Page 53 of Bitter Rival

And why the fuck am I sitting in a bar with my friends, watching her from afar and thinking about what kind of guy she needs?

I avert my gaze and take a pull of my beer, banishing all thoughts of her from my head.

“Your old man was a sneaky bastard,” Ledger says with a chuckle.

Caiden nods in agreement. “The way he set this up you’re almost bound to be sharing a bed.”

“Not happening.”

“Fifty bucks says you and Daisy have sex before this is over,” Caiden says.

Ledger looks down the bar at Daisy, assessing his odds. “Let’s make it a hundred.”

“You’re both assholes,” I mutter.

Caiden grins. “Yep. Feels just like old times.”

“This calls for shots,” Ledger says, lining up three shot glasses on the bar and filling them to the brim.

“Here’s to the Niners winning the Super Bowl,” I say, a deliberate attempt to steer the conversation away from Daisy.

“Hell, yeah,” Caiden says, rubbing his hands together. “This is going to be their year.”

The three of us have been diehard fans since grade school so the conversation moves on to football and to other things that are not Daisy-related.

A few more beers later, after we’ve caught up on the past two decades and taken a few trips down memory lane, it feels like no time has passed at all.

By eleven o’clock, the bar is packed and the party's just getting started, but I’ve had enough beers and shots for one night so I sink the eight ball and hang up my cue stick.

Doesn’t matter that it’s the weekend. Life on a vineyard starts early, and now that I’m fully committed to seeing it through, I have a vested interest in the outcome.

I turn to Caiden. “I’m heading out.”

He bumps his fist against mine. “See you Monday morning.”

After ordering an Uber, I pocket my phone and scan the bar for Daisy. We’re both going to the same place so the least I can do is offer her a ride. But I only see Callie. No Daisy.

I head down the narrow hallway to the restrooms just as she steps out of the ladies’ room and a guy grabs her arm. “I’ve been watching you all night,” he says.

“That’s not creepy,” she says, trying to yank her arm away. “Get off me.”

“Come on, babe.” He pushes her against the wall and cages her in his arms, getting close. Too fucking close. He’s going to wish like hell he listened to her. “Don’t be like that.” He hooks his finger under the strap of her camisole and slides it up and down and I see fucking red. “I just wanted to get to know?—"

Before he has a chance to finish his sentence, I charge forward on a roar and rip him away from her.

Grabbing him by the shoulder, I spin him around and slam him against the opposite wall. “Keep your fucking hands off her,” I growl.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I grab him by the throat and get right in his face. “The guy who’s going to make you regret that you ever laid a hand on her. She said no, asshole. But you didn’t fucking listen, did you?”

His eyes dart to the right. “Don’t look at her.” I grab his jaw and jerk his head toward me. “Don’t even fucking breathe in her direction.”

He tries but fails to shove me away and cocks his fist as if he’s going to punch me.

Good try, asshole.

Before he gets the chance, I spin him around and get him into a headlock. Douchebag obviously hasn’t learned his lesson yet.

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