Page 34 of Dirty Filthy Boy
"We'll find something. Let's go." I grab her free hand and pull. But we go nowhere. Oliver's holding on to her other hand.
I turn toward him, and we square off like a couple of raging bulls, with MacKenna stuck in the middle in a game of pull and pull.
A light flashes to our side. The three of us turn to stare at the camera which goes off again. Damn. A photographer snapping photos of the Outlaws' owner and his starting quarterback fighting over the same woman. This will make for a really, really bad publicity shot.
But before the photographer can snap another picture, MacKenna's quick-thinking friend comes to the rescue, "Oliver, darling." She insinuates her body against Oliver's, effectively breaking his hold on MacKenna.
"What?" Dumbstruck, Oliver glares at MacKenna's friend.
She curls one arm around his neck and pulls him down to her level. And then she whispers something in his ear while her hand sinks to his crotch. Well, that's one way to get his attention.
Whatever she says has him shifting the gears. He straightens and hauls her into him, lifting her clear off the floor. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."
Her eyes grow wide before he plants a take-no-prisoners kiss on her ruby red lips.
Knowing a good thing when he sees it, the photographer snaps another photo of the four of us. If this causes an uproar, it won't be my fault. I'm holding hands with MacKenna in a proper pose. Oliver, on the other hand, is going at it hot and heavy with Marigold, with one arm wrapped around her ass.
"One more of just the two of you." The papparazzo points to MacKenna and me.
"Of course." Grinning, I cradle her against me, her back to my front.
After a couple of snaps, the photographer drifts away.
Marigold and Oliver unclench long enough to come up for air. He shakes his head as if he's in a daze. More sure of herself, Marigold grabs Oliver by his tie and tugs. "Let's dance, lover. They're playing my tune."
The music is some melody straight out of the 1940s American songbook.
Oliver resists pixie cut's lure long enough to turn to MacKenna. "Wait. I can't leave MacKenna alone."
"I'm not alone. I'm with Ty." She smiles at him as she points to the ballroom floor where people are swaying to the music. "Go dance with Marigold. I'm fine."
As Marigold drags Oliver away, she tosses a glance over her shoulder and mouths "You're welcome."
MacKenna laughs.
"She's something else, your friend."
"Yes, she is. Met her my first day in college. We've been best friends ever since."
"I can see." Now that they're gone, I give in to the aching need to touch her and curl my hand around her jaw. "How do you know Oliver?"
She neither protests nor pulls away. "He's an old friend. His cousins owned the farm next to ours in Iowa, and he visited one summer. I was surprised to run into him at the Outlaws' compound. I didn't know he owned the team."
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I recall how close together they'd stood. "Why were you there?"
"To get Ron's blessing on the piece I'd written on him. When I ran into Oliver, he invited me to this event so we could catch up." When my hand clenches around her chin, she hurries to say, "I hadn't seen him for years, Ty."
I glance in the direction her friend and Oliver took before turning back to MacKenna. "Were you sweet on him?"
She hitches up her chin. "Yes. I was."
It hurts that admission. Maybe she's still attracted to him. The decent part of me wrestles with the caveman howling within. Much as I want to take her to a place where we can be alone, I can't force her if she'd rather be with her friends. "You want to go with them?" The question comes out as a growl.
"No." She shakes her head, and her glorious auburn curls riot around her shoulders. "I'd rather be with you." She sounds shy and sweet, like she's not sure of her welcome. For a moment, doubt rises within me. Maybe she's not faking it. Maybe she wants to be with me. But then I recall the phone conversation. She's doing this to advance her career, nothing more. Once she writes her article for the newspaper, she'll want nothing to do with me. That's fine. I only need her for one thing as well—that tight pussy between her legs.
"Good." Holding on to her hand, I head for the nearest exit. She trips along while holding up her evening gown.
"Where are we going?" She sounds breathless. Can't tell because she's excited or the maddening pace I'm setting. Either works for me.
