Dump and Chase (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 1)

“Cool. Ready?” Wes asks, throwing a hundred on the table. “Someone is paying for my drinks at the next place since I paid for them here.”

“I got you,” Shelli says with a wink, shaking her tip jar.

He laughs. “Yes, drinks on the boss’s daughter!”

Shelli’s eyes flash to me, and I look away. I shouldn’t go, but if I don’t, it would seem like I’m not going because of her. While that is the reason, I don’t want the guys knowing that.

And I don’t want to hurt Shelli’s feelings.

Why do I care about her feelings? What is happening to me?

After gathering our things, we make a game plan to hit up the bars down in the Gulch. We decide to leave our cars and walk, even though I feel it’s too cold for Shelli out here. She’s wearing the shortest of skirts, and I don’t want her to freeze her ass off. It’s a great ass; it needs to stay there.

“Okay, let me go put my stuff up,” Shelli says, and she starts for her truck.

The guys just stand there, and it irritates me. “Is someone going to go with her?”

Wes makes a face. “She’s going right around the corner.”

“Assholes,” I grumble.

I reluctantly run to catch up with her. She looks surprised when I fall into step with her. “Oh, hey. I’m only going to be a second.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want you walking alone. Are you sure you want to walk? Maybe we should drive.”

She makes a face as she unlocks her door, throwing her jar on the seat before pulling out the money. “It’s all within walking distance. I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you to freeze.”

Her lips tilt. “I’m fine. I have tights on.”

And I want her out of them. Now.

“Yeah, I guess.”

She flashes me a grin before shutting the door and tucking her money between her breasts. It’s hard to breathe watching her hand cram between those two sweet mounds before she stuffs her key in there too. “Is that a safe place to put that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t have pockets, and who’s going to be reaching between my boobs?”

Me. I would.

“I can hold them for you.” Her brow perks, and I shake my head. “I mean your key and money.”

“I’m good,” she says with a little grin.

I swallow hard. “Yeah, um, you got your ID?”

“Ah!” she exclaims, going back into the truck. She leans over the seat, and that dress of hers rides up, leaving me breathless. When she leans back, she smiles up at me. “Got it.”

“Great.”

But it’s not great.

It’s far from great, because I’m going to die before the night is over.

Chapter Fourteen

Aiden

We catch up with the guys and head to the first club. It’s as loud as ever, but Willy knows the bouncer and gets us a nice little spot in VIP. The club is a swanky one I hadn’t been to before. It’s new. The Spot has everything from go-go dancers to one badass DJ. The music is pumping, and it’s hard not to notice the little shake Shelli does with her hips. I fall back into the seat, trying to ignore her, but it’s hard. Wes dances beside her as the music vibrates around us. I want to push Wes out of the way, but I’m sure that would blow the cover I’m trying to stay under.

When the first round of drinks comes, Boon calls the two of them over, and Shelli sits beside me as she takes the shot from him. We all cheers before we shoot back the bitter liquid. Tequila. Ugh. That was my one and only shot for sure. Tequila is not my friend. It’s all I was drinking that night when I went to bed with Shelli. Being drunk might not be my jam anymore. It took sleeping with my boss’s daughter to realize that. My dad would be so proud.

I lean back in the booth as Wes takes Shelli’s hand again and they go back to dancing by the rail. They’re laughing, having a great time, and I’m sitting here, pissed the fuck off. Wes reaches out and moves some of her loose hair back behind her ear, and then they both start laughing. As if it’s some kind of joke. Why does he get to touch her like that? When he takes her in his arms, dipping her back, her laughter carries to me and turns my stomach with anger. I don’t know why the hell I’m getting so fucking pissed, but I am.

“Bro, you need a drink,” Boon yells over the music before passing me a beer.

I shake my head. “I don’t drink beer.”

“Oh yeah. You’re the tooty-fruity type. Let me order you a…what was it? A mer-lot?” he pronounces it like a lot, and I can’t help it, I laugh.

“Merlot,” I say, pronouncing it correctly for him. “But I’m good.”