“You get the point.”
Picking up one of the flavored vodkas that were as equally out of place as the fun umbrellas would be, he shook it. “It’s not a piñacolada, but I could make you a pineapple upside-down cocktail while you tell your man you’re done for the night.”
Harlow had made me a mini one to try while she’d explained the random drinks she created that sold well to party girls and biker badasses alike. LaQuin was right, it wasn’t my drink of choice, but it’d still been delicious.
And not something I could have while I was doing either of my jobs.
“What’s the use if there’s no umbrella or dagger?” I asked. “I’ll just work instead.”
“Like I said, a saint.”
There was a clatter from over at the other side of the bar, and my chatty pal was standing. His glass was on its side, and something was splattered on his shirt. “Aw, hell.”
I looked back at LaQuin. “Then that must be my saint’s prayer.”
Chuck was already wiping up from our side of things, but most of the damage was on the other side. I grabbed a wad of rags and hurried around the bar to the mess.
“Sorry. My hand caught the glass. I’ll clean it up,” the guy said, reaching for the bundle with sloppy aim.
I dodged right as his hand was about to touch my boob, avoiding the contact as I forced a smile. “I got it.”
A shiver went down my spine, and unlike earlier, there was nothing pleasant about it. I kept the guy in my line of sight as I cleaned the mess, but all he did was apologize repeatedly.
I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and I wasn’t about to convince myself I was overreacting. I’d seen how that could end up.
With me.
In a hospital bed.
With a hole in my shoulder that hadn’t been there before.
I lifted my hand to flag a bouncer, but it was Rhys who spotted me and started moving by literally hopping over the bar like an action star.
It was impressive. It was also too late.
The drunk at my side had one hand full of my boob and the other full of my ass.
And then he was no longer the drunk at my side.
He was the moron whose torso was pinned against the bar by one of my elbows in his back while I hyperextended his arm behind him.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked, sounding more exasperated than angry.
“I lost my balance.” His sentence ended in a cry when I lifted his arm higher.
Most people were already watching, but at his constipated eagle screech, every damn person in the place was silently staring.
Just great.
“Do you want to try that again?” I asked.
He thrashed.
I dug my elbow into his spine.
He tried and failed to dislodge me.
I pushed until his arm was nearly out of the socket.
