Page 60 of Real Dirty
He holds out his phone, and on the front page of a massive gossip blog is the picture that little punk-ass Vandy kid snapped last night.
The one that Boone was supposed to take care of.
I can only guess that my expression is one of shock and horror, which the guy takes for an affirmative reply.
“Totally thought so. When you get sick of him, there are plenty of us who’ll get in line for a shot at you next. He has killer taste.”
“Hey, asshole, that’s my girlfriend you’re talking to!” Law shouts, slurring his words.
I squeeze my eyes shut with anare you kidding mesigh, and flip the taps before removing the full plastic cups from beneath. As much as I want to toss them in his face, I go with my canned reply becauseI need this job.
“Here are your beers, sir. Enjoy your night at the White Horse.”
I step away from the bar as Law talks shit to the guy, which has to be an alcohol-fueled development, because whenever some guy would make a comment to me before, he never got upset.
Finally, I lose my grip on my temper and smack a palm on the bar, getting the attention of both men. “Listen up.” I point at Law. “Ex-girlfriend, and you don’t need to defend my honor. I’m all set.” I swing my finger to point at the other guy. “I’ll serve you drinks until you run out of money or the laws of the state of Tennessee tell me to stop, but other than that, you aren’t getting shit from me. Both of you, step out of the way so I can serve more customers.”
The slow clap coming from just behind Law catches my attention, right before the source starts speaking.
“Good to know I’m not the only one who gets the sharp side of your tongue, sugar.”
The deep voice, rough and husky, has both men I just bitched out spinning around.
“Whoa. Holy shit. You’re Boone Thrasher.”
Boone’s blue eyes pierce the punk. “And you’re a piece of shit. Don’t talk to my girl again if you want to walk out of here.”
His girl? Uh, say what now?
Boone’s gaze swings to Law, dealing with them one at a time like I just did. “Don’t know who you think you are, but it doesn’t matter to me.”
Finally, Boone meets my eyes. Lowering his voice, he says, “What are you doing here?”
“Working! Can we please talk about whatever’s on your mind later, superstar, because I’m a little busy.”
I snag two more plastic cups and shove them under the taps. For a minute, I think Boone is going to tell me no, we’re going to talk right now, but he doesn’t.
“Fine. I know how I can pass a few hours.”
He glances toward the stage where the house band is taking a break after their first set.
Hope comes toward me, taking in Boone and Law. “Oh hell, isn’t this a fun little reunion?”
“You Hope?” Boone asks, and she nods. “Mind if I borrow your stage for a while?”
I glance at her as her face lights up.
“Hell no, I don’t mind. We broke our record the night you and Frisco crashed last week. Bring it on, man.”
Boone nods. “Thanks. I gotta wait until Rip here finishes her shift, so I might as well make it fun.”
Hope steals one of the beers I’m pouring and hands it across the bar to Boone. “On the house. Go tear it up. I’ll get security for you and have them call in a bigger crew.”
Boone’s gaze shifts back to me. “I like your friend.”
Without another word, Boone turns and makes his way through the crowd until he hits the stage. He jumps up on it, beer in one hand as he grabs the microphone with the other. He takes a swig and waits for the house music to stop before he speaks into it.
“How y’all doin’ tonight?”
