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“Are you okay?” I asked, watching the play of emotion run across her face. This girl had a hard time keeping her stuff inside. It was one of the things I liked about her. She nodded slowly.
“He’s really drunk,” I said quietly.
“I can handle Aiden.”
She smelled as good as she looked, and I took another step forward, but Aiden got in my face.
“Thissa private con…a conversation, asshoe.” His words came out slurred, he hardly made sense, and the glassy eyes told me he was on more than just booze.
“Why don’t you move away from Echo and get your shit together.” I kept my voice light, but I was itching for the bastard to do something—anything—to set me off.
“Why don’t you fuck off?” His face scrunched up, and he tried to chest bump me, but missed by several inches. I caught him, or he would have ended up on his ass.
“I’m doing you a favor by giving you a choice. Leave now on your own, or I’ll kick your ass out.”
“I like ta see ya try.”
The thing about drunk and stoned douchebags is that they have an inflated sense of what they can do. I had about six inches and at least fifty pounds on the guy, and he thought he could go toe to toe?
“Aiden, just leave.” Echo yanked on his arm, and he reacted by taking a swing at her. I caught him before he made contact, which was lucky for him because I would have flattened the asshole if he’d touched her. Security showed up just in time, and I handed him off.
We’d attracted more attention than I wanted, so I grabbed Echo’s hand and led her to the shadows that draped the far corner balcony. It was dark, and no one could see us here.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
“Why?” she asked, watching me intently.
“Do I need to spell it out?”
She looked at the floor. Then over my shoulder. At the ceiling.
She was looking everywhere except at me. I slid my hand along her jaw and gently applied enough pressure so she had no choice but to look up. And there it was again. That punch to the gut.
I smiled. I couldn’t help myself.
After a few moments, she sighed, though her eyes were closed off and her body language was all wrong. “Why are you here, Boyd?”
“I have a soft spot for cats.”
“I would have pegged you as a dog man.”
“Nope. I’m all about the felines.”
“You drove to New York because you like cats.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Flew.”
“What?”
“I was at the farm in Tennessee. I flew.”
“Okay, you flew all the way to New York City because you like cats?”
“I flew all the way to New York City because I can’t stop thinking about you.” Bingo. Her eyes widened, and that delicious tongue of hers slipped out and licked at the corner of her mouth.
“Thought I’d write a big fat check while I was here.”
“Because you like cats.”
