Page 32 of Small Town Firsts
Finally the Ronda name clicked. I’d worked in enough sports bars to know who Ronda Rousey was, even if she hadn’t fought much in a while.
“At least take my tips to cover some of the mess I made.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Ronan’s voice went from cheerfully annoying to dark.
My eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I was going to have a steak and a brew.”
Mason tossed a bunch of bar towels on the rubber mat to cover glass. “We’ll bag it up, and you can take it with you.”
“That’s okay. I just want to get her out of here.”
I couldn’t argue with him. Mostly because my skin was going to crawl off my bones with everyone staring at me.
If Ronan would’ve just put me down, people would have gotten bored and returned their attention to the game or something. Not that there was much to watch in the summer, but something—anything—had to be better than having all eyes on me.
Stef cleared his throat from the end of the bar. “I didn’t get to put his ticket in…”
Mason sighed. “All right then. Thanks for coming in to cover tonight, Kira.”
My cheeks burned.
“Hey,” Mason pointed a finger at me, “don’t go there. With your quick thinking, it wasn’t worse. Instead of the drunk tank, this idiot could be in an ambulance right now and suing me.”
I nodded mutely. The guilt still tried to fillet me from the inside out. I worked at The Mason Jar a few times a month for the impressive tips I couldn’t say no to. And the best part was most people didn’t know who I was.
I was just the chick who could twirl bottles for a little entertainment. Just Kira. Not one of the Webb sisters of Turnbull.
Ronan juggled me higher on his hip.
“Would you put me down? I’m too heavy.”
“You’re stiffening up. Relax.” His voice lowered as he brushed his nose along my ear. “Until I want you wound up again.”
I looped my other arm around his shoulder to secure myself against his chest, then I tugged his hair none too gently. I gave him an admonishing look to shut his damn mouth, but he grinned wider.
“I like when you pull my hair, but save it for later.” He clamped one large palm on my ass and stepped over a large puddle of glass sprinkled tequila.
I snuck a glance at Mason who was mopping up the worst of the spill with a bar towel. His lips were twitching, but he didn’t look at me again.
I’d take that small concession. The faster Ronan got me away from the bar, the faster I could get my feet back on the floor. It was easier than making any more of a spectacle.
The murmurs and giggles that followed in our wake made my nerves jangle.
“Relax, Sunshine. I’ll have you out of here in a sec.” But instead of putting me down when we got to the edge of the tables, he kept walking. His stride was impressively wide—just like his shoulders, which I should not be noticing, dammit—and we were in the dining room before I could open my mouth again.
More eyes.
Crap.
“Put. Me. Down.”
“So you can drip and squeak all over the dining room? I don’t think you realize just how decorated you are in garnishes.”
“Freaking great.”
His dark gaze raked over my face and I could only imagine the state of my hair and makeup. The humidity of the day and the cherry juice alone made me want to cry.
