I rush toward the door, but Boone reaches out to snag my arm and pulls me back.
“You just hauled in a shitload of cash tonight. Did it ever occur to you that someone could be here to rob you?”
“I can hear voices! Open up! I just want my wallet!”
“Stay behind me,” Boone orders.
“You can’t open the door. He’ll see you.”
Boone glares at me. “I’d rather you be safe than worry about some drunk asshole knowing I’m here. Stay behind me.”
With a huff, I comply. Boone pulls open the door, and a kid in a Vandy T-shirt falls forward.
“The fuck do you want?” Boone barks at him.
The kid looks up, recognition clear on his face. “Shit, man. This is even better than my wallet.” Before either of us can move, the kid lifts his phone and snaps a picture of Boone and me. Together. With my sex hair.
Boone reaches for his phone but the kid is quicker, bolting toward a car waiting at the curb.
“Go! Go!”
With a squeal of tires, it’s gone.
Vandy T-shirt.He’s the one who sold the video.
Boone slams the door shut and turns to me.
“We have a serious problem,” I tell him.
* * *
Boone stridesto the back door with the little asshole’s wallet in hand. Someone tossed it behind the bar earlier, the cash missing, of course.
But at least we have his name and address.
“He’s going to sell that picture before you can get to him. Guaranteed he already has the contact from selling the video.”
Boone pauses at the door. “Which is why I’m going now instead of staying to fuck you a second time like I’d prefer.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s not happening again. Ever.”
His expression turns dark. “Because of your damn rule? That’s bullshit and you know it.”
It wasn’t bullshit when the press was accusing me of being a whore like my mama.
“I can’t do this. I’m not doing this.” My tone is resolute.
Boone tilts his head to one side, studying me. “Give me one good reason.”
I drop my arms and straighten my shoulders. “I don’t have to give you a reason for anything. I’m not going to date you. It’s not happening.”
Boone pushes off the door and closes the distance until he towers over me. I’m not short at five foot five, but next to his six-foot-plus frame, I feel tiny.
“Who said anything about dating?”
My first instinct is to tell him to leave, but something stops me. Maybe the memory of the best orgasms I’ve had in months.
“Then what do you want? A rebound?”