Page 52 of Embody

But when twenty minutes tick by and she still hasn’t emerged, I decide to go in and hunt her down. Swear to God, if she snuck out the back and took the bus to prove some point…I’m gonna enjoy showing her how ornery I can be too.

I see her right when I step through the doors, waiting on a table of rowdy guys. I can feel her frustration from here—her smile is tight and forced and she’s rolled her eyes twice in the mere thirty seconds I’ve been watching.

I start to approach, and as if sensing me, she turns her head my way. Her eyes bulge as she hurries over to me and starts babbling so fast, it’s almost incoherent.

“I’m sorry, how long have you been waiting? This is why I told you I could take the bus, sometimes my shift runs over. I can’t clock out until they’re done. It’s my table, so I have to close out the ticket and they won’t leave. They’re done eating.” She uses both hands to push her hair back and finally takes a deep breath. “Bunch of jerks, probably won’t even tip.”

“Where’s your manager?” I ask her, eyeing the table.

“Ha!” She sneers. “Probably in the kitchen baking them a damn cake. I told him, but they’re as good as famous in his eyes. It’s-”

“Oh Gingersnap, I need a refill,” one of them, back to me, yells at Bellamy.

“One second,” she answers stiffly and blows out a heavy exhale. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll remind them of their ticket. I don’t want you wasting your whole night here.”

I watch as she does her best to be friendly and patient, bringing the guy a refill and nudging the ticket on the table closer to him.

And then…we cross over intoveryproblematic territory.Waybeyond the “thinking about snapping his fucking ‘oh gingersnap’ neck” zone he’d already entered.Yeah—caught it—didn’t like it.Dude grabs her upper thigh and pulls her to him, so rough she almost falls in his lap. She struggles to escape his clutches and turns her pale, scared face to me…already right at her side.

“There’s a problem here,” I state.

“No, everything’s cool, man. Mind your business,” one of the handsy dude’s friends replies. He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him.

“I didn’taskif there was a problem.” I clarify, low and menacingly. “I said therewasa problem. And I wasn’t talking to you. Talking to this one,” I slap and clamp down on the shoulder attached to the arm that’s attached to Bellamy. “Wanna let go of my girl, pay your tab and get the fuck out?” I ask him as calmly as I’m able…which isn’t too damn calm.

That’s when he turns, finally giving me a shot of his face, explaining why the other guy looked familiar too. It’s the dude from Fahrenheit that serenaded Bellamy.

“Your girl, huh?” He smiles snidely and gets out of his seat, releasing Bellamy in doing so. “This why you bailed on me that night?” he asks her, nudging his head toward me.

“I…” she starts to offer this douche an explanation he’s neither owed nor deserves, but I nip that shit real quick.

“Bellamy baby, go clock out and get your purse. I’ll pay these losers’ tab and meet you in the car,” I direct her, eyes never leaving douche and his merry band of bags.

“I don’t need you to pay my tab, fucker. I make more money on one gig that you do in a year,” he laughs, his buddies joining chorus.

“Maybe,” I shrug, knowing he doesn’t even come close. I don’t need to measure dicks with him—I’m packing…Bellamy.Out of here. With me. “If so, why not pay it then and quit giving her a hard time? And touching her,” I fume, stepping up nose to nose with him. “That your M.O.? Wooing them from the stage all romantic and shit then stalking and groping them like a prick if they don’t come backstage?”

“Like I have to stalk pussy,” he jeers. “Just happened to walk in here, there she was, figured she deserved a little shit for giving me the slip the other night.”

“Well she doesn’t, neither does any woman. Here’s how this is gonna go. If you’re really able to pay your own tab, rock star, do it now or else I’m going to. Leave a big tip. Then get the fuck gone and know that you can’t ever come back in here again. As of tonight, you’re banned from the premises. Your second option is, I kick the shit out of you and you’re still banned. Choice is yours.”

“You think you can getme, a member of Fahrenheit, banned from anywhere?” He cackles.

“I know I can. Tell ya what, go to the counter and pay. By the time you’re done, I will be too.” I turn and head straight through the double doors leading to the kitchen and locate the manager.

He and I have ourselves a short, but nice, little chat. Actually, I think it takes two active participants to “chat,” and I’m the only one who talks. He listens. Then we walk back out front together.

Music man’s waiting with his arms crossed and a hotshot grin, that’ll be short-lived, on his face. “Well?” he says with a bravado he’s about to lose right along with that grin.

“Um, Zeke. Excuse me, I mean Mr. Stryker…”

I bark out a laugh…Stryker? Yeah, that’s the last name he was no way in hell born with, but he boasts it, so I get to hoot at his dumbass.

“I’m Tony Salazar, Manager here at The Pit Stop. I’m going to have to ask you to not only leave immediately, butpermanentlyprohibit you from returning to our establishment due to your behavior this evening.”

Zeke Stryker. I have to chuckle again. With his disbelieving eyes about to pop out of socket, you’d think he just got told his real name is Frank Smith…or something equally as shocking. His jaw is literally hanging open, yet he doesn’t seem to have anything to say. He simply stands frozen in place, not near as cocksure now.

“All right,” I clap Mr. Salazar on the shoulder while leering at Zeke, “we all copacetic here, or do I still need to beat some ass?”

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