Sassy Blonde (Three Chicks Brewery 1)

Hayes leaned up on one muscular arm. “What’s up?”

Maisie was tempted to lick that bulging bicep and the vein running along the side. Reminding herself that she was in trouble, she threw on Hayes’s T-shirt and sat cross-legged on the bed next to him. “Oh, you’ll see,” she finally managed to say. Then she accepted the FaceTime call and smiled into the phone. “Hello, Clara.”

Clara’s ponytail was a mess, makeup smeared under her eyes. “Are you two out of you goddamn minds! A fight?” she snapped. “Seriously? What the hell happened?”

Maisie sighed. “Well, I…”

The phone was suddenly ripped away. Hayes arched an eyebrow at Clara. “Someone made unwanted advances on your sister tonight and grabbed her arm hard enough that she flinched. I didn’t like that. The blame for this is on me, not on Maisie.”

A pause. “I see. Can you put Maisie on the phone please?”

Maisie fought her smile at Clara’s very serious voice. She accepted the phone. “Yes?”

Clara’s eyes were huge. “Is Hayes in your bed right now?”

Hayes lay back down, all man, all muscles, stretched out in the bed and grinned. “Mm-hmm,” she said, looking back at Clara.

Clara fought her smile. “Let’s talk more tomorrow—” Hard bangs suddenly came at the door. “What’s that?”

“I dunno,” Maisie replied.

Hayes jumped out of bed, slid into his jeans, and grabbed a T-shirt from his bag. When he whisked the door open, Maisie’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“Um, Clara, we need to go.”

“Why?”

Maisie took in the two men in uniform, the guns on their waists, and the dark irritation in their gazes. “The police are here.” She ended the call, even though she could hear Clara calling out to her.

The taller cop said, “Hayes Taylor?”

“Yeah,” Hayes said, opening the door wider. “What’s the problem?”

The cop stepped into the room, taking Hayes’s arms behind his back, and then cuffed him. “You’re under arrest for the assault…”

Voices became a loud roar in Maisie’s head. Regardless that she only wore a T-shirt that just covered her bare butt, she jumped out of bed. “Wait. He didn’t do anything wrong. That other guy was the aggressive one.”

The other cop pointed at her and scowled. “Sit back down or you’ll be coming with us too.”

“It’s all right,” said Hayes, his expression soft, reassuring. His voice calm. “Call my father. His number is in my phone. Passcode is 1209.”

Laurel’s birthday. December 9. Maisie stepped forward. “But—”

Hayes sent her a smile that chased away the chill. “Keep that bed warm for me. I’ll be back soon.”

Unsure what to do, she followed him out the door as they took Hayes to the cruiser. Unsurprised by this development—because shit always went wrong—she shut the door and hurried to Hayes’s cell that was now on the floor; obviously it had bounced off the bed. When she found his father’s contact, she hit call.

“You better be dead or hurt to call me this late,” Hayes’s father said by way of greeting.

“Um, sorry, Mr. Taylor, it’s actually Maisie.”

A pause. “Maisie. What’s wrong?”

“There was a situation earlier. A fight. Blood. A broken nose. The cops just showed up.” She hesitated, reining in her babbling. “They’ve arrested Hayes and took him to the station.”

His father asked in a clearer voice, ?

??Where are you?”