Page 6 of Force At Third

This is so much better than my drama.

CeCe shakes her head. “Nope. Didn’t know. I just met him when his pup was trying to poop in my yard.”

“Actually, we met at a concert the night before,” he says, eyes seriously dancing.

“Is that so?” Chloe asks, slowly turning to face CeCe.

She shields her face with the brim of a Jags hat. “What I meant was that I didn’t know he was my neighbor until the next day.”

“Make way. The Roman Hart Fan Club is in the house!” a voice booms through the bar.

“You’d better go greet your fan club.” CeCe narrows her eyes at him.

I silently thank that lucky star of mine because, yes, this is totally better than my two-player drama. Chloe will put all that energy into getting CeCe to let down her guard and live a little.

He gives her a smirk, and yeah, he’s got a great one.

Fucking baseball players with their giant egos after a win—so hot.

“I suppose I should. You wanna come or …?”

“What?” she cuts him off.

Grinning, he walks away.

“You have two minutes to process, and then you need to spill all the beans, CeCe Shaw.” Chloe claps after saying this. She then fixes her eyes on me. “BTW, Leland Locke just walked in. Please tell me it is him who’s been texting you tonight.”

“Or is it that one?” Whit nods toward the front.

I glance over and groan when I see Leland and Frankie, both heading in this direction. This situation is fucked with a capital F, multiplied by two—no, make that three, since I happen to be here in Trenton the same damn week the Jags are playing the Mavericks.

Feeling eyes burning into the side of my face, I glance over and see Whit, Chloe, and Chloe’s husband, Danny, all pretending to hold back their amusement and doing a shit job of it.

“Laugh it up, assholes,” I mumble before taking another drink.

“How long’s it been since you and Locke were in the same room? Grandpa Locke’s wake?” Chloe asks.

I glare at her for show but secretly celebrate the idea that none of them know about my minor indiscretion a few weeks ago.

“Not long enough,” I huff.

Honestly, it hasn’t been nearly long enough for me to forget about how infuriatingly perfect his touch is, or how long it takes to stop wondering how the hell his dick was the first ever inside of me—Little Texas. Yep, Leland Locke knows his dick is well above average. Hell, he’s known it his whole life, since he’s the one who named it Little Texas.

“Oh shit,” Whit says, snapping me out of my stupor.

And that’s when I see it. A heated exchange between Locke and Frankie is obviously escalating.

The air crackles with tension, and shouting and grunting fill the space, drowning out the background music. At first, it’s just raised voices and aggressive gestures. But, soon enough, fists are flying, and glasses shatter against the wooden floor as they knock over a pub table. Next, the brawl spills across the room, and chairs topple over right in front of us.

Now, I am the first girl in the middle of a fight, attempting to break it up. Right now, though, I watch with a mix of shock and fascination, with my heart pounding in my chest as the chaos continues.

Is it okay that I find it a turn-on? No, and part of me wants to look away, but another part is captivated by the raw intensity of the scene playing out before me.

“Where’s Chloe!” Danny yells, snapping me out of my trance.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I ask myself as I begin to panic.

“She’s … They’re … Oh my?—”

---