Page 48 of If Not for My Baby
Fake Tan directs his attention back to me. His eyes linger on the deep V of my dress. “I could be your daddy, sweetheart.”
“Christ.” Halloran sighs. It’s almost a chuckle. He’s so calm.
I stick my tongue out in disgust. “Yuck.”
But the older man only grins, scooting closer to me. “You won’t be saying that when—”
“Enough now,” Halloran growls. He’s not laughing anymore. “Clem—”
“Wait a second. I know you…” the man says. “You’re that singer.”
“Quite a few of them here. Have a good one.” Halloran moves to usher me away from the bar and I grasp my drink tightly as if it’s the last life vest on a sinking ship. But thetanned man grabs Halloran’s forearm, stopping us from leaving. In my head, an entire crowd goesooooh.
Halloran glares at the old man. “You can’t be serious.”
“The lady wants to stay.”
I squint. Fake Tan has some white stuff under his nose.
Halloran’s eyes widen on me, and I can tell he’s suppressing a laugh. I wonder if I might have made my observation out loud. I’m too drunk to be embarrassed and I add another mental tally to thereasons I love drinkingchart.
“I’m sure she does,” Halloran says to the man, whostillhas his grubby fingers on his arm. “But she’s got a bus to catch.”
Fake Tan goes as red as his faux bronze complexion will allow. “You listen to me, you long-haired, Bono-wannabe fuck—”
He doesn’t even get to finish the insult. An unbothered Halloran removes the man’s grip with ease and scoops me into his arms like I’m a damsel. He carries me right out of the party and the world cartwheels. I want to kick and make a scene like the girls in the movies do—put me down, you animal!—but his arms are as sturdy as tree trunks. And his chest…it’s more comfortable than my bunk on the bus. I nuzzle into him like a newborn kitten.
“I’m dizzy,” I admit.
“That can happen when you drink your body weight in vodka.”
“I was so rude to you.”
“Nah,” he says as he lopes down the path. He isn’t even winded. “You were honest.”
“But I wasn’t.”
Halloran says nothing and I wish I had another drink.
“You should have punched that man,” I add a few moments later. Frankly, I wish I’d punched the man for him.
“I dunno how much that would have accomplished.”
“It would’ve been very satisfying.”
“Violence rarely is.”
I make an aggravated noise into his chest, but accidentally get a whiff of that bar-soap, post-rain scent. I’m desperate for more, and less inhibited than usual—meaning I press my face right into his collarbone and inhale like a Hoover, looping my arms around his strong neck. The dreamy sigh that floats out of me sounds like when you bite into a microwaved donut.Mmmphf.
The sturdy muscles under his jacket go rigid, and I’ve invaded enough of his personal space to hear his heart kick up speed. But he just allows me to run my hands over his chest and broad shoulders. He’s as tense as a coiled fist but only holds me closer to him, charitably offering me a bit more to feel. My fingers creep up his neck and I stroke the stubble under his chin and at his Adam’s apple. Memories of our kiss flood me and I bury myself farther into his shoulder, hoping to be absorbed by the sheer weight of him.
“Shite,” Halloran curses.
I rear my head back from his chest and try not to dry heave at the whirling trees and streetlamps. “What is it?”
“The bus is gone.”
For no good reason, this is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. The bus—our tour bus—left without its star. I laughso hard I sneeze and snot comes out my nose. I am a pretty princess tonight.
