“Experience and clout in the industry matter, as well,” I say faintly. But the idea of helping them is seductive because I know how satisfying it would be to ensure their safety. Twitchy, I get to my feet. “I love this song,” I say to no one in particular. “Who’s going to dance with me?”
The guys look like deer in headlights. It takes me a second to even concentrate on what the song actually is. And I bite my lip hard. Madonna’s Material Girl is playing. It’s a struggle to keep a straight face. Gotta love Eighties Night.
“Uh-uh,” Johnson says with a rampant shake of his head. “This is a girl’s song.”
Drew points to his leg. “I need to rest it. Doctor’s orders.”
Anna snorts and rolls her eyes before popping out of the booth. “Let’s dance, Ivy.”
“Looks like we’re on our own,” I say to her.
“Yeah.” Gray leans far back into his seat as though he’s in danger of being pulled out. “Maybe the next song.”
Anna shrugs and grabs my hand. I follow, perfectly happy to lose myself on the dance floor.
Six
Gray
“I like her,” Dex says as the girls leave.
“She’s great, isn’t she?” I watch Mac’s long legs stride toward the dance floor. The top she’s wearing dips down nearly to her waist, revealing the satiny expanse of her narrow back. I’ve never been one for noticing backs, but I have the insane urge to follow her, run my palm down that smooth curve, down to her— I take a breath and get a grip on my wayward thoughts.
Johnson turns to me. “You gonna sign with her dad, for serious?”
“He’s cool. And clearly knows what he’s doing if Ivy thinks that way about agenting.” She’d lit up when she talked about the business. But I don’t like the way Mac fled the table. My suggestion that she should be an agent clearly made her upset, and I have no idea why.
I can’t ask her now, so I turn my attention elsewhere, raising my voice so it can be heard over the pounding music. “Hey, newbie,” I say to Cal, who has been quiet all night, “Drew and I are going to practice some drills tomorrow morning. Join us.”
Drew nods. I’ve talked to him about it, and he’s agreed to help Cal. The trick is getting Cal to accept the help.
My new quarterback glances between us and a frown pulls at his face. But before he can protest, Drew attacks. “Look, man, I’d like to keep myself in condition. I’d rather have another QB to work with.”
Cal isn’t stupid—thank God—but he shrugs, obviously unwilling to argue right now. “Sure.”
He’s about to say something else, but a strangled sound leaves Rolondo. It’s as if he’s stuck between laughter and horror. “Uh, G-Man.” He makes the sound again, his eyes on the dance floor. “Your girl…”
The guys all turn, and their expressions mirror ’Londo’s. Drew winces and mutters, “Damn,” as if he’s witnessing an atrocity.
I wrench around, my fists clenched and ready to pound the shit out of anyone who might be bothering Ivy. And freeze. Good God Almighty. My mouth falls open.
“What is she…?” Dex shakes his head as if confused.
And I can only stare, numb with shock. Because Ivy is dancing. At least I think she is. Her long limbs are flailing around without any apparent rhythm, her hips all over the place. It’s like a full-body convulsion. And people are backing up. Probably fearful of being clobbered on the head, which is a very real possibility.
My lips twitch. Behind me, Rolondo leans close. “Man… That’s some impressively bad dancing.”
I glare at him over my shoulder, then grab Ivy’s beer and take a long drink. Slamming the glass down, I stand. “Gentlemen, a man has to do what a man has to do.” With a deep breath, I brace myself and head out to the dance floor to save my girl.
* * *
Ivy