Page 31 of Save Me

"Iwilltell him. I'd just like to wait until things are more settled if that's okay with you."

He cups my cheek, holding my gaze. "I'm not going anywhere, little bird. I'm not going to break this thing off because your dad doesn't know about me. If that's what you're worried about, put it out of your mind."

"My mom knows," I whisper.

Surprise flares in his eyes.

"Um, we talked about you this morning."

"You told your mom?"

"My stepmom, not Marion. I don't really talk to her much."

"I knew who you meant, Isla." He smirks at me. "I told my mom about you too."

My eyes widen. "Really?"

"Mmhmm. She wants to meet you."

"Really?"

"You thought she wouldn't?"

"I don't know!" I cry. "I've never met anyone's mom before."

"Me either."

"Guess we're tackling a lot of firsts together then, aren't we?"

"I guess so," I murmur, a little dazed at the thought.

"You going to spend the night with me and tackle another one?"

My face falls, disappointment coursing through me. "I can't. I promised my mom that I'd stay at home tonight. My dad is being a crazy person."

"No, baby." Brantley shakes his head, his voice soft. "He's being your dad. Let him."

I swallow hard and nod.

Chapter Seven

Brantley

"Ineed a favor."

"Hello to you too, motherfucker," Memphis Hughes says, chuckling when I stroll through the doors of his bar, the Devil's Run, two days later, scowling at the topless blonde who bats her lashes at me. "Liv, you might as well go serve someone else. He ain't drinking or tipping."

"Worth a shot," she says, looking me up and down with a flirtatious grin. "At least he's hot."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, earning a laugh from Memphis.

"New girl," he says, enjoying my misery. "She won't bother you again. She's sweet. Works here to pay for her brother's medical bills."

"I don't need her life story, Memphis." I plant my ass on a barstool, shaking my head. "Don't need to know anything about her, as a matter of fact."

"Just saying, I hire the girls I hire for a reason, brother," he murmurs. "Most of them have serious shit going on in their lives. And they make a helluva lot more working here than they do anywhere else. Plus, no one fucks with them here." He hits me with a hard look. "You judge the hell out of them when you come here, but they're grown ass women, man. They get to decide if they want to work topless or not. Some do, some don't. Ain't nothing wrong with those who do decide to strip down to make a living. Frankly, it's a little fucked up that you judge them for it when you used to practically live in a goddamn bar."

"I'm not judging them for it," I protest.

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