Fuck. Don’t ask me what that was all about. All I know is, I couldn’t handle Tim and the rest of the guys staring at her. Even Randall had that awe expression when she walked onto the set. And don’t get me started on Wayne. I don’t know why it made me mad, but it did. I’m supposed to protect her from the assholes of the world. Not be one. Now, I need to find a date. Get her out of my head.

Booker calls and saves the day.

“Hey, need your help,” he says.

“What’s up?”

He fills me in, and I rush home to get ready, hoping to not see Chelsea while I’m there.

Minutes later, I’m out of the house and on my way. I pull my Jeep into the parking lot of one of the coolest joints in LA and jump out.

Booker’s tall frame waits for me by the glass doors. “Hey, man. Ok, here’s the scoop. There’s a brunette at the bar wearing a green dress. I’ve already struck out with her.” He runs a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “She’s a primadonna princess, so good luck.”

Great. And here’s the skinny on what Booker does. He has a very unique business. One that gets him into a lot of trouble sometimes. A lot of trouble. Booker started out as kind of a life coach, helping guys get dates, teaching them the so called proper art of flirting. But sometimes, and only sometimes, he goes above and beyond for clients.

He’s a great guy. And will usually do whatever it takes to get the couple together.

Well, tonight, he has a break up. Let me explain. A guy was dumped and wants the girl back. He’s in love, so Booker is trying to appear like the biggest asshole, so her ex can swoop in and save the day. Ah, true love...right?

I put my game face on; asshole ready.

“You owe me, man,” I say before stepping inside. After I scan the bar, making sure I’ve secured the right female, I make my way toward her.

“Jonah, what are you doing here?” I turn and Chelsea stands next to a potted plant, crossing her arms across her inviting chest. She’s a fiery bombshell in the little red dress she has on. Legs for days that have me unexpectedly imagining them over my shoulders. Her blonde hair is swept into a ponytail along her right shoulder. But, it’s her lips that have me transfixed—bright, red, and very sexy.

“Hey,” I finally find my voice. “You’re on your date here?”

She nods. I check behind her, and there he is. The ‘date’.

He’s nothing special. Mud-colored hair. Beady brown eyes. Some weird skinny slacks and a button down white shirt. Actually, he looks like a nerd. I could easily take him. I arch a brow at Chelsea. “Really? Him?”

She swats my arm. “Stop. He’s nice.”

“If you say so.”

She shrugs. “Have fun on your millionth date this week.”

I cock a brow. She’s got me in a bad mood, and I don’t even know why. “Millionth and one.” I haven’t even been on many dates. And I don’t dare tell her that I’m here for Booker.

Let her think whatever she wants.

They walk away, and I scowl off in her direction. Onto my task of the evening.

I grab a seat next to green-dress girl. “Hey,” I say.

She doesn’t answer back. Figures. Should I do the ol’ buy you a drink line? No, too basic.

She has a red drink in front of her and I lean closer, making my move. “What are you drinking?”

She examines me. “Hurricane, why?”

“No reason. Just wondering. Looks fruity.” The bartender steps up, and I place an order for a bourbon on the rocks. Yeah, Booker is so paying for this drink.

“It is.”

“Yeah, it’s a great New Orleans drink.”

“New Orleans, why’s that?” she asks, turning her body a bit closer to me. It’s progress, I’ll take it.

“The Hurricane. It’s a Mardi Gras original. Lots of rum.” I smile, laying on the charm.

“That so?” She turns on her barstool and crosses her legs.

“Yeah, it was created by that ol’ bootlegger, Pat O’Brien. It packs quite the punch.”

“Well, it is good. And I already feel tipsy from it.”

I move closer, reaching my hand out to rest on her knee. “Oh yeah? How tipsy?”

“Very. Are you from New Orleans?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave into a seducing tone.

“Me? No, I’m a local.” I graze my thumb back and forth along her skin.

“You sure know a lot about New Orleans. Maybe you’re a bootlegger.” She giggles and my eyes catch Chelsea’s from across the bar.

She gives me a half-smile, and I return my attention back to green-dress girl.

