Page 69 of Live for Me

“Nobody else is,” I said and continued looking.

Pool tables. Dart boards. Some weird, modernized jukebox-looking thing.

“Is that a mechanical bull?” I asked and had no chance at preventing the laugh that escaped. “What is this place, Utah?”

I hopped down off that barstool like I wasn’t in the emotional battle of my lifetime just a brief moment ago and promptly toppled directly into the man. I made it so much worse when I panicked and tried to push myself backward away from him in the next second because I wasn’t equipped to handle the feel of his entire body against mine that way. For whatever reason, the foot that was supposed to have stepped backward to stabilize me did not actually end up stepping backward like I thought it would, and I about fell that direction too.

Utah locked his hand around my wrist and jerked me right back against the front of his body. He let go of my wrist to wrap that arm all the way around my shoulders to hold me there. I forced myself to look straight up at him, because what the fuck was happening? Was he hugging me?

“Maybe just stand here for a second and figure out how to use your body while it’s drunk before you wipe out half the bar, huh?” he asked and chuckled before he looked down at me.

His face was so close again.

Sort of.

He was still a solid foot taller than me. And I was still stuck staring straight up just to be able to see him from the position he was keeping me in.

He had tiny creases at the outer corners of both eyes that weren’t normally there. I could see them now because he was still smiling, because he was stillthatclose to me. His eyes were the lightest shade of brown I’d ever seen. So light that I wondered if I might be able to see right through them if I looked hard enough.

“Your eyes are really pretty.”

Oh, God. Was I the one who’d said that?

Utah laughed. “You’re about to become the drunken little menace of all my dreams, aren’t you?” he whispered.

Fuck. I was the one who’d said that shit about the pretty eyes.

Wait.

Of all his dreams?

I needed to get away from him.

My brain was becoming unreliable around him even when I was sober. That left me with even less faith in its ability to fumble through processing his actions while intoxicated.

I managed to get my hands up between us so I could push off his chest until he released his hold around my shoulders. His smile disappeared slowly while I stepped backward to look around the room again.

“I think I’m going to find a bathroom,” I said.

He smirked for a second before stepping off to the side to let me walk around him. I glanced back for just a moment to see that he’d leaned back against the bar to watch me while I stumbled my way around this place. I didn’t need a bathroom. I just needed some room to breathe.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Wild Turkey was if it could take my brain and turn it into a useless mound of gray matter in under twenty minutes. It was fascinating though. Rather than being wildly embarrassed by whatever had just happened, I found it hilarious. Everything about the last few months felt hilarious.

This guy, who made a fuck-ton of money off the deaths, kidnappings, and rescuing of whoever was in need, had embarked upon this strange new endeavor of introducing me to all the little experiences I’d missed just because life was mean to me when I was young. This was the same guy who was entirely willing to give up that lucrative business of murdering, kidnapping, and finding whatever and whoever he was told to just because I needed someone who could rescue the only person on the planet to whom I was still close. That person being a mouthy asshole who Utah didn’t even like.

I giggled to myself just thinking about the way Jersey and Utah had treated each other. And the way Utah had always quietly backed down and away any time Jersey was looking for a fight—just because I’d asked it of him. It wasn’t ever because he couldn’t handle Jersey. Like that night when things got out of control between Jersey and Trista. No one else would’ve been able to fight Jersey straight to the ground and keep him pinned there until he was back in command of his own brain, but Utah had done it without even breaking a sweat.

I tried to turn back to look for Utah again, but found myself staring into the chest of a man I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t successfully explain it if anyone were to ever ask, but I was beyond certain that I could feel Utah’s eyes on every move I made.

And all I could think about was the way that Nevada’s fingers had traced right along the separation that existed in the thick muscle of Utah’s tricep when she’d touched his arm.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” this new man asked. I managed to focus on his face long enough to grasp that he didn’t look anything like Utah. There was no facial hair, where Utah’s entire jaw was covered. His face was more round, where Utah’s whole head looked like a fucking block. They were about the same size, but that was as far as the similarities went.

“Memphis.”

Balls. I should have told him any name other than that one. That name meant trouble everywhere it went.

“I fucking love that. Pretty name to go with that pretty smile.”

---