Page 226 of Story of My Life
“Sure, Quaid.”
Zoey had been gone a long time, and I was getting suspicious. I was just about to make an excuse to go track her down when a dozen phone notifications rippled through the bar at the same time.
“What’s going on?” I asked over the hum of excitement.
“You ready for another glass?” Rusty offered, appearing in front of me.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I’ll take another wheatgrass brotein beer,” Quaid said, holding up his empty glass. “It’s like a protein smoothie and a light beer had an awesome baby.”
“That sounds…interesting.”
I rubbed the back of my neck absently.
“Tight traps?” Quaid asked.
“Huh?”
He reached over and applied pressure to the spot where my neck met my shoulder.
“Oh my god.” The words burst out of me on an appreciative groan.
“Yeah, you’re super tight,” he said, twisting me on my stool so he could massage my taut muscles with his ham-hock-sized hands.
“Oh wow,” I purred. I’d spent a lot of time pretending to be writing that week, and apparently pretending to write used the same muscles as actually writing.
Something was happening in the room behind me. There was an electric tension, as if everyone was holding their breath simultaneously. But Quaid’s magic, muscular thumbs made it hard for me to concentrate on anything else.
“Get your hands off her.”
The snarly command had my eyelids popping open like tubes of biscuits.
“Oh, hey there, Cam. I didn’t see you,” Quaid said easily, still working my neck muscles.
“I don’t care if you can bench-press a pickup truck. If you don’t move your hands in the next two seconds, I’m going to rip your arms off and punch you in the face with your own fists.”
I squirmed out of Quaid’s meaty grip and spun around.
Campbell Bishop looked like he was in actual physical pain.
“Now hold on there, Cam. If Hazel wants to date Quaid, that’s her prerogative,” Rusty warned.
“I gotta agree with Rusty,” Sunita called out in her crisp British accent. “You’re the wanker who made her single.”
“Heh. Wanker,” Laura said next to Sunita.
Heads nodded, and more agreements were shouted.
Gage and Levi skidded to a halt just inside the door behind Zoey.
“Least no one’s bleedin’,” Gage observed dryly.
“Yet,” Levi muttered.
I hopped off my stool, suddenly fueled by a bone-deep anger. “What is your problem?” I demanded, drilling a finger into Cam’s chest.
“Can we talk? After I throw this beefcake in the lake?” he asked me.
