28. Memphis

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

memphis

M eans you’re the prettiest thing in here tonight, angel.

Who said shit like that?

Better yet, who said shit like that and then didn’t react at all when the prettiest thing in here tonight just stood there and stared right at him like she had no brain? Like she would’ve been perfectly content if he’d just kissed her right then and there so we could both turn around and leave this place.

Add intense confusion on top of the already uncertain self-esteem situation that seemed to plague me every single fucking time this man was within eyesight.

Utah’s hand went to my hip to start pushing me forward again. He directed me to the only opening at the bar itself and I squeezed my way into it, wondering where Utah thought he was going to go—there wasn’t space on either side of me for him to sit. Then I spent a solid three seconds trying to think of ways a human body could spontaneously combust because I watched his hands grip the edge of the bar just beside both my elbows. He wasn’t even touching any part of me, and I could still feel the heat from his body at my back.

So, it really wouldn’t be spontaneous combustion. It’d be whatever fire that apparently radiated from him that would set me ablaze.

“What do you want, Memphis?” he asked. Right beside my head, to further all my issues.

Oxygen.

But he meant to drink.

I couldn’t come up with even a single kind of alcohol at that moment to be able to respond to him successfully. I couldn’t even make myself look at him again because everything inside me was still somersaulting with embarrassment that he’d simply chosen not to kiss me a minute ago.

“Have you had liquor before?” he asked, a little more quietly, a little more directly into my fucking ear.

“Not really,” I whispered.

His hands shifted from the bar to both my arms, and all my senses somehow stopped working in ways that I could understand and started firing messages at my brain simultaneously. I couldn’t do anything beyond the realization that his hands were big enough to wrap all the way around my upper arms. I didn’t even recall breathing until one hand moved to reach for his wallet again, and the bartender shook his head and winked at me when he said the first round was on the house. When he placed two shot glasses in front of me, it dawned on me that I hadn’t even actually heard Utah order anything.

“Why isn’t anybody making you pay for anything?” I asked, because I needed to focus on something . Anything at all.

“You know, sometimes I can’t help but wonder if you’ve maybe never seen a mirror.” He reached around me for one of the shot glasses while I turned toward him just enough to see his face again. “To your first night in a bar, Angel.” He swallowed whatever was in that glass in one gulp and put it right back on the bar next to the other. His had been a brown color. Whatever was in the other glass had a yellow tint to it and what was either sugar or salt all the way around the rim. I looked back at Utah in time to see him smile. He took the glass from the bar and then grabbed my hand to place the drink in it.

“It won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not really worried about it ,” I said, surprising even myself by admitting that out loud.

Utah leaned back toward me. “And I won’t let anything else in here hurt you either.”

One of those massive hands landed on my knee for just a few seconds after that. It was there and gone so quickly that the only way I was certain it had happened at all was that the sudden disappearance of his warmth left my entire leg cold once his hand was gone. I closed my eyes and gulped down whatever was in my shot glass. The light hints of lemon and sugar went nicely enough with whatever burned my throat on its entire trip down.

Utah was still smiling when I looked back at him.

“You good?”

“I need six more of those. Or of whatever you had,” I said and turned back toward the bar to wave my own hand at the bartender again.

I had no hope of surviving these tiny moments of Utah’s touch. The intense burn followed by the noticeable absence. The weird moments of eye contact and silent pleading for anything else just to be left with nothing.

Trista had a point.

Why couldn’t I just go to a bar and have a good time?

I asked the bartender for another round of whatever he’d made a moment ago.

“I won’t be drinking the rest of the night, angel,” Utah said from behind me.

“They’re for me.”

“Uh, that might not be a good?—”

The bartender poured more of what Utah’s drink had been and I swallowed that first.

Just to end up in a coughing fit while my eyes watered.

“Get her something to chase that,” Utah said impatiently to the bartender, and laughed as soon as the man turned around to retrieve it.

“Welcome to Wild Turkey,” he added, and his hand landed between my shoulder blades. “You’re going to be some kind of fucked up here in about fifteen minutes, baby. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

“All the alcohol options in the world and that’s what you choose to drink?” I coughed out and tried desperately to wipe the tears from my eyes before they managed to escape into the makeup. “You’re a fucking madman.”

“I’m the one the madmen hide from, angel.”

That was disturbingly accurate.

