right now, he could—and would—take on the whole fucking world.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

That was all the reason Deacon needed to launch himself at the guy.

He got in one good punch and then another, dodging the guy’s right hook, fighting him and also fighting Micah, who kept trying to pull him out of the fray.

Things had just started to get interesting when a loud siren cut through the roar. But it took the lights suddenly flicking on to finally make Deacon pause, just for a second.

That was all it took for Enormous Guy to get one good lick in, right across his jaw.

“That’s it,” Kieran yelled over the noise. “That’s fucking it. You wanna fight, you go outside.”

Deacon felt a weird pulse of guilt. He’d fought in Kieran’s bar, and not just fought—he’d decked that guy without even a single syllable of warning.

“Jesus, you don’t fuck around,” Micah breathed into his ear, his fingers tight in Deacon’s collar as he pulled him backward. This time Deacon let him. “Mr. G’s gonna kill you.”

It seemed likely, even if Deacon told him that he was actually defending his honor.

Grant wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted anyone to brawl on his behalf; he’d always fought his own battles.

Not today, he didn’t.

“Probably,” Deacon said, and was only vaguely aware of how loopily he was grinning at Micah.

“Jesus,” Micah repeated again, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“But you get it,” Deacon said.

Micah had pulled him all the way to the other end of the bar. He looked at Deacon, and Deacon looked back—and yes, Micah did get it. If anyone said that shit about Beck, he’d have been the one throwing punches.

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