Wild(44)

            “No, it’s fine. I can squeeze through.”

            “You sure? I don’t mind.”

            “I’m fine. Once I’m inside it’s a short walk to the kitchen and no one can go in there except staff. The door to my loft is in the back of the kitchen.” At his still dubious expression, I added, “It’s safe. Promise.”

            His gaze flickered to mine, the brown eyes softening. “I had a really good time, Georgia.”

            “Me, too.” I nodded, hating this part. The awkward good-night. Would he kiss me? Did I want him to? He must have read something in my demeanor because he settled back in his seat without making the dreaded move. “I’ll text you.”

            “Sounds good. Thanks for tonight.”

            When I opened the car door, all the sounds that had been muffled were suddenly amplified. It was like diving into a pool of voices and activity as I pushed through the back line.

            “Hey!” one girl exclaimed. “No cuts. We’re waiting.”

            I ignored her and kept moving until I spotted the familiar face of Chris, one of the bouncers checking IDs at the door.

            He waved me through, snapping at people to get out of my way and let me pass.

            “Thanks,” I said loudly over the din. He nodded and flashed me a smile.

            I continued ahead, trying to hurry toward the kitchen, but there were a lot of people crowded around the counter, ready to place their orders, and they were very protective of their space, glaring at me like I was trying to cut ahead of them in line.

            I felt out of place in my maxi dress. It was sleeveless, held up only by tiny halter straps that wrapped around my neck.

            Good for a date, but not exactly what one wore to a bar, and I felt that keenly in the lingering looks I was getting.

            “Excuse me,” I said to a trio of guys who blocked my path to the hatch door in the counter that I needed to reach. They all wore baseball caps and their faces were flushed from beer and heat.

            They stopped talking and looked down at me.

            “I’m trying to get through,” I explained, pointing beyond them as though that would help make them understand.

            The taller guy in the group pointed to his chest. “Through us?”

            I nodded. “Yes. Excuse me,” I said again.

            “What will you give me?”

            I blinked.

            He pushed back his cap, revealing sweaty dark hair at the crown of his head. “Yeah. You gotta pay a toll.”

            I laughed nervously.

            I was about to start my third year of college. I’d been to plenty of bars. Been hit on by drunk guys. However, I was usually in the company of Emerson or Pepper or Suzanne. And usually it was Emerson’s mouth that did the talking—telling guys like this off.

            “Come on, guys,” I coaxed. “I’m not cutting in line. I just need to get to the kitchen.”

            He looked at his buddies and cocked his head as if considering my request. “Maybe just a kiss?”

            His friends laughed.

            Anger flashed through me. Who was he to make demands of me? I get that some other girl with a few beers in her might not have minded the attention. She would probably be happy to play his game, but I wasn’t one of them.

            He leaned down until our faces were on level. “Come on. Give me some sugar.”