Holding Strong
Page 17
As soon as the door closed, she dragged herself out of the bed and found a T-shirt and panties. Shivering almost uncontrollably, she went into the bathroom. One look in the mirror and hiding became a real possibility.
Such a mess. Wild hair, ruined makeup, red eyes and a pale face.
But she flat-out didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Just getting her shirt and underwear on proved a trial. No way could she wash off her makeup or tidy her hair. By the time she staggered out of the bathroom, she felt weak as a baby. And that made her weepy.
This was supposed to be her big night with Denver—and here she’d gone and gotten sick.
* * *
“FIRST,” ARMIE SAID, the second the door closed, “get that shit out of your head.”
Knowing exactly what he meant, Denver said, “Fine. Then tell me why you’re here.”
“Not to hit on her, and you know it.”
For ten seconds longer, they had a stare-off.
And Denver realized he was being absurd.
Not only was Armie trustworthy, he didn’t go for girls like Cherry. Hell, for the most part he avoided them.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he dropped back against the wall. What he felt for Cherry blew his control. He had to get a grip, and fast, before he made an ass of himself.
Or rather, more of an ass. “Right. Sorry. I know she’s not your type.”
“Didn’t say that.”
New volatility demolished Denver’s relaxed posture.
With a half grin, Armie admitted, “If you hadn’t stepped up, I’d have been all over it.”
“Bullshit.” Armie’s preferences were well known—because he made them known. He was congenial with all women, but made it clear that he divided the fairer sex into three categories: women up for grabs because they were fast, nasty and rough around the edges, or in other words, perfect for his tastes; nice women, which he considered all fluff and uninteresting; and women related to anyone he knew, which put them off-limits—like Cannon’s sister, Merissa.
Although Denver thought Armie might fight a losing battle with the last.
Through his teeth, Denver said, “I thought you didn’t like nice girls.”
With a shrug, Armie murmured, “Cherry is a different type of nice.”
Didn’t he know it. She was the perfect mix of sweet and sexy. Her brand of nice could give any guy a boner.
Determined to set Armie straight right now, Denver came forward in a single aggressive step—
And Armie laughed at him.
Far from amused, Denver warned him, “You’re pushing your luck.”
“And you’re being entertaining.” Armie shook his head, then said with mock pity, “I can be a prick, Denver, I know. But I wouldn’t do that.”
Shit. No, he wouldn’t. Denver retreated with a deep breath that didn’t even come close to helping. “Yeah, I do know it. Sorry again.”
“Tell it to her, not me.”
“Already planning that particular chat with her.”
Snorting, Armie said, “Good luck with that.”
“Meaning what?”
“You’re coming on too strong, man. But then, hey, who am I to say? Maybe she’s into that caveman shit.”
If Armie didn’t stop being so deliberately provoking, he’d flatten him just for the fun of it.
With a clap on the shoulder, Armie said, “I can see you’ll enjoy unleashing that big badass protective streak tonight, huh?”
Shaking his head, Denver scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“That’s why I’m here, actually.” Going far too serious for Denver’s peace of mind, Armie said, “I overheard some stuff and I figured you should know. When I didn’t find you in your room, Stack said you’d be here.”
“What stuff?” More than anything, he wanted to get back inside with Cherry. He’d lose his edge in her soft body and then maybe he could feel like himself again instead of suffering so many chaotic emotions.
“I went to my car, but Havoc, the sneaky bastard, was hanging around there, so instead I went back toward the bar—”
“You dodged Havoc? Jesus man, just talk to him already.”
“And,” Armie went on with emphasis, ignoring both the interruption and the derision, “off to the side of the bar, three guys were talking about Cherry.”
Forgetting Havoc, Denver straightened. “What do you mean, they were talking about her?”
Armie rubbed the back of his neck. “See, that’s the troubling part. It sounded all covert and underhanded, so I got closer.”
Such a mess. Wild hair, ruined makeup, red eyes and a pale face.
But she flat-out didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Just getting her shirt and underwear on proved a trial. No way could she wash off her makeup or tidy her hair. By the time she staggered out of the bathroom, she felt weak as a baby. And that made her weepy.
This was supposed to be her big night with Denver—and here she’d gone and gotten sick.
* * *
“FIRST,” ARMIE SAID, the second the door closed, “get that shit out of your head.”
Knowing exactly what he meant, Denver said, “Fine. Then tell me why you’re here.”
“Not to hit on her, and you know it.”
For ten seconds longer, they had a stare-off.
And Denver realized he was being absurd.
Not only was Armie trustworthy, he didn’t go for girls like Cherry. Hell, for the most part he avoided them.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he dropped back against the wall. What he felt for Cherry blew his control. He had to get a grip, and fast, before he made an ass of himself.
Or rather, more of an ass. “Right. Sorry. I know she’s not your type.”
“Didn’t say that.”
New volatility demolished Denver’s relaxed posture.
With a half grin, Armie admitted, “If you hadn’t stepped up, I’d have been all over it.”
“Bullshit.” Armie’s preferences were well known—because he made them known. He was congenial with all women, but made it clear that he divided the fairer sex into three categories: women up for grabs because they were fast, nasty and rough around the edges, or in other words, perfect for his tastes; nice women, which he considered all fluff and uninteresting; and women related to anyone he knew, which put them off-limits—like Cannon’s sister, Merissa.
Although Denver thought Armie might fight a losing battle with the last.
Through his teeth, Denver said, “I thought you didn’t like nice girls.”
With a shrug, Armie murmured, “Cherry is a different type of nice.”
Didn’t he know it. She was the perfect mix of sweet and sexy. Her brand of nice could give any guy a boner.
Determined to set Armie straight right now, Denver came forward in a single aggressive step—
And Armie laughed at him.
Far from amused, Denver warned him, “You’re pushing your luck.”
“And you’re being entertaining.” Armie shook his head, then said with mock pity, “I can be a prick, Denver, I know. But I wouldn’t do that.”
Shit. No, he wouldn’t. Denver retreated with a deep breath that didn’t even come close to helping. “Yeah, I do know it. Sorry again.”
“Tell it to her, not me.”
“Already planning that particular chat with her.”
Snorting, Armie said, “Good luck with that.”
“Meaning what?”
“You’re coming on too strong, man. But then, hey, who am I to say? Maybe she’s into that caveman shit.”
If Armie didn’t stop being so deliberately provoking, he’d flatten him just for the fun of it.
With a clap on the shoulder, Armie said, “I can see you’ll enjoy unleashing that big badass protective streak tonight, huh?”
Shaking his head, Denver scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“That’s why I’m here, actually.” Going far too serious for Denver’s peace of mind, Armie said, “I overheard some stuff and I figured you should know. When I didn’t find you in your room, Stack said you’d be here.”
“What stuff?” More than anything, he wanted to get back inside with Cherry. He’d lose his edge in her soft body and then maybe he could feel like himself again instead of suffering so many chaotic emotions.
“I went to my car, but Havoc, the sneaky bastard, was hanging around there, so instead I went back toward the bar—”
“You dodged Havoc? Jesus man, just talk to him already.”
“And,” Armie went on with emphasis, ignoring both the interruption and the derision, “off to the side of the bar, three guys were talking about Cherry.”
Forgetting Havoc, Denver straightened. “What do you mean, they were talking about her?”
Armie rubbed the back of his neck. “See, that’s the troubling part. It sounded all covert and underhanded, so I got closer.”
