Page 132 of I Blame the Rival

“Let him go!”

I’m about to jump on Jerrell’s back when an elbow hits me right in the face. Staggering back, blood fills my mouth as I watch him land another punch, making Skylar’s head snap back against the floor.

Now I’m pissed.

Cursing every male in the vicinity, I stumble forward, about to start my own attack when someone grabs me by the waist.

“Don’t think so, mi amor.” Familiar signature cologne fills my senses as protective arms wrap around me, “You’re going to stay right here with me.”

“Nico?” Shifting in his arms, my panic dissolves into shock, “What are you doing here?”

“That is an excellent question.”

The deep voice captures my attention and I turn to see Mo standing three feet from us.

Nico grins, “We decided to see what you were up to.”

“But why?”

“You didn’t text me back. I got worried.”

Glancing between Nico and Mo, I notice the expensive dress shirts and slacks both men are wearing. One of whom has three gold chains glittering around his neck.

“Wasn’t it your date night?”

Nico squeezes me tighter, “You’re more important than fine dining cuisine.”

Mo sighs, “It took me two weeks to get that reservation.”

“Babe, don’t ruin the moment.”

A gasp echoes through the crowd. Squirming against Nico’s hold, I try and break free.

“I need to help Skylar.”

He clutches me tighter, “No way. You are not participating in a bar fight on my watch.”

Mo tilts his head, watching the ongoing fight, “Which one is Skylar?”

Nico winces, “The one on the ground.”

I push against his arms, “Skylar doesn’t hurt people. Please, let me help him.”

“Absolutely not.”

A frustrated scream rips from my throat and I start thrashing around, trying to loosen his hold. It doesn’t get me anywhere, Nico keeps me locked against his chest, and soon the frustration gives way to tears.

“H-He’s hurting him.”

Nico shoots his partner a look, “That’s your cue, big guy.”

Mo sighs, rolling up his shirt sleeves, “You owe me a dinner reservation.”

“Deal.”

Blinking through my tears, I watch Taber’s lacrosse champion break through the fight circle and grab the back of Jerrell’s t-shirt. Mo drags him off Skylar, taking a few stray punches to the stomach as Jerrell tries to get in a few last shots.

A sob rips from my throat when I see Skylar still lying on the ground. His delicate skin is bruised and swollen, the pale strands of his hair caked with blood.

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