Page 80 of Riding the Storm
Bryce.
He’s there in three long strides, jaw tight, eyes blazing.
“Back up,” he snaps, plucking the hat from my head and shoving it into Porter’s chest.
Porter blinks. “Chill, Bryce. We’re just having some fun.”
“Fun’s over,” Bryce says, stepping in close enough that the space between them disappears, and suddenly, I’m caught staring at the boot-to-boot showdown.
“Bryce, stop it,” I yell, tugging at his biceps.
Phones rise instantly, flashes popping.
Axle and Royce rush over, grabbing Porter’s arm. “Let it go, man.”
Porter’s smart enough to back off, hands raised. “All right, all right. Didn’t mean nothing.”
Bryce doesn’t answer. He grabs my wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make a point.
“Hey—” I start.
“Outside,” he growls.
The cool night air hits my face as he drags me out of the bar.
I yank my hand free the second we’re clear. “What the hell was that?”
“You tell me,” he fires back. “You think getting drunk, climbing on the back of a dangerous machine, and hanging all over Porter Lane’s a good look? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were begging for trouble.”
“I wasn’t the one whispering with some buckle bunny in the corner,” I snap.
His brows pull together. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I throw my hands up. “The brunette you were cuddled up to.”
His eyes flash as he jerks the door open. “Get in the truck.”
“No.”
“Charli, get in the damn truck.”
I whirl on him. “Or what?”
His jaw clenches. “Or I’m gonna fuck the attitude right out of you, right here in this parking lot—and that’s gonna end up on the front page ofWestern Life Magazine, right next to the fight you just got me dragged into.”
My heart stutters.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I breathe.
He steps closer. “Test me.”
My hands come up, and I shove his chest, but it does no good. The man’s as sturdy as the Tetons.
He catches my hands and holds them against him. “She’s the sports medicine intern who was on duty the night of my last concussion. She was asking how I was doing,” he says, his voice low. “And I was congratulating her when she showed me the ring her boss—the circuit’s doctor—put on her finger last week.”
“Oh.” I shake my head just as a group of patrons passes by.
