ARROGANT BRIT (A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE) (40 page)

Chapter 3

Trent

After ditching the shitty
after-party, it was a small matter to figure out where to go. I still felt like
drinking, but if I’d stepped into any old bar here in the city I’d be
recognized and ambushed for autographs and selfies.

Fuck
that
shit.

I needed something a little
more discreet.

That’s why I slipped out and
hopped into one of the rentals that were made available for band use. It was
nothing special, just a shiny little red jeep – not really my style, but I
didn’t really care. After all, who the fuck was I trying to impress out here?

Hitting the road, I found my
way to the Interstate and just started driving.

Once I got away from the
light pollution, the night sky was beautiful. Crystal clear stars without a
cloud in view. It was hard to find the time to appreciate the stars when you
were on seemingly permanent tour.

Only
two more weeks of this shit.

Another little voice
reminded me:
for now
.

That’s life. Hard work plus
luck begets success. A spot of good luck definitely sparks the fire, but the
hard work? That’s what keeps the blaze going strong. I knew damn well I’d be
back on tour soon enough.

After about thirty minutes
cruising down the highway in the rental jeep, I decided to take a chance on the
next exit. Out here, the tall, monolithic restaurant and gas station sides were
all weeded out, and I was lucky to spot a Chevron station from the interstate.

This particular exit looked
like it led to the middle of nowhere. The sign said “Riverton”, but the
endless, dark woods all around practically screamed “dilapidated little town.”

Never heard of the place.

Sounded small. Quaint.

Just to my tastes.

But after cruising down the
main road into town, I realized that I might have chosen a place a little
too
small. There wasn’t a lot to this
little backwoods town. Hell, I hesitate to even call it a
town.

True to its namesake, it was
situated on a riverbank. The spot was primarily residential, with a ton of
ramshackle houses and borderline huts. Not a whole lot of businesses. You had
your hardware stores, combination gas station slash small grocer, and a few
tiny, ancient restaurants. This was one of those little commuter towns where
everybody drives forty-five minutes to work in the city.

If this place wasn’t the
sticks,
nothing
was.

I’d just about given up on
finding this place when I spotted a derelict old bar by the side.

Riverton
Bar...

“Alright,” I muttered to
myself, flicking on my blinker and slowing down. “So long as they don’t
actually
piss
in the stills, this
should be fine…”

Something about the place
looked appealing despite its shoddy state. Maybe it was just that it was so
different from anywhere I’d been since hitting it big. These days my life was
full of big city bars and clubs, and the occasional lavish hotel room
after-party.

But that was only really
part of it.

It just looked like how I
felt inside.

Filthy.

Broken-down.

Borderline functional.

Committed to the cause, I
pulled up beside a battered collection of old trucks and crumpled, ancient
sedans.

Hopping out of the jeep, I
became aware of how clean and pristine the rental looked, especially beside
these dirty, sputtering rust-buckets…

And, glancing down at
myself, I realized that I was
definitely
going to stick out like a sore fucking thumb in these parts. I hadn’t even
bothered to change from my stage clothes.

I pushed open the door and
stepped inside, walking into redneck central dressed like a fucking rockstar.

Which, let’s be honest.

I totally fucking
was.

With a glance, I surmised
the atmosphere. Not too many people here, maybe a dozen at most, but the ones
that
were
painted a pretty vivid
picture for me.

A group of gnarled old
bikers.

Couple of sloppy rednecks.

Some older women holed up in
the corner.

Yeah…definitely
not my speed.

I hesitated at the door, but
then my eyes fell on the bartender. She was in the middle of taking a drink
order at one of the bar tops and was about as out of place as an angel in hell.

She wasn’t just pretty. She
looked
fucking
beautiful... Her
luscious hair barely graced her shoulders. Long, bare legs stretched for miles
from her miniskirt down to her cute and almost criminally disheveled pair of
red Converse sneakers. Her low-cut blouse hinted at moderately sized breasts – not
too big, but not small.

Perfect.

My feet moved of their own
volition, stepping closer towards the counter. The patrons were already looking
at me with their stupid, judgmental eyes, but I didn’t give a shit.

They could get fucked.

Half of them looked like
they could use it.

As I comfortably took my
seat, the bartender glanced over her shoulder at me – flashing me a look at her
sharp and beautiful eyes.

My cock twitched in my
shredded jeans.

That’s when I knew.

I was fucking her tonight.

Chapter 4

Angel

Tending bar as an
eighteen-year-old girl – particularly one with a pretty face – had taught me a
valuable skill: the art of keeping an eye on the entire room at once.

The newest arrival proved to
be a bit of a distraction. He was dressed in a tight shirt that clung to a
deliciously muscular frame. A brief slick of red ran through his hair, and he
finished off the look with a pair of fashionably torn black jeans. He’d been
staring ever since he walked in. I could feel his burning gaze bore into me
from behind as he hungrily treated himself to some eye candy.

Without a word between us, I
knew I could flirt a big tip out of him. Maybe it would be enough to get some
decent food for the next few days. It was time to play hard to get.

“What can I get you?” I
offhandedly asked him after plugging in the previous order.

“What do you
want
to get me?” he replied.

I turned around to try and
catch the jackass undressing me with his eyes, but his gaze was surprisingly
fixated on the chalkboard drink specials instead.

“I’ll take a draft,” he said
before I could respond to his little comment.

“Which draft?”

He chuckled arrogantly to
me, flashing a condescending but admittedly sexy smile.

