Fair Game: A Football Romance (23 page)

I lift one corner of my lips and wink at her, taking her up on her offer.

“Later, guys,” I say when I get up and make my way to the other end of the bar.

“Good luck,” Garcia says, and I stop to give him a look of disapproval.

“The Major doesn’t need luck, stupid,” Davis says, punching Garcia in the arm. I turn and leave so they can watch the master at work.

I tip my glass up and down my drink. It burns going down in the best way. I place the glass on the bar when I reach Blondie. A hush falls over her friends when I approach. I don’t say a word. I just take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.

I take her into my arms and pull her close. She starts to say something, but I place my pointer finger over her lips to quiet her.

J.T.’s
Cry Me a River
overlaps with another modern pop song, and the D.J. announces it as a blast from the past, making me feel much older than my thirty-two years. Blondie’s eyes light up, and I hold her close, rolling our hips together and pressing my semi-erect cock against her belly when someone bumps into me from behind.

A cold drink saturates the back of my shirt. This is why I fucking hate bars—sloppy drunk ass people not paying attention to what they’re doing. I turn, irritated and ready to give the klutz a piece of my mind, but before I can speak, I’m rendered silent at the sight of none other than the
Target
girl.

She’s standing in front of me with her arms suspended in the air, holding two empty martini glasses. Her thin white blouse is soaked to the skin with pink alcohol. She’s wide-eyed and ready to be apologetic until she sees that it’s me.

“It’s
you
,” she says accusingly.

“Yes, and it’s
you
,” I drawl. “You seem to have a bad habit of running into people, don’t you?” I say. Blondie peeks around to see what’s happening.

“You ran into me at Target, mister, not the other way around, and now you’ve danced right into me and our drinks,” she says. The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I hear her say ‘our’. She’s here with a date.

“Do you enjoy arguing?” I ask.

She wrinkles up her forehead and frowns. “Of course not.”

“Then why do you keep insisting that I am the one running into you—on two occasions now—when it’s so obvious that you’ve been bumping into me?”

“Us,” Blonde pipes up, and I give her a
mind your own business
look and she does just that. She turns around and blends into the crowd. Shit, there goes dessert. Oh well. There’s always Wendy.

“Hey, you look like you need some help, Miss. Let me show you to the bar where we can get something to clean your shirt,” Garcia says, popping up out of nowhere. I watch him slide a hand onto the small of Target girl’s back and I bristle when he begins to steer her away.

“No, Garcia, that’s gracious of you, but we know each other. I’ve got this,” I say.

I let her slip away this afternoon, but not again. I want to see what it is about this woman that piques my interest.

“Okay, sure, Major. No problem,” Garcia says.

I nod and remove his hand from her back, replacing it with mine. I begin to move her toward the door just beyond the bar that leads into the kitchen.

“Oh no, I’m not going back there with you,” she says, stopping short.

“I’m not planning to bite you.”

Yet.

“I’m just going to help you clean your shirt.”

“Because
you
bumped into
me
and spilled my drinks?” she asks.

“Nice try, but no. I really just don’t want Captain Garcia to see you without a shirt on,” I say and wink.

“Why on earth would he see me with no shirt on?” she asks.

I turn her toward the mirror behind the bar so she can see how transparent her blouse is now that it’s wet, and she gasps.

“Oh my God, I didn’t know this shirt was so see-through,” she says, crossing her arms over her perfect breasts.

I take the empty martini glasses from her hands and set them on the bar. I can see her watching my every move out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t make eye contact with her. I just guide her into the kitchen and down the hall into a small bathroom.

One of the waitresses showed me where this bathroom is a long time ago because I refuse to use a public toilet. This one is only for employees, making it minutely better, but better just the same.

When the door is closed and the music muffled, I introduce myself.

“I’m Major Sawyer Steele with the United States Marines.”

“I figured as much,” she says while I rummage under the sink for a clean washcloth.

“Why is that?”

“Just a hunch—oh, and your wingman out there called you Major.”

“Observant.” I roll my eyes. “What’s your name?”

I wet the washcloth and turn to tug her blouse from the waistband of her skirt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks without stopping me.

“You have alcohol all over your shirt. If you don’t get it off right away, it will be ruined.”

Her jaw is tight, and she blinks as she slowly looks me up and down like she’s checking me out.

“Like what you see?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Actually, my mother thought you were handsome. I was just looking to see if she was right.”

“What’s the consensus then?” I prop my ass on the sink behind me so I’m eye level with her in the tiny bathroom.

“You’re all right,” she says, looking up and away from me—typical body language of someone who’s lying. She thinks I’m more than all right or she wouldn’t be here.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Your name?”

“Oh, it’s Violet.”

That is the perfect name for this gorgeous, curvy, toffee-skinned beauty. It’s delicate like the flower, but wild and free-spirited.

“That’s beautiful. I’m taking your blouse, Violet.” I slide the thin material off her shoulders and stop to admire her. She makes no effort to stop me. This beautiful woman is standing inches from me in an ultra-thin silk bra. Her hard nipples strain against the expensive material, and she knows I’m taking her in, but she stands her ground, never covering up or shrinking away. I like that.

“Thank you, Major Steele. Are you going to stare at me all night or clean my blouse?” she asks, placing a hand on her perfectly round hip.

“I’d like to do more than stare at you, Violet, but I’m a gentleman. I will clean your blouse and let you be on your way if you’d like.”

