Knocked Out By Love (Love to the Extreme) (3 page)

He really couldn’t take the time to analyze it. He’d spent most of the last two years—especially the last year—doing anything
but
analyzing the way he did or didn’t feel about Scarlett.

“Maybe so,” he said. “But either way, if I know she’s just having a fun girl’s weekend, then I can go about my own business. If it’s not, I really need to let Ryan know.”

Blake studied him for a long minute. “All right, cuz. You do what you got to do. The dark-haired one in the black dress is a lot shorter than I usually go for, but definitely smokin’.”

“That’s Delaney, Scarlett’s best friend. Don’t let her size fool you. She might be barely five feet, but she’s feisty as hell.”

“Not married, right? I have no interest in getting caught up in any drama.”

“Last time I saw her, she was in a relationship with some dude Scarlett didn’t like, but that was almost a year ago.”

“Relationships are fair game, my man. I don’t fuck with married women, but if a guy isn’t smart enough to claim one, then she’s still on the market.” Blake winked then turned in the direction the girls had gone.

Brody kept his distance. The way Scarlett had reacted earlier when he’d confronted her, she would flip the hell out if she saw him openly following her. He didn’t want or need that. He just wanted to watch her, make sure she was really okay.
Damn it.
He didn’t like how drunk she was. Alcohol mixed with her earlier attitude was a fucking recipe for disaster. Hell, he didn’t know much about Delaney. Was it possible she’d given Scarlett something stronger than alcohol?

When the girls entered one of the resort’s bars, thumping eighties music poured out the door. Blake halted with a grimace. “Not my scene, dude.”

It wasn’t Brody’s, either. In Atlanta, there was a popular club called the Boot Scoot that most of the fighters frequented. He was not one of them, and only went a couple of times a year to be social with the guys at his gym. Clubs had never been his thing. Too loud, too crowded, and too full of drunk people. However, for Scarlett he was willing to make an exception.

“We’re on vacation. Might as well broaden our horizons.”

Blake muttered under his breath as he stalked to the door and yanked it open. As the music blasted him, his irritated scowl contorted to mock pain, but he stepped inside anyway. Brody followed, wincing at the volume.

“I can’t even fucking think in here,” Blake yelled over Kenny Loggins’s “Footloose.”

At least the music wasn’t techno. He could deal with throwbacks. He glanced around the inside, which was decorated with 80s memorabilia, ranging from posters of the Brat Pack to hair bands. Though the overhead lights were dimmed, the four bouncing spotlights positioned in each corner brightened the place. While there was a sizable attendance, there was also adequate breathing room.

Thank God.
One thing that sucked more than being in a club was being in a packed, dark one.

Someone jostled him from behind and he sighed. So much for breathing room. The drunks were out in full force. Another reason he hated the bar scene. He got knocked around enough during training and in the cage. He liked space outside of his career. “Let’s find a place not so in the middle of the crowd.”

As he wove his way around the idiots standing smack in front of the doorway, making for a side wall, he searched for Scarlett, but couldn’t locate her. This wasn’t her scene, either. Had she realized that and slipped out when he wasn’t looking?

After he got situated against the wall, he scanned over the gyrating bodies on the dance floor and finally spotted her about thirty feet away, standing with her back to him at a small round table on the adjacent wall, laughing with Delaney.

That was innocent enough.

Maybe he’d just pissed her off earlier by insinuating she was doing something wrong. Maybe she’d simply taken her wedding ring off to put on lotion and forgotten to put it back on. Hell, maybe she hadn’t had the ring for a while—the damn thing could’ve fallen down the sink or something. All these were more probable than something being up with Ryan and Scarlett’s marriage.

A surprising amount of disappointment settled over him, and he cursed the feeling to hell and back. Damn if that didn’t say something about the kind of friend he was. He should feel relief for Ryan and guilt for accusing Scarlett, but his first emotion was purely selfish. The most sickening thing was it wouldn’t matter if they were having problems. He could never have Scarlett—married, divorced, or heaven forbid, widowed. She would always be the wife of his best friend. That would never change.