“Your favorite draft.”

I put my hands on my hips.
“I don’t drink.”

A genuine look of surprise
flickered across the man’s face. “You work behind the bar...”

“All the more reason not to
drink. Let’s try this one again: which draft do
you
want?”

He nodded thoughtfully,
ignoring the tone of my voice. After a moment, he opened his mouth to answer,
his tongue absent-mindedly sliding across his canine.

“I’ll take Abita. Tall.”

I took a second to shake
that sexy tongue flick out of my head.

“
Amber
or
Lager?
”

“Lager.”

“You’re not from around
here,” I observed.

“Never been here,” he
answered, his lip curling up into a sly smile again. “Name’s Trent. Trent
Masters.”

Trent
Masters.
Didn’t hurt to know exactly who was pissing me off at any
given moment. His name sounded a little familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

I couldn’t place a lot of
things these days.

But he didn’t need to know
that.

“Coming right up,” I said,
intentionally brushing my fingertips against his before turning toward the tap.
It sent a small bristle through me, which I promptly tried to ignore.

“Thanks, beautiful.”

Beautiful… It was nice to
hear him say the word. Most of the people who called me beautiful were old
enough to be my grandfather… Trent was anything but. He was
handsome
with a capital H
.
Even with his stupid clothes and his
gelled hair, I couldn’t help but notice up close that he was built like a damn
linebacker. I didn’t like it one bit.

Which means, of course, that
I was practically salivating and wanted to touch him again…

As Trent curled his fingers
around his fist and rested his elbows, I could see how thick and well defined
his huge forearms were even as I grabbed a glass. A little higher up, his
bulky, broad shoulders stretched his dark shirt. A simple medallion hung around
his neck, draped over what were undoubtedly rock-hard pecs.

Ignoring his gaze – and his
stupidly hot muscles – I whipped up a frothing, overflowing pint in a chilled
glass. With a glance stained with disdain, I plunked the draft beer down in
front of him.

“Enjoy.”

“Oh, I think I will,” he
smiled again.

UGH.

While Trent began swigging
it, I checked on the other patrons. They had been mostly ignoring us, which
pleased me. Everyone seemed fine.

Well, almost everyone.

“Hey, Darlin’! Bring those
sweet cheeks over here with another round of shots!”

I sighed internally.
Fucking bikers.

“What’ll you be having?”

“More Fireball!”

I couldn’t help but grin to
myself.
Fireball.
That was such a
college kid choice.

As I turned for the bottle,
I realized that they had seen my smile and were grinning lecherously among
themselves.

Whelp.
That was a mistake.

Now
they think they’re amusing me.

I quickly poured their shots
and brought them over, ignoring the way that the newly arrived stranger’s eyes
traced the outline of my body.

God.
What is it with everyone eyeballing me like a piece of meat tonight?

At least he was fucking
attractive, unlike these old weekend warriors in their leather costumes...

“Thanks, Darlin’,” the lead
biker told me. He placed his hand on my bare shoulder, his fingers barely
brushing my hair as I dropped off their shots.

“Hey. Don’t touch me,” I
flinched.

Out of the corner of my eye,
I noticed Trent stiffen up, his head cocked very slightly.

“She’s feisty, boys!”

The other bikers hungrily
grinned at me. I didn’t like the looks on their faces.

“Alright, that’s it for
tonight. I’ve gotta close down soon anyway. You ready to finish out your tabs?”

The leader scowled. “Cuttin’
us off, Darlin’?”

“It’s that time,” I pointed
at the dusty clock on the wall.

I slipped back behind the
safety of the bar, announcing
last call
.
To my satisfaction, nobody raised their attention for a top-off, and I began
closing out checks and dismissing the regular patrons with a weary, thankful
smile.

After about two minutes,
everyone was gone except the new guy and the bikers.

Trent hadn’t seemed to
really care about my announcement. He continued working on his beer at the same
rate, leaving over half of it still in his glass.

“I’m probably gonna need
that glass back in a few minutes,” I smiled coldly, nodding towards the clock
again. “Closing in five.”

“Understood,” he nodded, his
traces of cockiness gone. Instead, he seemed a little on edge.

No idea why.

The bikers were bothering
me
, after all.

“Got a bathroom?” Trent
suddenly asked.

I pointed him towards the
doorway around the other side of the bar. He slipped off of his stool and
sauntered towards the hall.

This left me alone with the
bikers. Their lecherous leader called me over, and I reluctantly strolled to
his side with the check.

“Here you go, lass,” he
chuckled, dropping a few twenties onto the tabletop. One flittered down to the
floor, and I begrudgingly reached down for it.

I only realized the mistake
just as his hand smacked roughly against my ass.

“
Ow!
” I called out, quickly hopping back up and glaring menacingly
at them. “I
said
, ‘Don’t touch me.’ I
don’t give a flying shit
how
drunk
you are. You can’t do that.”

“Sorry, Darlin’. You’re just
too damn pretty.”

“I’m cashing you out, and
you’re getting
out
of my bar.”

The biker stood up swiftly,
grabbing me by the arm. He pulled me deep into his embrace, his thick,
alcoholic breath stinging my eyes. He was an old guy, but he was built strong
and
mean
.

I struggled, but I couldn’t
pull free.

“I don’t know about all
that, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice rumbled. “I think you owe me and my boys
a proper apology.” His thick lips curled into a disgusting smile. I tried to
scream, and a rugged hand clamped around my mouth.