Chapter Forty-Three Wade

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Wade

T hree more bourbons and a shot or two of tequila later, me and the boys are on stage singing our rendition of "Friends in Low Places" by Garth Brooks, and if it weren't for me we'd be fucking tanking it. By the end of the song, Cole's breaking off into an air guitar that would make Jimmy Page jealous, and Nash is making sexy-time faces at CeCe while he dances—correction, gyrates—on the stage.

Me? I'm zeroed in on the black-haired beauty at the table who's looking at me like she's a little turned on and a little afraid of what I'm going to do to her for making me sing karaoke to a room full of townies. It may be my worst nightmare, but I'm a man of my word if nothing else, and I'll get up here and make a fool of myself any day if it means I have her undivided attention like I do now.

Ivy rises from the table and takes to the dance floor with all the girls as we finish up, and a few of Cole's cop buddies take the stage and do their best with Luke Bryan's "Kick the Dust Up."

I take a breather at our table with a half-lit Papa Dean and watch Ivy move. That fucking navy dress might just be the death of me. Her hair is in a smooth high ponytail, showcasing her dewy shoulders, and the strapless dress is structured to her waist and then billowy to her knees, and all I can think about is hiking it up and driving my cock into her until she screams.

"Alright y'all, we're going to take a break, more karaoke to come after some house music," Nash says into the mic a few minutes later, as "Highway Boys" by Zach Bryan keys up on the sound system and Ivy moves hypnotically to the music as she sings every single word.

I take a sip of my bourbon as Pop nudges me in the elbow with his own.

"We're just going to pretend the two of you aren't knocking boots forever?" he asks.

I nearly spit my bourbon out.

"Fuck, old man," I reply.

He laughs, a big hearty Papa Dean laugh, the kind where his eyes almost completely squint shut.

"Boy, I'm old, I ain't dead. And that girl is looking at you like she's a lot more than your employee."

I scoff but have nothing to offer, because when I look at her on the dance floor, she is, in fact, looking at me like she wants nothing more than for me to crush myself to her, and fuck, it's a beautiful sight. Maybe the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.

"It's just none of anyone's goddamn business," I say, taking a swig.

"A girl like that doesn't come around often. If you don't snatch her up for real, someone else will. Just because you admit it doesn't mean it's destined for disaster. And, Wade, just cutting the shit for a minute because your pa would, all day long. Happy looks good on you," he says, way too seriously.

"Fuck, you're killing my buzz with all this mushy shit, Pop."

He smirks. "Case in point," he says, raising his glass toward the dance floor, where some fucking chump just dropped his cowboy hat onto Ivy's head.

I'm there in two seconds flat, while Pop cackles behind me from the table, and the second I make it to her I'm pulling the hat off of Ivy's head and putting it back onto his, hard.

"Wade, this is Nick, he works with Cole," she says with a friendly smile. "His hat matches my dress," she adds, obviously a little too tipsy to realize what he's insinuating by putting his hat on her head.

"Wade Ashby," I say, shaking his hand, gripping tight enough for his eyes to meet mine in question.

"Sorry, I didn't know you had a boyfriend," he yells to Ivy over the music as Ginger laughs.

"Wade is her boss, aren't you, Wade?" The cuss words that are running through my head at my little sister's half-lit friend right now are creative and plenty.

"I-I need a refill, and then I'm going back out to dance," Ivy says as she looks at me then heads for the bar, with Nick watching her go and not even hiding it one bit.

I lean over to him, not taking my eyes off her.

"You wanna keep those eyes in your head, I suggest you find elsewhere to look, yeah?"

Nick looks at me and grins. "I'm not the only one who wants her, I'm just the one that called dibs." He laughs and points to a table full of men in the corner.

Rage courses through me with the way he's disregarded her like she's a fucking raffle prize he just won. I look past him at the group he says was just bartering for Ivy. "Go tell your table of cronies, staring at a woman like that, it's just not fucking polite and I won't tolerate it. If I catch any of your eyes on her like that again, you'll have a hard time seeing your way out of here."

"Hey man, I don't want any problems, not when there's plenty of tail here, lots to go around."

Filthy fucking—

"You take care of your employees so well, Sarge," Ginger croons in my ear, leaning over from where she and CeCe are dancing, laughing smugly.

I start scanning the bar as Nick scampers off.

"Christ, Ginger … find a hobby, yeah?" I mutter.

"Just trying to get you to admit it, Wade. For what it's worth, you two are great together," she says sweetly as I keep scanning the bar for Ivy, hating that she's calling me right out.

"She went toward the bathrooms." Ginger smirks, and the little shit is way too goddamn personal, but I don't have time to worry about her.

And right now I don't give a fuck who knows it, I'm a man on a mission as I beeline for the back of the bar.