Page 12 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

Chapter Six

seb

“Incoming!” Ricky points to the steps that separate the VIP level from the main deck.

The blonde in the white dress is trying to make her way up—trying very unsuccessfully. She cleared the first layer of security. They generally give women who look like her a free pass. Her main obstacles seem to be the stairs themselves. Every time she tries to take a step up, her long dress tangles with her feet. She tries to hold it up a little but keeps tripping on it.

Finally, she grabs it, yanks it up so it’s barely covering her butt, and marches up the stairs. When she makes it to the top, she drops the dress back down, but not before every guy in the bar—including me—has his eyes glued to her. She looks over at our table, sighs, and starts walking toward us.

Ricky turns his chair around to face her and pats his lap. “Come here, little Mamacita. Tell Uncle Ricky what’s wrong.”

I kick his chair so hard that he tips over and ends up facedown on the deck. He turns his head to me.

“Mine,” I growl as I point at him.

“Damn, Seb,” he says as he pushes himself up. “Just tell me. You don’t have to launch me into tomorrow.”

She looks at Ricky and then back at me. I don’t think she’s registering what happened. I’ve been watching her table most of the night. They’re playing some game that she’s losing badly. She’s had way too much, and it looks like the tequila’s taken over her brain.

As she closes the distance between us, she gets tangled up in her dress again. She trips and falls forward. I leap up, sweep her into my arms, sit down, and place her on my leg in one fluid motion.

Her eyes are closed as she shakes her head a few times trying to figure out what just happened. She opens them up, squinting at me.

“Nice catch,” she says, smiling as she tries to steady herself on my leg. I wrap my arm around her waist to help her out.

“Thanks. You might say I do that for a living.”

She looks up at me—still squinting. “You catch people for a living?” I can tell by the blank expression on her face that she has no idea I’m a baseball player, much less a catcher.

“Pretty much.”

She shifts around again. Her butt feels nice on my leg—too nice. She wiggles a little bit more. She’s pretty much giving me a lap dance at this point. She needs to quit doing it before things get too active south of my belt.

“So is there something I can help you with tonight?” I say, tightening my grip around her waist to stabilize her. “Or did you just come up here to say hi to me?”

She ignores my question as she looks around at the other guys, and then tilts her head up to look at Joe, who’s standing a few feet behind me. She scrunches up her face and tries to focus on him.

“Is he a security guy?” She nods her head up at him and then looks back at me. “Are you someone?”

“I’m no one.” I point to Ricky. “He’s the important one. They’re all here to protect him.”

“Who is he?” She leans in toward my face and tries to whisper, but Ricky still hears her.

“I’m a Latin pop star—very popular in Miami.” He winks at her and blows her a kiss.

“I don’t believe you,” she says as she drapes her arm comfortably around my neck. Her chest is inches from my face. I try to look away, but it’s really not possible.

“Smart woman,” Paul laughs. “Don’t believe a word Ricky says.”

She points at Ricky and makes little circles with her finger. “You’re lying and I think you’re up to no good—”

“She’s perceptive, too,” Stone says.

She nods at Stone like they’re in on this together. She looks back at Ricky. “Sing something.”

Ricky starts singing—loudly and severely off-key. He reaches toward her as he tries to hit a high note. I swat his arms away.

She leans into my head until her forehead’s resting above my ear. “He’s not a very good singer,” she says, annunciating each word. Her breath is going directly into my ear. It feels way too good.

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