Shake It Up (Man of the Month 8)

Landon shook his head. "Funny."

"No, the truth is, I need a favor."

"Anything, man. You know that." As he spoke, the now-familiar Man of the Month music filled the bar, and the spotlight caught Beverly Martin, a rising indie film star who was the contest's emcee, as she walked up the stairs. Almost out of reflex, Landon craned his neck, looking not at Beverly, but off stage to the spot operator. He expected to see Taylor. Hell, he wanted to see her.

Instead, Mina was there.

Before he could check himself, he'd whipped back around to face Brent. "Where's Taylor?" he asked, and although it might have been his imagination, he was pretty sure he saw a flicker of amusement play over Brent's face.

"And that, my friend, is the favor."

* * *

Taylor.

Someone was stalking Taylor.

And dear God, if that sonofabitch laid so much as a finger on her, Landon would rearrange his face and teach him a new definition of pain.

He drew in a breath, trying to force himself back down to calm.

Shit.

Too bad calm was proving to be more than a little difficult to reach. He had to settle for taking slow, measured breaths. His mind was still churning, but his body relaxed. The calm before the storm, maybe. But at least it was one brand of calm.

Landon and Brent had moved into Tyree's office, and now that Landon was replaying the highlights of their conversation over again in his mind, it was taking every ounce of his concentration to keep his shit together. Especially when all he really wanted to do was put his fist through a wall. Or, better, through the asshole student who'd been stalking her.

Assuming it was the asshole student.

"What else do you know about this kid? Do we have a name?"

"We don't. But if you're willing to step in and keep an eye on her, I'm sure you can get her to tell you."

"I want to know if he has a record. If anyone at the University has filed a harassment claim. Talk to some of his classmates. See if any of them have the vibe."

"Which means you're going to do this," Brent said, the words a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," Landon said, without missing a beat. "I'm going to do this." The truth was, he barely knew Taylor, but the woman had gotten under his skin. He'd first seen her when she'd crashed into him on the sidewalk just outside The Fix. He'd been coming out; she'd been racing to get there on time. Her body and been flush against his for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time, he'd pretty much seen heaven.

She'd mumbled flustered apologies and disappeared inside, leaving him to his prurient fantasies.

A few weeks later, he'd popped into The Fix to watch the Man of the Month contest after Brent had given him a heads-up, and he'd been curious enough to take a look.

He'd been glad that he had. Not because he gave a flip about the men strutting around on that stage, but because he'd sat in the back of the bar, his view of the stage partially blocked by the same woman. He got a better look at her that time. A dark-haired woman with a ponytail, the kind of small waist a man could use for a handhold, and the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen.

But it was her face that had really done him in. Pretty, but not classically so. Her mouth was a little too wide, her nose a little too crooked, her chin just slightly off center. But those brilliant eyes ... damn, but they could light up a room.

As far as Landon was concerned, it was the most interesting face he'd ever seen, and it was paired with a body that had conjured the kind of thoughts that made his mouth go dry. She'd been leaning forward over a step stool as she operated the spotlight, and he'd had a truly enticing view of thighs, long and lean and undoubtedly strong enough to wrap tight around a man.

He'd lost all interest in the contest at that moment, and he'd spent the time watching the girl. The way her small, cute ass moved in her jeans. The smile that lit her face when she turned and greeted a friend.

Holy hell, she'd gotten under his skin. And he'd been back every contest since. Sometimes just sitting in the back, alone and anonymous. Other times chatting with Brent or Derek. On more than one occasion, he'd caught her eye across the bar and felt the sparks fly between them.

He'd learned her name, of course, and they'd even spoken a few times, her melodic voice dancing over his body in a way that made him want to run back to Herrington's Gym and take a cold shower.

She'd told him that she was a graduate student in the theater department who Jenna had hired as a stage manager. And each time he came to watch the contest, he'd expected her to be less enticing. That he'd look at her and simply see a pretty white woman. Not someone who made his body fire simply from the sight of her.

Yet that reaction never faded. If anything it had grown stronger.