“What the hell? Give ’em back.”
I shake my head. “No can do. Dram shop law. If you drive away from here and kill someone, I’m gonna get sued because I overserved you. So you’re just gonna have to take a cab or call for a ride.”
Boone lunges across the bar toward me, but I’m sober, which means I’m faster and in better control of my body.
“I’ll lock them up and make sure you can get them tomorrow if you’re sober.”
“Come on, Rip. We’ll be fine.”
I shoot Frisco a dirty look. “No way. Call a cab or get a ride. There’s no way I’m letting either of you act like a dumbass when it’s gonna blow back on me. Should’ve picked a different bar, boys.”
Boone whispers something under his breath, but I don’t catch it.
“Crackerhead,” is Esteban’s less-than-helpful contribution to the conversation.
Frisco laughs at the bird’s outburst, and Boone aims a killing glare in his direction. Frisco tries to shut down the laughter but barely contains it.
The country superstar finally looks at me, really looks at me. His blue eyes blaze with rage and pain, cutting into me. I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak.
The question he asks takes me by surprise.
“Would you ever marry a guy while you were dating another? Because she ain’t the first one I’ve known to do it.”
My answer, as stupid as it may sound, is honest. “I’d have to date one first.”
Boone huffs out a sound that’s supposed to be a laugh, but comes out more like a grunt.
“Too smart for all of us.” He turns to Frisco. “Get us a damned ride. I’m done. Fucking done with all of it.”
“On it, man,” Frisco says, finally containing his mirth and lifting his phone.
Boone meets my gaze for another beat. “Anything happens to my car overnight, I’ll own this bar. Get me?”
I slide my fingers into the brass knuckles on the keychain and make a fist before reaching under the bar and pulling out a baseball bat. “Threaten me again and I’ll break your face.”
“Told you she was a feisty one,” Frisco says to Boone, and I roll my eyes.
Ten minutes later, the back door of the bar closes behind Zane Frisco and Boone Thrasher as they go outside to meet their ride, leaving the ring on the bar.
Just one more reminder why avoiding celebrities is the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Now, where do I put this freaking ring so Brandy doesn’t find it and sell it?
8
Boone
Irollover with a sledgehammer crashing into my skull, my stomach rolling, and my mouth drier than the Afghani desert we landed in for my last USO tour.
What the fuck happened last night?
Last time I woke up in a bed I didn’t recognize, I swore it would be the last time. I jerk my head from side to side, hoping I’m not going to find a head of hair on the pillow next to me that doesn’t belong to Amber.
I did my manwhore stint just like every guy does when he hits it big and all the women come crawling out of the woodwork, wanting to jump on your dick just because you stand onstage and sing. But no more. I’ve got a woman, and I’m faithful. No loopholes, noif she doesn’t know, it didn’t happen. I don’t cheat because I’m a better man than that.
Bits and pieces of last night filter into my brain, and I work on fitting them together.
A parrot.
A gorgeous brunette.