Page 64 of Enticing the Enforcer
I trail off when she looks up at me, eyes sparkling with barely-contained laughter.
“I’m rambling,” I mutter.
“It’s cute,” she says softly.
“You’re cute.” The words slip out before I can reel them back.
It takes everything in me not to scoop her up right there, haul her upstairs, and strip her bare.
“Where is everyone?” she asks instead, her mind not as deep in the gutter as mine.
“At the Badger Den, I think.” I shrug, trying to act casual when my pulse is anything but. “Fishbowl margarita night.”
“What does that even mean?”
I laugh. “I forget you’re not savvy to the ridiculousness of college. Basically it’s a giant margarita, the size of a fishbowl. It’s a shitton of tequila and a promise of a terrible hangover.”
She grins, that wicked little tilt of her mouth I know too well. “You know what I could go for right now?”
I arch a brow hopefully.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, tugging me closer. “The Jefferson Parks Special.”
“You don’t mean my cock, do you?” I laugh under my breath, already caving. How the hell could I ever say no to her–to whatever she wants? I’d give her everything. “If that’s what you want, Angel, that’s what you’ll get.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re weaving through the crowd at the Badger Den, Ingrid tucked against my side as I push us toward the back table. The place smells like fried food and cheap beer, the floors sticky, the music too loud, but when she slides her hand into mine, I feel ten feet tall walking her in.
There’s a ripple of excitement as people recognize us–her. I’m used to the looks from men and women when I come into the bar. Being a hockey player at Wittmore comes with instant recognition, but the energy this time is different. It’s both quiet and loud.
“You sure this is okay?” I ask her, the sense of protectiveness surging in my veins. “Should we call Marv?”
I’ve gotten used to her bodyguard’s quiet, but intimidating presence. Ingrid’s fingers squeeze mine. “He’s around here somewhere, and this is nothing. I can handle it.” She tilts her head. “The real question is, can you?”
People try to slyly take photographs, but honestly I don’t care. I drop my mouth to her ear. “I want everyone to know you’re with me, Angel. And if anyone tries to overstep, they’ll have to deal with me and my friends.” I just want her to know that she can relax a little and have fun. We’ll keep her safe.
At the table, everyone greets her with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for championship wins. Hugs, hellos, the girls pulling her into quick side squeezes before launching into compliments about her outfit and chatter about where they got their own. They ask about Madison, who is getting to town late, due to dealing with some last minute tour logistics. The guys, less subtle, shove a frosty pint into my hand from the pitcher already sweating on the table.
“What happened to holing up and staying in all weekend?” Reese asks.
“She realized Parks in bed for an entire weekend wasn’t worth the hype,” Axel snarks back.
“Shut it.” I snap. “She just wanted to experience college life a little.”
The guys seem, well, happy for me, which is weird. I haven’t done anything but show up with a girl to a shitty bar. When the girls settle back in at the table, I drag her chair right up next to mine, feeling her warm leg against mine. Josie, the waitress, brings a fresh round of fishbowls to the table. Ingrid’s eyes widen at the huge glass.
“Pace yourself,” Reid warns.
Nadia takes a sip out of her straw, draining her glass, and leans forward, blunt as ever. “So did Jake really show up backstage after your concert?”
The table goes quiet, all eyes on her.
Ingrid doesn’t flinch. She just takes a sip of her own drink, eyes steady. “He did. It was pretty awkward,” she admits. “For him, more than me.”
“Did he see you?” she asks me.
“We met,” I answer gruffly, thinking about how if I see him again, I’m going to have a hard time restraining myself.
“He totally showed up because you’re dating someone new,” Twyler says. “Never underestimate a man wanting what another man has.”
