Page 7 of Jake Forever
Or maybe that was just my stomach.
I leaned toward Jake and whispered, "What's up with Ronnie?"
Jake smiled like he knew something I didn't.
I felt my gaze narrow. Had Jakeknownthat Ronnie wasn't going to win tonight? Wasthatwhy we were here? To capture the fallout?
It made sense in a Jake sort of way. If Ronnie, who already had a reputation for being a sore loser, threw a huge hissy-fit, Jake's fans would absolutely love it. And they'd love it even more if Jake messed with him along the way – throwing some Jake-flavored gasoline on the proverbial fire.
And then, there was the matter of Ronnie's action-star brother, who had just stopped in mid-stride. He looked toward the stage, and his eyes narrowed to slits. A slow, mean smile darkened his features.
Oh, crap.
What was Dorian planning to do, anyway? Rip the trophy out of Becky's hands? And then what? Award it to his little brother? From the look on Dorian's face, the idea wasn't so far-fetched.
Frantically, I glanced around. Where was security, anyway? Shouldn't they be jumping in to stop this? And then I remembered, most of the security belonged to Dorian.
So that left who, exactly?
Without thinking, I started to rise. My butt had barely left the chair when an iron grip yanked me back down. I turned to see Jake flash me a grin. "Don't even think about it." He leaned around me and told Trey, "You ready?"
Trey gave a happy nod.
I looked from Trey to Jake. "Ready for what?" I asked.
Jake flicked his head toward Dorian, who was once again heading toward us – or toward the stage, depending on what, exactly, he had in mind. I didn't really know, and from the look in Dorian's eyes, I probably didn'twantto know.
My heart was hammering, and I gave Jake a quick, nervous glance. Looking easy and relaxed, he snagged a noodle off my plate and popped it into his mouth. He gave me a smile, the cocky one that made just a little bit nervous.
Again, I looked toward Dorian, who passed me in a sudden blur. And then, with a loud thud, he was gone. I mean,reallygone. From somewhere near the floor, I heard a muffled groan, followed by the roar of laughter all around us.
I leaned around Jake's chair to look. And there Dorian was, lying on the tile floor amidst buttery noodles and bits of breaded chicken.
What the heck?
Across the room, someone yelled out, "Mother-fucker!"
I turned toward the sound and saw Ronnie North jump to his feet and glare more daggers in our direction.
I froze. The way it looked, he'd been hollering at Jake. But why? Before I could give it too much thought, Ronnie was barreling and weaving his way toward us – or, as a best-case scenario – toward his brother.
With growing panic, I looked to the floor, where Dorian was now struggling to rise. Halfway up, he lost his footing and, once again, hit the floor, hard, landing on his ass.
From somewhere near the back, a male voice called out, "Suck on that, Jones!"
The whole place exploded in laughter.
Dorian tried again, and this time, managed to struggle to his feet. He turned and glared toward the voice. Again, he bellowed, "Who said that?"
The only answer was more laughter, along with a smattering of applause.
From her spot behind the podium, Becky tentatively called out, "Mister North, are you okay?"
"Shut up!" Dorian hollered as he whirled toward the stage, giving me a clear view of his backside. On his ass, I saw soggy noodles stuck to the seat of his fancy dress pants.
At the sight of them, I felt my brow wrinkle. The noodles looked familiar.Toofamiliar. I looked to my plate. It was still there. But the chicken wasn't. And neither were the noodles.
I gave Jake a sideways glance. But this time, he wasn't watching me. He was watching Ronnie, who was still plowing toward us – until he was suddenly tackled by one of the football players who'd been glaring at him earlier.