She nods, and I turn to rinse her shirt in the sink. It’s a mess. I thought I could dab the pink color off, but I can’t. I’ll have to wash the entire thing.

She leans around me to look into the sink when she realizes I’ve filled it up and submerged her entire blouse in the water. Then she catches my eyes in the mirror.

“How am I going to wear that back out into the bar soaking wet?” she asks, and I turn and point at a hand dryer.

When I’ve got all the pink out, I drain the sink and wring most of the water from the material. I press the button on the hand dryer and hold the delicate piece of material under the blower and move it around until it’s dry. The dryer pops off automatically, and I hold up her clean white blouse.

She purses her lips on one side and nods her head up and down. “I’m impressed. Thought you might leave me hanging there for a minute, Major.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

Before I help her back into her clothes, I can’t help but run a finger along her bra strap and wonder how it would feel to push down the cups and suck on one of her hard, dark nipples.

Her breath catches when I arrive at the lace edge above her left breast, and she reaches out to slide her arms into the blouse. I’ve affected her. Good.

The lighting in this room is shitty at best, but I’ve seen enough to know I need to have her under me writhing and screaming my name tonight.

I take her hands and stop her fingers from buttoning her blouse. I silently move them to her sides, and she lifts her gaze. I take up where she left off and button it to the top, leaving one open at her throat. Her full lips are parted, and I can feel her quick, short breaths against my skin.

Holding her deep, dark brown eyes, I slide my hands over her breasts and brush my thumbs over her taut nipples. She inhales a sharp breath and begins searching for the doorknob behind her. When she’s found it, she opens it and steps out away from me. I don’t allow her to look away from me as I shut the light off in the bathroom.

I wasn’t expecting her to pull away, but I don’t give up that easily. She’s forgotten how we got where we are, so I step in front of her to lead the way.

“Oh my gosh, your shirt is worse than mine,” she says, touching the damp material.

“I have a spare in my car,” I say over my shoulder.

“You keep spare shirts in your car?”

“Yes.”

“Does this happen to you often?”

“Do gorgeous women spill drinks on my shirt? No, but you never know what’s going to happen and I like to be prepared.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

When we’re back in the bar, I maneuver her into our area at the end of the bar.

“Captain Garcia, Captain Davis, this is Violet,” I say, introducing her. Both men are on their best behavior when they shake hands with her.

“Hey, Violet. I see the Major got your shirt all cleaned up,” Garcia says, dropping his polite gaze to Violet’s chest until he feels me glaring at him. He quickly looks away, making the moment even more uncomfortable.

I’d punch him if he weren’t so drunk, and I also know how hard it is to keep your thoughts clean looking at Violet. She looks so sexy in her almost sheer sleeveless blouse and short black skirt with heels that accentuate her strong calf muscles. She’s petite at no more than five foot one or two, but she’s lean. She’s in great physical shape, silky smooth and curvy in all the right places. Poor Garcia.

“I’m going out to the car to change my shirt. Order her some drinks to replace the ones that were spilled.” I look at her directly when I say ‘the ones that were spilled’, making sure she takes note that I am not taking the blame for the accident. She rolls her eyes.

“I’m fine. I can get my own drinks. I really need to get back to my group.”

I motion to the bartender, and he approaches.

“What can I get you, Major?”

“Two of whatever this is,” I say, turning so he can see the back of my shirt. He narrows his eyes to look at my shirt and then back at Violet for a second before pointing his finger at her.

“Red velvet martinis,” he says, and Violet smiles and nods her head up and down in agreement.

“I’ll be right back.”

It’s a big risk, walking away from her. She could disappear, she could leave, or she could be swept up by one of the guys in this bar—many of which are handsome Marines—but I’m confident that I’ve given her something to think about. I also cannot tolerate the sensation of my shirt sticking to my back any longer.

Outside, I open the back of my SUV and slide out the drawer of a built-in, custom-made miniature chest of drawers. It was ridiculously expensive to have installed, but the time saved and the convenience of always having a perfectly pressed set of clothes is worth it to me.

I slide off my wet shirt and take a step away from the vehicle to toss it in a trash can near a lamppost when I hear her voice. It’s Violet, and she’s upset. I look down the street and see that piece of scum pedophile that I threw out of the bar earlier pawing at her like a fucking animal. Goddamn, this guy doesn’t learn. The rage that builds in my chest is so powerful, even I worry for this creep’s life. I storm down the sidewalk and take him by surprise, snatching him up by the back of his collar.

“Hey, what the fuck, man?” he yells.

“You’re not very smart, are you?” He stops struggling at the sound of my voice.

“Dude, you’re choking me,” he says, raspy and oxygen deprived.

“You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing,” I say through my teeth. I catch a glimpse of Violet in my peripheral vision and notice her terrified expression. It’s funny that her fear of me killing this asshole is the very thing that saves his life.

“Major, please, just let him go,” she says. She appeals to the tiny sliver of sanity that I have left, and I release him and step protectively in front of her.

“I’ve allowed you to live twice today, you piece of shit, and that’s more compassion than any man with your morals has ever received from me. If you value your life at all, you’ll leave right now. RUN!” I yell. He jumps at the sound of my voice and trips trying to turn around. The little weasel is quick, though. I’ll give him that. He scrambles to his feet and takes off down the street.

Blood boiling and adrenaline flowing freely, I almost forget Violet is standing behind me until I feel her cool hand on my bare shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a soft, steady tone like the one psychiatrists use with their craziest patients.