Waking Up in Vegas(28)

I didn’t need this tonight. Truly. Mr. Happy thought he was gonna get some long-overdue action.

But she was new in town, and pretty, and pretty drunk, and I discovered a little pocket of chivalry I never knew I possessed.

Asshat had backed Jensen into a corner, clearly ignoring her efforts to push him off. Which even I could see she was doing, from fifteen feet away—and closing fast.

Jen was shoving at his shoulders, and while he may have had a few inches on her, I had more than that on him. I peeled him off like a wet Kleenex, and I’m pretty sure he bounced off a wall. I took a quick look at Jensen and, though her eyes were red, they were also narrowed in the look I’d become quite familiar with these last few weeks. I thought it might be a good idea to pick the asshole up off the floor before Jen started kicking him. The toes on her shoes looked wicked-pointy. Besides, security had finally arrived and this was one club guest who needed to never return. That meant sitting his drunk and grabby ass down and getting his info for the eighty-six list. Did I mention I worked security in this very club for my mother while I was in college?

“Spar—Tack!” Speak of the devil. At least she corrected herself on the name. “What happened here? Is everyone alright? And who’s responsible?”

“I think so.” I left the groaning pile of drunk guy to the security team and my mother. I’d take bets on which one he should worry about more. In two quick steps, I was standing in front of Jen. Her white-knuckled fists were shaking, and her eyes were shooting laser beams through my midsection toward the shit-heap who’d been pawing at her. Purely on instinct, I reached out and ran a hand down her back.

I guess that’s all it took to break her. She sort of crumpled and sagged, and my hand, which was now curved around her ribs, was the only thing holding her upright. No tears, though; I’ll give her that. It was more like she was a house of cards, carefully held together and balanced, and my touch had just knocked her into a heap.

Jen mumbled something against my side that I couldn’t make out. I’m not sure if it was muffled against my shirt or she was starting to really slur. And although it was still early (by my standards), it was time for the plastered pixie to go home.

I walked us both—okay, shuffled, the alcohol was definitely having an effect now—over to my mom, introduced Jensen to her, and asked that the guy be eighty-sixed for the rest of his natural life.

“You know I can only restrict admission for five years, unless there are criminal charges, Tack.” She put a hand on the shoulder Jen didn’t have tucked into my ribs and asked, “Did you want him arrested for assault?”

Jen shook her head, wobbled more than a bit in her ridiculously high heels, and I pulled her in a little tighter.

Just so she wouldn’t fall.

My mother took out her phone and hit some number on speed-dial. “She said no charges, Mom.”

She shooed me with her hand and introduced herself to whomever was on the other end of the line, finishing with, “Could we get a taxi sent over as soon as possible, please?”

“I’ll take her home.” Wait, was that my voice just now? What the hell was I thinking? I had a sure thing waiting for me back at the table.

Too late. Mom had said, “Nevermind,” into the phone and hung up.

Crap.

I would just make my excuses to what’s-her-name at the table and come back after.



Except that I didn’t.

And damned if I understand why. I had a definite fuck waiting for me at Pure, and God knows I needed one. Bad.

But once I’d gotten Jensen into her condo, watched her try not to fall up the steps while Angus danced around her feet, and finally scooped her up and carried her up there myself, it just didn’t feel right.

Not after I’d slipped off those silly shoes of hers, pulled the comforter up to her chin, and heard her softly say, “You know, Tack, you’re a pretty nice guy when you’re not working so hard at being an asshole.”





Chapter 9




*Ants Marching*



I’d gone home and, wonder of wonders, climbed right into bed. Alone, unless you count Lita cuddling up and eventually hogging three-quarters of the mattress.

Quit laughing. Like your dog doesn’t do that to you.

I was awake until nearly sunrise; I could have moved Lita, or pushed her off. But I didn’t. She was my number-one girl, and her warmth next to me was a comfort. Not that I needed it, mind you.

But I just couldn’t get Jensen’s comment out of my head. She’d been nearly unintelligible by the time I got her home and most likely wouldn’t remember saying anything, but I was finding it hard to forget.

Did I really come off as that much of an asshole? And was it to everyone, or did I reserve it for Jensen alone?