But more frightening than that was the weird warmth that spread through the entire lower half of my body at the words.

I turned right back around for the other shot and raised it to my mouth.

“You might not want to—” he started to say but gave up on the thought because I’d already swallowed it, too.

“What are we supposed to do while we’re here?” I asked and looked around the rest of the room for the first time.

“Anything you want.”

“People come to places like this to dance?” I asked when my eyes landed on what was obviously meant to be a dance floor but was entirely empty.

“You—” he started to say and had to stop to clear his throat. “You want to dance?”

“Nobody else is,” I said and continued looking.

Pool tables. Dart boards. Some weird, modernized jukebox-looking thing.

“Is that a mechanical bull?” I asked and had no chance at preventing the laugh that escaped. “What is this place, Utah?”

I hopped down off that barstool like I wasn’t in the emotional battle of my lifetime just a brief moment ago and promptly toppled directly into the man. I made it so much worse when I panicked and tried to push myself backward away from him in the next second because I wasn’t equipped to handle the feel of his entire body against mine that way. For whatever reason, the foot that was supposed to have stepped backward to stabilize me did not actually end up stepping backward like I thought it would, and I about fell that direction too.

Utah locked his hand around my wrist and jerked me right back against the front of his body. He let go of my wrist to wrap that arm all the way around my shoulders to hold me there. I forced myself to look straight up at him, because what the fuck was happening? Was he hugging me?

“Maybe just stand here for a second and figure out how to use your body while it’s drunk before you wipe out half the bar, huh?” he asked and chuckled before he looked down at me.

His face was so close again.

Sort of.

He was still a solid foot taller than me. And I was still stuck staring straight up just to be able to see him from the position he was keeping me in.

He had tiny creases at the outer corners of both eyes that weren’t normally there. I could see them now because he was still smiling, because he was still that close to me. His eyes were the lightest shade of brown I’d ever seen. So light that I wondered if I might be able to see right through them if I looked hard enough.

“Your eyes are really pretty.”

Oh, God. Was I the one who’d said that?

Utah laughed. “You’re about to become the drunken little menace of all my dreams, aren’t you?” he whispered.

Fuck. I was the one who’d said that shit about the pretty eyes.

Wait.

Of all his dreams?

I needed to get away from him.

My brain was becoming unreliable around him even when I was sober. That left me with even less faith in its ability to fumble through processing his actions while intoxicated.

I managed to get my hands up between us so I could push off his chest until he released his hold around my shoulders. His smile disappeared slowly while I stepped backward to look around the room again.

“I think I’m going to find a bathroom,” I said.

He smirked for a second before stepping off to the side to let me walk around him. I glanced back for just a moment to see that he’d leaned back against the bar to watch me while I stumbled my way around this place. I didn’t need a bathroom. I just needed some room to breathe.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Wild Turkey was if it could take my brain and turn it into a useless mound of gray matter in under twenty minutes. It was fascinating though. Rather than being wildly embarrassed by whatever had just happened, I found it hilarious. Everything about the last few months felt hilarious.

This guy, who made a fuck-ton of money off the deaths, kidnappings, and rescuing of whoever was in need, had embarked upon this strange new endeavor of introducing me to all the little experiences I’d missed just because life was mean to me when I was young. This was the same guy who was entirely willing to give up that lucrative business of murdering, kidnapping, and finding whatever and whoever he was told to just because I needed someone who could rescue the only person on the planet to whom I was still close. That person being a mouthy asshole who Utah didn’t even like.

I giggled to myself just thinking about the way Jersey and Utah had treated each other. And the way Utah had always quietly backed down and away any time Jersey was looking for a fight—just because I’d asked it of him. It wasn’t ever because he couldn’t handle Jersey. Like that night when things got out of control between Jersey and Trista. No one else would’ve been able to fight Jersey straight to the ground and keep him pinned there until he was back in command of his own brain, but Utah had done it without even breaking a sweat.

I tried to turn back to look for Utah again, but found myself staring into the chest of a man I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t successfully explain it if anyone were to ever ask, but I was beyond certain that I could feel Utah’s eyes on every move I made.