“You know what?” he said to his cousin. “This is stupid. Let’s get out of here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I saw some pool tables in one of the lounges. Want to…” His voice trailed off as a blond-haired man who looked like he stepped off the cover of
Playgirl
approached the two women.

Blake heaved a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and crossed his arms.

As much as Brody wanted to leave, wanted to believe his own rationalizations, he couldn’t get his legs to move toward the door. He silently encouraged the man to focus on Delaney, but his charming smile stayed glued on Scarlett, who had shifted to face the guy. Brody no longer saw her back, but had a clear side view. Unlike the numerous times in the past he’d watched a man get shot down by a single glare from her, this time she was encouraging, while also being flirtatiously coy.

Though he couldn’t hear her over the music, he saw her lips part wide in one of her truly amused laughs. The pleased, almost cocky expression on the guy’s face only confirmed it. She stepped closer to him and pressed her body into his. He lowered his hand to the curve of her hip, much lower than was appropriate for a happily married woman. She toyed with the collar of his shirt then ran her finger down his chest, bottom lip tucked seductively between her teeth.

Who the hell was this woman?

Then out of nowhere, she cupped the man’s face between her palms and kissed him square on the lips—slow, encouraging, a kiss that flat out said, “If you want it, take it.” The dude wasted no time in sliding both arms around her waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. A clear “fuck yeah, I want it,” if Brody ever saw one.

A red haze of fury obstructed his vision as he watched her melt into the other man. He’d like to believe it was only indignation over her betrayal of his best friend, but it wasn’t. He’d never liked watching her kiss her husband, either—one of the reasons he’d put so much distance between Scarlett and him this past year.

She pulled back from the kiss but stayed pressed tightly against him, lifted up on her tiptoes, and whispered something into his ear. Her glazed eyes, bright from drink and not passion, stared up at the guy as she waited for his response. He gave an eager nod. Smiling brightly, she stepped back, took his hand, then stumbled a little to the left before catching herself on some random woman standing behind her.

Delaney uncertainly laid a hand on Scarlett’s forearm and said something at which Scarlett laughed and shook her head. Delaney pressed her lips together tightly, worry evident in the glance she cast the guy.

As the man snaked his arm around Scarlett’s waist to lead her toward the exit, she went without a second of hesitation. Delaney, however, hurried in front of the pair. She exuded nothing but fierce disapproval, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was trying to talk some damn sense into her drunk friend.

At least one of them seemed to have some.

In response, Scarlett wrapped herself around the man, and his shit-eating grin made it clear that she’d been told to move. Delaney shook her head sharply and planted her hands on her hips.

“That don’t look too good,” Blake muttered.

Brody agreed, but he stayed where he was, waiting to see if Delaney would be able to handle the situation on her own. He would rather not interfere again. He’d already pissed off Scarlett in a way he’d never seen before, and he really didn’t want to egg her on in her current condition. God only knew what the fuck she would do as drunk as she was, when she’d seemed willing to do practically anything sober.

He sure as hell wouldn’t be the reason she went over the edge and did something she couldn’t take back.

“You going to intervene here, cuz?” Blake asked as the standoff between the threesome stretched on.

He shook his head slightly, keeping his gaze locked on Delaney, whose posture shouted:
Do not leave with him.

Finally, Delaney locked her fingers around her friend’s forearm and tugged. Scarlett yanked away, scowling. The man tried to usher her around the other woman again, but she shuffled in front of them. An awkward dance ensued, and all the while, the tiny woman’s fierce you-will-not-leave-with-my-drunk-friend-asshole expression never slipped.

“You’re right. She’s a feisty little thing,” Blake said, his words tinged with awe, which was a huge thing coming from him. Other people rarely impressed him.

“Delaney has never taken shit from anyone.”

She was proving that more than ever, and her protector stance was obviously starting to get under Scarlett’s skin. She let go of the man and swayed close to her friend, finger raised, anger pulling her lips tight to slightly bare her teeth.

What the fuck?

Brody’s brows pulled together. Scarlett wasn’t a saint. She did get angry like every other person on the planet, but her anger had always been displayed with a purse of the lips, clench of the jaw, and jutting up of the chin—and a death stare that went right through you. He would know. He’d had it directed at him once when he’d brought Ryan home from his bachelor party so staggering drunk that he had puked right on the carpet at her bare feet.