And now to drive this sale home. I spot the client of Booker’s out of the corner of my eye and give him a nod. He nods back, so I know I’ve got the right guy.

He steps closer.

“Maybe. I’d never tell. So you like New Orleans and Mardi Gras?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’ve never been.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Ah, that’s a shame. There’s one thing they love to do there.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“The girls there lift their shirts and flash their tits around.” I lean back. Booker is going to owe me big time for this. “So, go on, show me your tits.”

She sits up straighter. “Excuse me?”

“Go on, lift your shirt. Maybe I’ll buy you a drink if they’re big enough.” God, I hope I don’t end up with her Hurricane all over me. In case you don’t know, it stains like a motherfucker.

She stares at me in disbelief, and for one second I think she might actually show me.

“You’re a dick,” she finally says.

Booker’s client swoops in. “Get lost, asshole.”

Her eyes widen. “Kaden, what are you doing here?” She offers him a soft smile.

“Or what?” I play along.

“Or I’ll kick your ass,” Kaden threatens.

I hold my hands up, backing away slowly. “Can’t argue with that.”

My work here is done. I ease past tables of happy couples sipping wine and probably discussing shallow lies in the hopes of impressing one another. I shake my head, tired of the game.

As I breeze past Chelsea, she appears uneasy. Her eyes bounce around the bar as her mouth turns down everytime the guy she’s with speaks. She twiddles with the coaster her pink martini sits on, and my eyes slam into hers. She mouths the word ‘help’, and I move in.

Guess her date’s not as nice as she thought.

Now it’s my turn to save the damsel in distress from her date. And I’m more than happy to oblige.

“There you are,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Chelsea, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I say so her dipshit date can hear. Her dress is an open back, and I slide my hand down. Her skin is soft as velvet. She shivers beneath my touch.

“Jonah, what are you doing here?”

“I’m miserable without you. Can’t sleep, can’t breathe.” The date appears like he wants to murder me, but I don’t care. I was so mad earlier, but now I would do anything to get her off this date. “I want you back,” I tell her.

“I’m on a date.” She glances over to him. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes.

“I think you should go, man,” her date says.

Chelsea isn’t the only actor here. Women like alpha male macho shit. That’s how I’ll act. I should get an Academy Award for this. “I’m not leaving without my girl.”

“What? Are you kidding?” Dipshit date narrows his eyes at us.

“Jonah, please.” She’s a good little actress, too.

“Give me one more chance, baby.” The term of endearment just slipped out, but it felt good saying it.

She stands from her barstool. “Mark, I’m sorry. Maybe I should go and talk to him,” she says to her date.

I'm not sure what comes over me, but I spin her around and plant my lips right on her soft, luscious mouth. Her lips taste so good. I could kiss her all night.

My hand trails up her neck, slowly, into her hair. She opens her mouth for me, and our tongues meet. It’s electric. A zap of want courses through me at a needy, lust-filled pace. And now I can’t fucking stop. Not at all. And I don’t want to. I really kiss her, hard and hungry. She wraps her arms around my neck, clinging. Her hands send shivers of desire coursing through me, and I forget where we are for a minute, or two. Passion consumes me, and I tighten my grip on her.

The dipshit date coughs, and I pull back from her.

Breaking the kiss, and dropping her arms, Chelsea clears her throat. “Mark, it was nice meeting you,” she says, and I grab her hand, leading her out the door.

“Cha-ching,” I say passing Booker as he waits outside the club.

“Thanks, asshole. I owe you,” Booker calls after me, eyeing Chelsea and I. “What are you two doing together?”

“He rescued me from my date. Like a knight in shining armor.” She shines, and Booker’s eyes shoot to mine.

I shrug. “Yeah, just helping out a friend.” As soon as I mention the word friend, Chelsea drops my hand.

“Well, I guess you get the good friend award for the night,” Booker says with a shrug.

“What does he mean?” Chelsea eyes me.

“The date in there.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder pointing to inside the club. “It wasn’t real. Just helping Booker with one of his jobs.”

“Yeah, I owe you one,” Booker says, laughing as he strolls away.