Page 39 of Pour Decisions
“Thanks,” I croaked.
“Your family, though…all of you are impressive. Like my sisters.”
“Likeyou,” I emphasized. “And I wouldn’t call being a washed up, retired pro-athlete all that impressive.”
Delia met my eyes again, her whiskey depths swimming with something I couldn’t name. “So you know what it’s like then,” she said, so softly I barely heard.
“What what’s like?”
“To grow up in a family where your talents can get swallowed and overshadowed by those of your siblings. Then again”—she cocked her head to the side, that heavy, dark curtain of her hair fanning down one of her arms, her intoxicating eyes doing a full sweep of me from head to toe—“you became an NFL quarterback who won two Super Bowls in ten seasons, was named MVP in one of them, and are now a highly successful business owner. So maybe I should be asking your siblings that question.”
“I’m not—” I scrambled for a way to phrase this in a way that made sense to her. On paper, yeah, I was successful. And while I’d loved playing football—had always been destined to do so—I recognized that it wasn’t an essential profession like cops, teachers, and medical services. I finally settled on, “I’m a quick thinker and good at throwing a football. My brothers are literal heroes. They’re certainly mine.”
She stepped toward me, tentatively at first, testing whether I’d back away before taking her next. But I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, completely entranced by that whiskey gaze and the way it seemed to see right through me. Like she could see the soft underbelly beneath my muscles.
“You’re someone’s hero too,” she said, settling a warm palm on my arm.
I sucked in a breath at the contact, and the moment lengthened between us. Time seemed to warp and stretch, cocooning us in a bubble where I forgot about everything that existed outside of it.
I could think of nothing but the blood pumping through my veins, her pulse fluttering against the smooth skin of her pretty neck, and how badly I wanted to press my lips, my tongue, my teeth to that spot—and everywhere else she’d let me.
Delia inhaled and leaned toward me.
Fuck, we were really doing it, weren’t we? There’d be no going back, and I didn’t give a fuck. Despite being someone who made a life and career out of being cautious, I welcomed the recklessness of this moment with open arms.
With her, I wanted to be wild.
I wanted her so badly I was afraid I’d die if I didn’t shoot my shot. I tilted my head to the side, lifting a hand to delve my fingers into her hair—
And then my office door flew open.
We jumped apart like we were on fire.
“Boss,” Hugo said, unperturbed by what he’d interrupted. “We’ve got a problem.”
I didn’t look at him, stare still locked on Delia. “So handle it.”
“Ahh…” Hugo started. “As much as I’d like to—and I tried, as did the other guys—unfortunately this one requires your…special touch.”
Fuck.
That could only mean one thing: some belligerent asshole was demanding to see the boss, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We’d had a few instances like this since I’d opened the place, and there was only one thing that would quell this brand of drama—me making an appearance. But I knew from experience that me dragging my ass downstairs would have one of two receptions. Either everyone would settle as I slid behind the bar, or a dangerous riot of excitement would ensue as people pushed and shoved their way to the front and center of my attention.
Delia cleared her throat and retreated further, sucking in a deep breath. “I should get back to my sisters anyway,” she said, not looking at me.
“Hugo and I will walk you down,” I said. “I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”
She quirked a brow dubiously. “How bad could it be?”
Those proved to be famous last words, which we discovered quickly as we descended onto the main floor.
The second I stepped off the final stair, I was mobbed, Delia pressed close to my side, jostled between me and Hugo.
Cheers had gone up when I appeared on the landing, and the moment I reached the floor, the crowd surged, my patrons desperately seeking my attention. Shouts of my name rang out, and random objects waved in the air over our heads—everything from napkins and receipts to, inexplicably, a pair of panties and a white tank top. I didn’t want to know who they belonged to, wasn’t interested in learning if tonight was yet another night in which naked women traipsed around my club. My only focus was Delia, who had reached for me before the mass of people closed around us and glued herself to my side.
I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her because of me.
“I want you to leave!” I yelled at her over the melee, curling my arm around her waist to keep her from getting swept away. “Grab your sisters and get the fuck out of here.”
