His arm stole around me again, this time holding my waist firmly. He tilted his head down.
“Matt, no.”
I’d pissed him off. “What? You got somewhere better to be?”
“Rachael? Hey, is this guy bothering you?”
Part of me melted at the sound of Dylan’s rough Bronx accent. “No.” I twisted away from Matt and smiled up at Dylan’s frowning face. “Hi.”
“We’re fine, man,” Matt growled, leaning into me again.
Mike stepped to Dylan’s side, his expression stormy. “Barrett? What the hell, man? Back off.”
Matt finally straightened up and blinked at the guys. “O’Connor? Pierce?” He broke into an unkind grin. “Nice rush in the third.”
“Shut up,” Dylan snapped. At least Keith wasn’t there. He probably would have thrown a punch. “And leave Rach alone.”
“What’s it to you?” Matt stepped in front of me, and I frowned. “Maybe she’s the one who won’t leave me alone.”
Both Mike and Dylan scoffed disbelief.
“Hey man, I don’t want to be trouble, but she did come here with me.” Matt raised his hands.
Mike shot me a wary look. “I didn’t really,” I protested.
Dylan just scowled and crossed his arms. “Don’t be crazy. She’s Carter’s girlfriend.”
Well. Not exactly.
“Is she?” Matt scanned my body with far more intimacy than he’d used before. “Imagine that.” He reached for me.
Mike frowned, uncharacteristically fierce. “Rachael, get over here.”
Anger spiked through me. I stepped away from all of them, forming a third point to our odd little triangle. I wasn’t some bone to fight over, or an inanimate piece of territory to piss on. My nails bit into my fists.
“Rachael?” Ryan’s voice, bewildered, cut through the silence. “What’s going on?”
Matt smirked at him. “You’re losing girls along with games, Carter. Guess you just can’t keep them satisfied.”
Ryan took one fast, launching step forward, and then pulled his shoulders back. The fists he formed looked a lot more intimidating than mine. In fact, they could crack heads open. “What are you saying, Barrett?”
Matt shrugged. “Just that it wasn’t you that chick had her hands all over earlier.”
Ryan’s fist slammed into Matt’s face.
I stood there, shocked into stillness, as the other guys jumped in and hauled the two men off each other. Matt roared and spread his fingers around his bloody nose before trying to break away from Mike and a player I didn’t know. The clubbers in our vicinity squealed and pulled out camera phones, and Dylan gave Ryan a shove. “Get out of here,” he muttered, and Ryan grabbed my hand and tugged me through the crowd.
No one stopped us as we climbed the stairs, passing more bouncers and entering the VIP mezzanine. Not even when he led me deeper into the building, past the crowds. When he snapped at a bouncer, the man let us into a low lit, private room.
Couches ringed the walls, low and padded with red velvet. A closed down bar stood in one corner and small, round tables of dark mahogany filled the rest of the room. Embossed wooden panels made up the walls. It screamed money and sex, but didn’t have much to say on taste.
“What a fucking asshole.” Ryan started to pace, crossing the room with vigorous strides. He shoved his hands through his hair and then shook it back into place. “What were you doing with Barrett?”
I sunk onto one of the plush couches, wishing I could flip a switch and bring more light. “You just punched a guy!”
“I thought you were coming here to meet me.”
“I think you might’ve broken his nose...”