“Because when your wingman breaks up with his girlfriend, you don’t want to be stuck with the extra baggage.” He cocked his fingers at me and pretended to shoot me with them.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I didn’t really get Bo’s objection to Grace and me as a couple. He seemed convinced we weren’t going to last.
The door to Americana opened, and I heard the entire bar suck in their collective breath. I didn’t need to look at the door to know it was Grace and her cousin. But I looked anyway, because I was hungry to see her. She was dressed up in shorts and heels. It was a good look on her, and apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Some asshole detached himself from the bar to greet her. I stood up.
Bo stood next to me. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold me back or go with me, but I didn’t wait. As soon as I started moving, I saw Grace notice me. Her eyes lit up and she smiled. The guy next to her glanced in my direction but didn’t back away.
He was talking to her, and she pointed to me and shook her head. I caught the tail of her conversation.
“I have a boyfriend,” I heard her say. Pride swelled up in me, along with a fierce possession at her use of the word boyfriend.
“I had tacos for lunch,” he replied.
“What?” Her attention swung away from me.
“I thought we were talking about random things of no importance.” He grinned like it was the wittiest, bad-ass, motherfucker thing that he’d ever thought of it, but it was a well-rehearsed line that I had heard trotted out a million times at base bars.
She just shook her head. “My random thing of no importance is standing right behind you.”
I refrained from baring my teeth at him and instead took Grace’s hand and pulled her to me. I bent down. Instead of kissing her on her lips, I pulled her hair aside, exposing her neck, and pressed a hot wet bite to the soft flesh right above her shoulder. Her breath hitched in surprise. I didn’t even raise my head, but I turned my face slightly so I could look at the guy with challenge in my eyes. She’s mine, I told him silently. I wanted to describe how I had choked someone until he passed out, but refrained. He got the message, though, and I watched him carefully until he turned and went back to the bar.
“Um, hello,” I heard Grace say. I kissed her neck again and straightened up, brushing her hair down her back. I wanted to mark her, but I knew I probably shouldn’t do that in public. I drew her back to the table. In my absence, another table had been pulled up and three more chairs added. I looked behind Grace and saw Lana and Amy, the girl I carried up into Grace’s apartment the night of that frat party. When we were out of shouting distance of the bar, Grace tugged me down so she could speak into my ear. “I don’t know whether to be grateful that you didn’t hit him or mad that you manhandled me. Those are two bad options.”
I tried to look repentant, but I wasn’t pulling it off. “I’ll do better next time?” I offered. I thought that as time went on, and I was surer about everything that maybe I wouldn’t react so poorly after seeing some guy hit on Grace in front of me. But probably not.
She gave an un-Grace-like snort and went to the table. Bo greeted her with a hug and shook hands with Lana and Amy. Bo was thawing toward her. Every guy at the table perked up at the sight of two additional women, but the odds were still on the poor side. I slid Grace’s and my chairs back a little, so we were out of the line of fire as the guys all geared up to compete for Lana and Amy’s attention.
I tuned out whatever they were talking about and instead spent my time admiring Grace’s sheer top and the tight fit of the tank top she wore beneath. Tonight I’d like to see Grace wearing just that sheer top with nothing on underneath. I could suck her nipples through the cloth and see the wet fabric cling to her skin. If there was a light behind her, the entire top would be illuminated, both hiding and displaying her curves.
I shifted in my chair, my jeans suddenly a bit too tight on me. I closed my eyes and pictured myself dismantling my rifle instead of disrobing Grace.
A screeching of guitars and a smattering of mismatched drums woke me out of my reverie. The band was getting ready to play.
“Why are we here again?” I asked Adam.
“The lead singer used to be in my band, and I want to make sure he didn’t steal any of my music,” Adam replied. I nodded to indicate I heard him and sat back. I placed my hand on Grace’s back, and felt the silky fabric beneath my palm. I rubbed my hand up and down, idly wondering if the delicate shirt would catch on the calluses of my hand. I wanted to reach under the shirt and smooth my hand over Grace’s skin. The tank she had on was riding up a little, and I could see the top of the waistband of her shorts. The tank needed just a slight nudge upward, and I’d be treated to a sliver of golden skin.