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I got it. It wasn't his job to care. He was there to stop people from making a mess in the bar, with blood and bits of people's faces and stuff.
I sighed and looked down toward the floor. More and more people noticed us being escorted to the door. Mutters of "Bam," and "Rapids," rippled through the place.
That was followed by the inevitable raising of phones so they could record my walk of shame.
I looked up and gave them all a smile and a wave with my spare arm.
Tank gave my other arm a squeeze. Presumably he didn't think much of my cheerful outlook on life. Maybe he even thought I was using this moment to get some free publicity.
Shit no, this was exactly the kind of thing I didn't need. I should cover my face and hide from the phones, but that's not my nature. Nope, it really ain't. I've never been shy and I'm not going to start now.
My smile faded when I saw the police waiting outside for us. The only thing that made it better was seeing the look on Erik's face. The guy looked like he was going to piss his pants.
"That man shoved me." Erik pointed at my nose. "I was just defending myself against a bigger, aggressive man."
"Aggressive? Bam?" Chantel asked, her eyes wide in disgust. "He doesn't have an aggressive bone in his whole body. Except when he's playing football. Then you better get out of his way, or he'll smash the crap outta?—"
I interrupted. "Thanks, Chantel, they get it."
She grinned. "They should, you're all kinds of badass out there."
"I'm sure he is." The officer's badge read 'Philips.' He looked over my shoulder at the crowd who all but hung out the door, watching.
"We'll take this down to the station." He looked like it was the last thing he wanted to bother with. Bringing us in came with a ton of paperwork, and time spent that could have been better used dealing with real criminals.
I suspected if I wasn't someone famous, we'd all get off with a warning. Maybe a ban from the bar for a year or two. The way the crowd was muttering with increasing anger meant they needed to move us out of here, and quickly.
It was on me to defuse the situation, if I could.
I turned to the crowd, grinned as broadly as I could, then gave them a bow.
The crowd broke into cheers and a round of applause which lasted after I slid into the back seat of the cop car.
Officer Philips glared at me. His companion, a cute blonde whose tag read, 'Stolz' looked even less impressed.
I gave them a 'what?' look and shifted over to make room for Chantel. Stolz directed Erik to sit beside Chantel and shut the door on us.
"If you lay a hand on her, I'll knock your fuckin' block off," I growled. I rubbed the side of my neck where he punched me. It hurt like a bitch, but I was used to pain. I wouldn't be much use on the field if I wasn't. Pain was part of my day to day life. I didn't regret a minute of it.
"Sure you will," Erik replied. He rolled his eyes. "Guys like you only think with your fists."
I frowned at him. "Guys like me? You're the dumbass who swung at a woman."
"Only because she hit me first," Erik insisted. "After you shoved me."
"You were being less than gentlemanly toward my sister," I replied.
Erik muttered something that sounded very much like, "The slut deserved it."
My face heated. "You better not have said what I think you just said. Because if you did?—"
"Shut up back there," Philips snapped. He glared at me over his shoulder. Of course he was listening to everything we said. I probably sounded like a meathead thug, which is exactly what some folks seemed to expect from me, and the rest of my team.
"Sorry, officer," Chantel said brightly.
Erik snorted.
"I told you that bar was trouble," I muttered. "This is not how I planned to spend my evening." We should have gone to Waves, the bar and burger place owned by the cousin of Hawk Florence, star quarterback for the team. Vera and John took no crap from anyone. They would have thrown Erik out on his ass the moment he looked sideways at my sister.
