“Oh, ew.” I scrunched up my nose and tried not to breathe as strong hands grabbed around my torso. Hand glanced boob. My whole body tightened like I’d grabbed a live wire. The hand disappeared in what felt like a flinch, and his body jerked back.
I was on my own.
And I was headed downward.
My limbs slapped off the concrete and I took out my stool in the process. The wood made a hollow sound as it hit the ground. My head didn’t. More like a solid thunk.
Everyone around me sucked in an audible breath.
“Ow.” I just lay there for a moment, staring at the overhang of the bar. Beyond that, a few stars twinkled down, flickering in what must’ve been laughter.
“Delilah, are you okay?” The concerned and oh-so-handsome face of Brad interrupted my view. He took my limp hands and pulled, trying to help me up. After a moment of unhelpfulness, wondering if embarrassment would, indeed, kill me, I finally tightened my arms and let him stand me up.
The guy on my other side was up, too, with his girlfriend peeking around him at me.
“What’s my score?” I asked, wiping the wisps of hair out of my face.
“What’s that?” Brad asked, breathless.
“My score. For that landing? I stuck it, I think. That was a good one.”
“She okay?” someone asked. The bartender stared over the bar at me.
“Let’s get some ice on that, huh?” Brad said, his genuine concern flavoring his tone. It was nice of him to care. But he didn’t know me very well. There was a reason I had been christened with a nickname like “Devastating.”
“No, I’m good. Seriously, I’m fine. I’ve done worse, believe me. While sober.” I checked my top. After ascertaining that it was still on and my breasts were still inside, I checked the bottom half. Good thing for that thorough wax, or else I would’ve blasted everyone with a seventies flashback.
“Oh. Uh…here.” Brad pulled the wrap around me, his gaze snagging on my chest for a moment before he jerked his eyes away and secured the cloth. “You might want to tie it. I’m not sure how.”
“Used to taking clothes off, not putting them on, huh?”
“Something like that,” Brad whispered as his lips pulled up into a smile.
After knotting my wrap, I sat down to my drink. “I probably need to move locations. People will be staring at me for the rest of the night, wondering if I’ll fall off again.”
“Sure. Of course. Yeah.” Brad made the “check” sign in the air at the bartender.
I fingered my head while the bartender moved away to get my check. Hopefully. Because I imagined my face color matched the blotches of sunburn speckling my body.
“Seven,” Brad said as we waited.
“What’s that?” I asked, feeling a spot that would develop into a knot. No way was I asking for ice, though. More tequila would fix me right up. While also making me worse…
I struck that last thought from the record. It wasn’t helping.
“You did stick the landing, but I had to take off style points. Your execution was messy.”
I wheezed out a laugh. Thankfully he was making light of the whole thing. “Yeah. I’m not on my game.”
The black leather landed in front of me, containing the white slip of my bill. Before I could grab it, Brad swiped it off the bar and peeked inside. “Wow. I’m behind.”
“Okay, Big Brother.” I shook my hand at him. No way was I reaching. I didn’t need a second dive.
“Nah. Let’s go. People are staring.” He slipped a few bills in and pushed the leather to the top of the bar. Before I could protest, he was helping me off the stool with a firm grip. “Let’s go.”
“Hey.” My friend from earlier stalked in front of us. Six feet tall and seemingly just as wide, he planted his feet and leaned toward Brad with a sort of menace that wasn’t teachable. “This guy bothering you?”
Somehow, Brad didn’t flinch. He didn’t even flex. He stood his ground with a placid expression, apparently not the least bit worried.
“No, he’s okay. I’m drunk, not clumsy. I mean drunk, not clumsy. I mean— Shit. Okay, maybe both. But he’s fine.”
“You’re not thinkin’ so clear, if you don’t mind me sayin’,” the man said to me, even though he was still glaring at Brad.
“Definitely not, no. But he helped me out of a tight spot earlier, so I think I’m good. I won’t be going home with him. Or, you know, back to his room.”
“You hear that?” the man said to Brad. He tensed—he was probably flexing, though his muscle was obscured by a layer of fat. I didn’t imagine it made him any slower or any softer. This guy seemed like he’d hold up his end of a fight pretty well, whether it be with his muscles or a weapon. A weapon that he was possibly concealing in his waistband under his flowing shirt. “You’re not gettin’ anything outta this. So if you don’t like that, you better get lost. I’ll see she makes it back safe.”
“Understood, bro.” That was all Brad said, still perfectly at ease. He might’ve been talking to his grandmother instead of a rabid stranger with a protective complex.