Page 7 of Force At Third

“Roman Hart grabbed her and CeCe,” Whitley cuts me off.

“Come on.” I clutch Whitley’s hand and maneuver us through the crowd as Danny and Pope break up the fight.

We make it to them in seconds, but seconds are crucial, so crucial. I’m fucking pissed at myself.

“York,” Whit says soothingly. “She’s fine. They’re fine.”

As two big guys drag Frankie out of the bar, he yells to me, “What the fuck, Gwen?”

I glance at Danny and Whit. “I have to go have at least a conversation with him. Can you two?—”

“Go. We’re good.” Danny winks.

I try to shake off the adrenaline rush as I hurry out of the bar.

As soon as he sees me, he yells, “You and I had an agreement. You fuck Locke again, you and I are?—”

Oh no, he didn’t.

“I’m not sure it was an agreement or something you?—”

He storms toward me, points a finger in my face, and I don’t even flinch. “You fucked him when you were home?—”

“First, get your finger out of my face before you’re added to the injured player list,” I say so calmly, even I’m impressed with myself. “Second, it’s been months since you and I have run into each other.”

He stands there, waiting for me to continue, and I don’t.

He throws his hands in the air. “And what’s third?”

I shake my head. “There is no third.”

“The fuck there isn’t,” he seethes and steps toward me.

“The lady said there is no third. Now, walk it back to second. You know where that is, right? That base you didn’t get past the entire damn?—”

I whirl around and point at Locke. “Get back inside. I don’t need your input!”

“Gwendolyn York, as always, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He holds his hand to his heart.

“Do not speak to me!” I yell—yes, yell at him.

To this, he grins.

Motherfucker.

I turn and look at Frankie, completely enraged at these two grown-ass men both thinking it’s okay to talk about my damn sex life like I’m some whore. If that’s the case, what the hell are they?

Men. They’re fucking men.

“I may have fucked him, but as you know, sex is sex to me. Whatever you and Locke have going on seems complicated, a toxic relationship I never agreed to enter into. The two of you need to work that out amongst yourselves.”

Frankie points at Locke. “You need to stop pissing on my fucking parade.”

“I don’t want to piss on your parade, you damn clown; I wanna blow up all your little floats with my confetti cannon.”

The way he said it, laughing … I just can’t with him.

One of the bouncers who dragged Frankie out chuckles. “All right, get your ass inside, Locke.”

---