Page 26 of Real Dirty
Mistake.
A fist comes flying out of my peripheral vision and glances off my chin. Another of the security guys dives at the man, taking him down.
“Get her! We’re leaving!”
The man who had initially said they’d handle Ripley after they had me clear takes her by the arm and pulls her along.
Something about seeing another man’s hands on her after she fended off two dicks who couldn’t take no for an answer rubs me the wrong fucking way.
“Let go of her.”
His gaze cuts to mine as I reach out and wrap an arm around her shoulders, blocking anyone’s view of her bare skin with my body.
We barrel through the crowd to the back door. When they push it open, I’m half expecting the flashing cameras and shouted questions of the paps, but instead it’s quiet.
“You got a car around here?” security asks.
I nod, but that’s not my main concern. I grab the back of my T-shirt and strip it off over my head. I hold it out to Ripley, but she stands frozen.
“Take it. Put it on.”
Her eyes are fixed on me, but she still doesn’t move.
18
Ripley
My ears ringfrom the noise level of the bar, but Boone Thrasher’s words cut through loud and clear.
“Take it. Put it on.”
I can’t move. I’m stunned and speechless.
Sweet baby Jesus, why is his shirt off?
He shoves the T-shirt at me again, but when I still don’t move, Boone Thrasher, country music’s bad boy, proceeds to put it on me.
“Arm. Other arm.”
My body follows his commands, but I’m dumbstruck.His body is a work of art.All hard muscles set off by intricate tattoos.
“Where’s your car, Mr. Thrasher?”
“I’m a block over.”
“You want us to escort you?”
I think Boone shakes his head, but I’m too busy staring at his pecs and abs.Good God. Those can’t be real.
“No. We’ll attract less attention without you.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Boone wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I’m so drunk and stunned by his physical perfection that I stumble along beside him. His T-shirt hangs like a dress on me, but it doesn’t stop me from climbing into his beautiful car when we reach it.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but he shuts the passenger door without replying. When he slides into the driver’s seat, I stare at him with only the glow of the street light illuminating the interior.
