Page 24 of Screwed

“Even a city girl might feel right at home after a shot or two,” Deacon said, guiding us to an open table. “Unless, of course, you’re a lightweight and need to tap out before you get to unwind.”

I smirked, taking up the challenge. “Try me, Matthews. I could drink you under the table.”

Ethan and Deacon seemed to find that amusing. Nate just called the waitress over, but I noticed that even though he didn’t allow so much as a single scratch on his stoic armor, his shoulders were the most relaxed I’d seen them since I first stepped onto Blackwood Lake.

Our drinks were a study in contrasts. I had a gin and tonic with lime; Ethan opted for a pitcher of Rainier beer to share with the table. Deacon had cheap bourbon with a dark chaser, and Nate sipped on a bottle of craft lager, taking measured sips.

The bar’s jukebox alternated between 90s grunge bands and gritty outlaw country, with a few of my favorites thrown into the mix. When my whole body perked up at the next Pearl Jam song and I started singing along, Deacon tilted his head at me, regarding me with a look of surprise.

“Didn’t peg you for a rock fan, Barden,” he said, taking another sip of bourbon.

“That’ll teach you to judge a book by its cover,” I shot back, my inhibitions melting between the alcohol and the lighting and the music, and the sense of comfort I felt relaxing with the guys. I hadn’t felt this content in the longest time, and I was determined to savor it.

By the time we ordered a second round of drinks, the conversation began to flow. I managed to keep my mouth shut about the truth of why I was running, but that was less because I was in full command of my senses and more because I just found myself not thinking too hard about that. Instead, I spoke about how I got into architecture. I shared funny childhood memories that made Nate’s ears turn bright red. I spoke about Julia and how much I missed her. And in turn, each of them shared parts of themselves with me too.

I learned about Ethan’s big family back home and how he was actually his nieces’ and nephews’ favorite uncle, about Deacon’s worst ever work injury and how he didn’t even realize what had happened until he passed out from the pain and woke up in a hospital, and I hotly debated Nate’s addition to my childhood story with what he claimed was the other side of the issue.

Everything just flowed so easily that even the silences between stories felt like part of them. On the next crooning alt-rock anthem, I couldn’t stay still anymore. I giggled, grabbing Nate’s and Ethan’s hands and gesturing for Deacon to follow as I yanked them up with me.

“Ava, what are you doing?” Nate said, his eyes flashing around in muted panic as he realized I was taking them to the rapidly filling dance floor.

“No one’s watching, Nate. And if they are, they’re too drunk to give a shit,” I said, rubbing my thumb over his wrist.

His arm flinched in my hand, but he didn’t draw it away. Instead, he just kept his eyes on mine, looking resigned but unable to say no anyway. Ethan had no such qualms and instantly started dancing with me. Deacon…the bastard didn’t have a single lick of rhythm. He’d brought his drink out with him, bopping his head and moving side to side like a broomstick. But he was at least trying. And Nate? Oh, Nate was the most fascinating to watch out of them all.

It took him a while to warm up, but when he saw the other guys playing along and having fun, he started to let go. His rhythm was slightly better than Deacon’s, but the deadpan expression on his face had me laughing so hard I held onto Ethan to keep from stumbling over.

I didn’t count how many songs we spent dancing together until we got all sweaty. Three, maybe four. But at some point in the mix, we drew closer together. Bodies brushed up against one another, the feeling of skin on skin and the different scents of their cologne, soaps, and body heat all muddying together until I couldn’t think straight. After I had my fill, I moved back to the table, and the guys followed suit, all looking like they were enjoying themselves just as much as I was.

I reached the table first and bent to get my bag from the floor so I could message Julia and report on the monumental breakthrough that was Nate dancing. But just as I reached down, I felt a hand caress my ass. I shot back up and spun around only to stare into the face of a man I didn’t recognize. He looked half-drunk, his leering expression and beer breath repulsing me as he leaned in and tried to whisper something, or kiss me, or whatever the hell was going through his head.

But he never got the chance.

A hand clamped down hard on the back of his neck and pulled him away from me. Deacon put his body between me and the stranger, and though I couldn’t see his face, I could hear the anger in his voice even over the music and bar noise.

“Back the fuck off,” he growled.

“Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” The drunk man slurred, trying to foolishly sidestep Deacon and reach out for me. Dumb decision.

I didn’t even need to move out of the way because Deacon grabbed his wrist with crushing force and twisted it downwards, forcing the drunk to his knees. The local yelped, but even that warning wasn’t enough because he recovered and threw a wild, desperate left hook that grazed Deacon’s jaw.

That single point of contact set the dominoes falling.

Deacon responded with a brutal, short-range right cross that must’ve shattered the local’s nose as he went sprawling back and crashing into a nearby bar table. I put my hand on Deacon’s arm. “Okay, thanks for defending my honor, but that’s en—”

“Hey, asshole!” The groper had friends, apparently. Two of them, not nearly as drunk as he was, stumbled toward Deacon with a shared look of fury as they attempted to jump him.

But right as they were about to retaliate, Ethan stepped in, his movements fluid and graceful even in violence as he grabbed the first friend by his jacket and slammed him face-first into the pool table. Then Nate showed up with cold precision, intercepting the second guy with a swift jab to his stomach that had him on all fours, gasping for air.

I moved to the jukebox, gripping my bag and groaning internally when the would-be assailants refused to give up. Why were people so resilient nowadays? What happened to just cutting your losses?

“Guys, seriously, stop it!” I yelled, getting more nervous when the first drunk got to his feet and ran toward the fray to help his losing friends.

Three against two hardly seemed fair, but once again, the guys proved me wrong as they fought like hell. The entire fight seemed to last both a few seconds but also a mini eternity, and eventually Deacon finally dragged the primary instigator by his collar, opened the heavy bar doors with a free hand and literally launched him right out into the muddy gravel parking lot.

Nate and Ethan shoved the other two out behind him, dusting off their hands and returning to me. The bartender just casually wiped down the counter, completely unfazed.

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “Is this normal here?”