Page 5 of The Inquirer

“For real?” I laughed. Shit. I was a little drunker than I’d thought. “What are you, twelve?”

His face turned red, like that deep tomato red that made you think of strokes and heart attacks. “You laughin’ at me, bitch?”

“Aren’t you smart?” I felt people watching me now, but I kept my focus on him.

He seemed like the sort of coward who’d wait until I looked away and then punch me or something like that. His hands were in fists when he stood, but I didn’t back down. It could’ve been the alcohol, but it also could’ve been the fact that I was tired of seeing assholes like this act like women owed him something.

“This ain’t your business,” he said. “You best go back to your seat before I do somethin’ you’ll regret.”

I stepped toward him, putting us almost nose to nose. Literally. He and I were basically the same height. Probably why he was such a douche. Trying to make up for what he lacked in height. Probably other areas too.

For one tense moment, I thought he was going to hit me even though most of the bar was watching us now, but then someone appeared to my left. I could only make out a vague shape with my peripheral vision, but as soon as the person spoke, I knew who it was.

“Security’s gonna take care of him, Nyx.” Isaac Huxley had an amazing voice. It slid over my skin like…well, like something warm and nice. “And they’ll walk the young lady to her car when she’s ready to leave.”

I looked over at Isaac. “Promise she’ll be okay?”

He smiled, the resemblance to his father almost eerie. If I had a picture of Brew at Isaac’s age, I doubted anyone would’ve been able to tell them apart. Behind me, the jerk was being half-dragged to the door, cursing and yelling insults. I ignored him and waited for Isaac to answer my question.

“I promise.” He reached over and touched my arm. “Why don’t you let me take you back to the ranch rather than calling a cab? Since we’re going to the same place, it makes sense.”

He was right, it did. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to go back yet. Then again, I realized, if I went with him, maybe I really could get past Bradyn through this good-looking man. We’d flirted a bit before, and he seemed interested in me, but in a casual kind of way.

Exactly what I wanted.

After all, everybody knew that the fastest way to get under someone was to get over someone else.

Or something like that.

“All right.”

He put his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, and used his touch to steer me out of the bar. I kept waiting for the heat and electricity I felt every time Bradyn touched me, but I felt nothing but pleasant warmth and a feeling of safety. Not the same sort of safety I’d felt around Bradyn, but safe enough.

I wasn’t going to fall for that twice, though. If Isaac and I fucked tonight, that’s all it would be. No second time. No talking about my past. If he couldn’t handle the way I needed things to be, we wouldn’t do anything at all.

The ride back to the ranch was fuzzy, but the cool – well, cooler – air that came at me when Isaac opened the door woke me up enough to give me the strength to get out without needing help. He gripped my elbow anyway, and I let him. As I made my way toward my cabin, I couldn’t stop from looking toward Bradyn’s cabin, wondering if the woman was still there, if they were in bed together.

If they were fucking right now.

I frowned.

Nope.

Fuck that.

I stopped, and when Bradyn turned toward me, a question on his face, I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward me.

Okay, so I surprised him with the kiss, but I assumed he’d do the same thing every other man who was attracted to women would do and kiss me the fuck back.

I did not expect him to grip my shoulders and hold me in place while he stepped a good foot and a half away.

“I’m flattered,” he said, his eyes not meeting mine. “But you’re drunk.”

“What the fuck?!” I shook off his hands. “Who do you think you are?! I’m a grown woman! I can kiss whoever the hell I want to kiss! Won’t be you again. I can tell you that.”

My face was hot, my hands curled so that my nails dug into my palms. The physical stuff, though, wasn’t anything compared to the sick feeling in my stomach. It had nothing to do with the alcohol. I hadn’t drunk enough to throw up. Which I knew meant I was sober enough to decide if I wanted to kiss someone.

A tiny voice spoke up, reminding me that I might not have been blackout drunk, but maybe I wasn’t the best judge of whether or not I was too drunk to kiss a man.

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