And all I could think about was the way that Nevada’s fingers had traced right along the separation that existed in the thick muscle of Utah’s tricep when she’d touched his arm.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” this new man asked. I managed to focus on his face long enough to grasp that he didn’t look anything like Utah. There was no facial hair, where Utah’s entire jaw was covered. His face was more round, where Utah’s whole head looked like a fucking block. They were about the same size, but that was as far as the similarities went.

“Memphis.”

Balls. I should have told him any name other than that one. That name meant trouble everywhere it went.

“I fucking love that. Pretty name to go with that pretty smile.”

I laughed.

And I didn’t really know why.

That wasn’t even remotely funny.

“That’s the cutest sound I’ve ever heard. You just get better by the second.”

I laughed again. For no discernible reason.

I watched in what should’ve been horror while my own hand reached out toward him. When it landed in the center of his chest, I fucking giggled.

Squishy.

He was squishy.

I’d touched Utah here before, too. There were no squishy pieces to Utah, though.

I almost panicked when I had to stop and wonder if I’d said any of that out loud.

But this new man was still smiling. I couldn’t imagine he’d smile if he’d been able to hear any of that.

“You need a drink?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Anything you want, gorgeous.”

“Anything that isn’t Wild Turkey.”

He flagged down a waitress and ordered something while I tried desperately to locate Utah. He wasn’t at the bar anymore, but I could feel the man. I could feel the weight of his eyes. I just couldn’t find him. Everything inside me knew he wouldn’t leave, but not being able to see him was unpleasant.

I devastated myself when I started to wonder if he’d found a girl in here somewhere. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I believed that. But he could easily keep an eye on me and still entertain his own desires while I was over here making a fool of myself thinking that I could make him jealous.

A very full glass of something was placed in my hand while I was trying to tell my brain to stop picturing the kinds of things Nevada would do with a man like Utah. I tried hard to focus on what Trista might do if she’d set out on an evening of making Jersey jealous. I downed the first half of whatever was in the glass in my hand before I looked back at my new friend.

“Thank you,” I choked out through another round of burning for my throat.

“You here alone?” He asked.

“My friend is here somewhere.”

“Out celebrating something?”

“First time in a bar,” I admitted before immediately wishing I hadn’t. It was no business of his.

“Don’t tell me it’s your birthday?”

“It is not my birthday,” I said a little more sternly than I really meant to. He looked every bit as confused as I felt about whatever was happening here. This was awful. People did this willingly and for fun? This didn’t feel fun—this felt like torture. If this man walked away in the next twelve seconds, I wouldn’t even be able to recall what his face looked like, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way that Utah’s face had looked when he’d smirked at Nevada.

“Well, how is it?”

“How’s what?” I asked, becoming intensely annoyed that he was still here, interrupting my thoughts.

“Your first bar night,” he said and laughed.

“It’s gross.”

He laughed again. “You just haven’t had enough to drink yet, pretty girl.”

“That’s how you get through this kind of thing? Just drink until you don’t really have to experience it?” I asked. He shrugged his shoulders and motioned for the same waitress to come back. I finished off whatever was in my glass and passed it off to her before she walked away.

I’d watched Trista do this through Jersey’s camera when he first found her in a bar. She’d glided around an entire room like it was her own house and she’d never been more comfortable. She touched everyone who spoke to her. She smiled at everyone. She laughed at everything.

“You dance?” the new man asked while he handed me yet another drink.

“Nobody’s dancing,” I said and looked to the dance floor another time.

“It only takes one person to get it started in a place like this,” he said. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Probably not your kind.”

“If you’re the one doing the dancing, you get to decide the music,” he chuckled.

“You won’t also be dancing?”

“Are you always this difficult?”

“I think it’s actually a personality trait at this point,” I said and looked around the room again, because Utah would absolutely say yes, I was always this difficult.

“Come with me,” he said and smiled while he grabbed my hand.

How I prevented myself from screaming bloody fucking murder was a miracle all on its own.

I always imagined if this exact scenario happened again, I would be screaming by now. I’d be nearly ripping my arm right out of its socket to get my hand free. I’d use every ounce of my weight to fight back this time. Some instinct was supposed to take over to tell me how to prevent this from happening another time. But none of that occurred.

He pulled me toward the weird jukebox contraption, and I stood there quietly chugging my entire drink while he looked through the music available on it. Once he’d decided on something, he had my hand in his again, put his beer bottle on a table as we walked by it, and he turned to face me when we were the only two people in the middle of that dance floor.