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I chuckled, because how the fuck else was I supposed to act? “Scarred for life, Red.” I tucked myself back in and zipped up my jeans. “I’m decent.”

When she turned to face me again, heat flushed her cheeks, and her arms struggled to find their resting place. They landed on her hips before pushing into the pockets of her black jeans. “I… Sorry, you need to come with me,” she stammered, staring directly at me.

Blondie piped up, the shrill in her tone stating her distaste. “He’s with me. We’re busy.” She continued to rearrange her dress, thong, hair.

Red rocked back on her Doc Martens, pursing her lips together. She steered her gaze to blondie, her demeanor returning to the Scarlet I was used to. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s done.”

I held back a laugh.

Straight to the point, as always.

“Whatever,” she retorted.

Gods, I didn’t even know her name. Low blow.

Red ignored her, speaking directly to me. “You’re needed inside.”

That got my attention. Because there was no way in hell Morgan would let her come out here unless it was important. I turned to the blonde stranger, her irritated expression not landing the way she intended. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Grab a drink on the house,” I said, dismissing her.

I really was a fucking asshole.

She paused, waiting for me to change my mind, which would never happen. Eventually, she huffed her way back inside.

Finally alone, Red held a hand in the air. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“All good. I’m done.” And I moaned your fucking name. The fuck? I dumped my condom in the nearby dumpster.

“No shit. You really need to come with me. It’s urgent.”

Did she really just say that? Come with me.

After…

What the fuck was wrong with me?

“What is it?” I asked as she turned toward the back door. Her hurried footsteps made me stride after her. She didn’t answer me as we walked back into the bar.

Morgan turned as she poured two beers. “Go, I’ve got this,” she said, and the tone of her voice sent my blood cold.

“What’s going on?” I asked, following Red out of the bar and into the parking lot.

She ignored the question, heading for my wagon, which only pissed me off further.

“How much have you had to drink?” she asked, turning on her heel to look at me.

I narrowed my eyes at her, confused by her question. “One beer and a shot.”

“Give me your keys,” she demanded, her haunted eyes hiding something.

But what was it?

I didn’t object, pulling them from my pocket and tossing them to her. She unlocked my wagon, jumped in the driver’s seat, and I sighed and climbed in the passenger side. She pulled off her boots and tossed them down at my feet. “What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

She started the engine, throwing a pointed look at me. “I can’t feel the pedals with them on.”

The boots. Fucking hell.

I deadpanned her. “So you drive in socks.”