Spence replies in his trademark snarky tone. “I know who the quarterback for Arizona is. I don’t live under a rock. I’m not calling you Butters, though, Ryan.”
Butters laughs. “Fair enough. Good to meet you, little guy.”
Spence scoffs. “There’s nothing little about me. I’d be happy to take you to the men’s room and compare.”
I barely register Butters standing there with his mouth open in shock.
I'm just staring. Straight ahead. At the ass at the bar.
Jen notices my weird behavior and nudges my shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”
I shake my head and point. Jen follows my gaze, scanning the bar. “What is it?”
I still can’t speak. My breath is stuck in my throat.
Then he turns around.
Jen gasps softly, covering her mouth. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”
Butters, oblivious, frowns. “What? What’s going on—oh holy shit.”
He starts walking toward us, and Spence, never one to miss an opportunity, whistles low and murmurs, “Raw. No further questions, Your Honor.”
Jen slaps his arm, shooting him a look, but I can’t even react to their antics. My world narrows to the man now standing directly in front of me.
“Hey, Beautiful.”
Time completely stops. We just stand there, our eyes getting reacquainted. His blue meets my hazel and my skin ignites.
But then, as if a switch flips, rage surges through me. “No. You don’t get to call me that.”
I turn sharply to leave, but Chance grabs my arm. I yank away from his grip, my pulse pounding.
Before I can say anything else, Butters moves, his posture shifting as he steps up, ready to get in Chance’s face. Jen is faster, throwing herself between them, her outstretched hand pressing against Butters’ chest. “I got this. You and Spencer take him outside. Lexi and Beau are here if I need them.”
Butters glares but nods, turning to me. “Let’s go get some air, yeah?”
Words escape me, so I just shake my head in the affirmative.
As I turn to leave, I catch one last glimpse of Jen, her finger jabbing at Chance’s chest as she lays into him. But he isn’t even looking at her.
His eyes are locked only on me.
The cool night air is a shock to my system as I step into the parking lot. The heat of the bar, the press of bodies, the overwhelming scent of alcohol and cologne—all of it fades into the quiet hum of the city night.
Ryan and Spence follow, but I barely clock their presence. My mind is spinning, my body tense as I pace a few steps away and turn to face them, hands on my hips, trying to steady my breathing.
“Damn, Anthony,” Spence says, Adjusting his hair—for the twentieth time tonight. “Who was that tattooed god? And are you sure you can’t fix him?”
Butters shoots him a look. “Dude, no.”
Spence’s lips curl. “Aww, don’t be jealous, ball boy, you’re a smoke show too.”
Butters stares at him for a beat and says, “Bro, read the room.”
Spence smirks and turns to him. “You can read?”
Butters scoffs. “Insulting the jock’s intelligence. How original.”