But this aggressive woman looking like she’d actually attack her best friend of eighteen years was not Scarlett at all.

The two women exchanged heated words and sharp gesticulations. Then lips did purse, a jaw did clench, and a chin jutted up in the air. But it wasn’t Scarlett’s. It was Delaney’s as she moved aside and swept her arm in a dramatic fashion toward the exit.

Oh. Hell. No.

“You’re on, cuz,” Blake said. “She’s too drunk to be leaving with that fucker.”

“Already on it.”

Brody rushed toward them. By the widening of Delaney’s eyes and the sudden relaxing of her shoulders, she saw his approach. Not that he needed permission to step in, but he wouldn’t lie—having her best friend’s support would go a long way tomorrow when Scarlett was nursing one hell of a hangover.

Scarlett leaned against the guy as they made their way to the door. Brody picked up the pace and lunged forward to latch his hand around her elbow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Scarlett’s head snapped down to his fingers then slowly lifted. Fury brightened those blue eyes.

“Let. Go,” she bit out between clenched teeth.

Had she really just gritted? Holy fucking shit.

“Nope,” he said. “You’re staying right here.”

The guy stepped forward and tapped-shoved his shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “Hey, buddy. You need to move along.”

Brody stared down at the place the man had poked him then lifted his gaze to the fucker. “Touch me again, asshole, and see what happens.”

The man paled visibly, swallowed, and took a step back. He still managed to say, “Just leave the lady alone, okay.”

“I’m the bad guy? You’re trying to escort an intoxicated woman out of a bar—even though her best friend has been trying to stop you for the last five minutes—and
I’m
the bad guy?”

“I was just going to help her back to her room.”

“I’m sure you were, but we no longer need your
help
.” He all but sneered the word. “I’ll take it from here.”

Scarlett jerked her arm out of his grip. “The hell. I’m goin’ with ’im.”

The guy smirked and started to put his arm around her waist again.

“Touch her and I’ll break your face,” Brody said with every bit of the cage fighter he had in him.

The man was smart enough to lower his arm. A huff came from Scarlett, and she swayed forward and poked him hard in the chest.

“Mindyerbusiness,” she slurred through the reek of alcohol. “My life. My party.”

Goddamn, how much had she had to drink?

“Wait,” the guy said. “You know him?”

“Course, I know ’im. ’E’s Brody ‘Leavemethefuckalone’ Minton.”

The guy’s eyes widened as his gaze raked Brody up and down. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Tell all your other buddies that Brody ‘
The Iron’
Minton says this woman is off-limits or they’ll deal with me.”

“Yeah. No problem.” He started backing away slowly, and Scarlett’s eyes bulged almost comically.

“Don’t be a wuss. ’E’s not gonna do anythin’.” She slashed her arm toward Brody. “’E’s like a fuckin’ kitty cat. Never even hit nothin’ outside of the stupid cage. Hell, ’e even owns a kitty cat named Princess.” She chortled.

What she said was true, but she underestimated him. He would hit that man and any other fucker who messed with her. “Don’t test me, Scarlett.”

The man kept backing away.

She actually stomped her foot. “Don’t go!”

He just waved his arms then turned and bolted.

Scarlett spun on Brody. “You. Suck!”

“Come on. You need to lie down.” He took her arm again and started to turn her toward the exit.

Again, she yanked away from him. “I’ll lie down when I damn well want to.”

She was so volatile. A mass of bubbling rage that was about to explode. Where the hell was all this intensity coming from? Was this the explanation for his best friend’s absence? Had Scarlett had some sort of mental meltdown? Ryan hadn’t mentioned anything when they’d hung out last week. All his best friend ever talked about was how well their marriage was going and how happy he was.

Scarlett looked far from happy.

“You’re starting to make a scene,” Delaney said as she stepped up to the two of them.

“I. Don’t. Care!” She stumbled back. “I won’t go back to my room.”

Delaney sent Brody a pleading look. “I can’t handle her right now. Honestly, I don’t even know what to do. I’ve never seen her like this.”