Page 15 of An Uphill Battle

“Go ahead and laugh, Seraphine, but by the end of the night, that man will be regretting coming in here and actin’ a fool,” I tell her, stomping my foot for emphasis. “I’m the boss. Not him. Me! He can’t just swing his sexy at me and expect me to fall all over him like some love-struck, googly-eyedgirl.”

“Can’t he, though?” Seraphine asks, tapping her long, manicured nails on thedesktop.

“I mean, ugh. Yes, physically, he can. That man is catnip to my libido, buthedoesn’t need to knowthat—”

“Hun, I’m ninety-nine percent positive he already knowsit.”

“So not the point. I need to flip this around. Stay on top of him.” Seraphine quirks a brow at me, and I can’t help but giggle. “The situation with him, nothim-him.”

“Why’re you so against being with him,Az?”

“Because we want totally different things from each other. He wants no-strings fun, and I want to settle down one day. I’ve loved Drake since before I was old enough to even understand the feelings he stirred in me, and unfortunately, the only thing I stir in him is lust. So, I need to stay on top of this shit. It’d be so easy to give in, and then I’d just end up with a hurt heart. No,thanks.”

“And you think going out, dressed sexy, and putting on a show for him is the way to stay on top of the ‘situation’?” Seraphine asks, using airquotes.

Briefly, I ponder her words. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this isn’t the way to guard my heart, but he deserves the payback. “Yup, totally. See ya at eight. Invite Mags,too.”

DRAKE

The feeling of my phone buzzing in my pocket startles me out of my daze. Across the screen, it readsOne unread message from Seraphine Reynolds.“What the...?” Don’t get me wrong. I like the girl just fine, but we aren’t the texting kind offriends.

Shaking off the weird feeling, I unlock my phone and pull up hertext.

Seraphine:Be at Big O’s at9.

The hell? Big O’s is a local dive bar, owned by a burly-ass ex-linebacker named Owen Heely. Why on earth is Seraphine inviting me out drinking? Girl ain’t even old enough to drink. Just as I’m about to reply, another text pingsthrough.

Seraphine:Your girl’s got a wild hair about hertonight.

Plans on going drinking and dancing. Bethere.

Drake:Say no more. See youthen.

Wasting no time, I fire off a text to Simon telling him he has plans tonight now, and that he’d best be there because if some dude hits on my girl, I’ll need his ass to hold meback.

Or to help me hide the body. Eitherway.

* * *

Ipullup to Big O’s at five past nine, and the parking lot is damn-near overflowing, cars and trucks everywhere. I manage to snag a spot, conveniently next to a certain blonde’s little toy-sizedBMW.

Stalking into the building, I immediately see Simon manning his post at the bar with an ice-cold beer in his grip. As I approach, I nod my head to the bartender, and before I’m even seated, there’s one waiting forme.

“Seen the girls?” I ask Simon, not bothering to beat around thebush.

“Everyone has seen the girls,” comes his darkreply.

“And that means what,exactly?”

He tips his beer bottle toward the dance floor, and my eyes find Azalea almost immediately. Just like every time we’re near one another, I can’t help but only see her. Alwaysher.

I watch in a trance-like state as Azalea rolls her hips to a song about bodies and backroads. I lean forward to get a better view when she lowers herself toward the floor, because hot damn,thatass.

As she shimmies her way back up, I relax into my seat, content to watch her twist her hips and shake herass.

Suddenly, Simon reaches over and hands me a bar napkin. I shoot him a WTF glare, and he just laughs and says, “To wipe your drool, brother.” And I gotta laugh too, because with the way that girl moves her body, there ain’t a man in here—except Simon—who isn’t drooling alittle.

Simon and I waste time, talking shit and shooting the breeze while simultaneously keeping an eye on Azalea and Seraphine, when Magnolia walks up, looking a little worse forwear.

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