Looking out into the crowd of screaming women, Axl Moore felt like the all-you-can-eat buffet at Sizzler and no one had taken a meal in days.

Not that he was complaining.

He wasn’t an attention whore on a regular day but for the second annual Tap That charity event he had to admit it didn’t suck to have women think he was hot. He and his best friends, Rick, Jesse, and Brandon hadn’t even taken the stage yet for their so-called dance routine. AKA hip thrusting and winking.

“I’m so getting laid tonight,” Jesse said, as they stood just off-stage. He was tossing a hockey puck up and down in his hands.

Given that Jesse was a pro hockey player, Axl was pretty sure he was getting laid most nights. But it was a requirement in their twenty-year friendship that Axl give Jesse shit. “Not with your dancing skills,” he ribbed him.

Jesse snorted. “Okay, I can admit that I can’t dance. But you won’t be getting laid with your charm either, asshole. You need to work on your game face.”

“This isn’t a game.” Axl held handcuffs in his hand, his Beaver Bend police department uniform feeling tighter than usual. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out.

A text from his mother.

Maybe you’ll meet a nice girl tonight. Remember to smile!

That actually made him laugh. He showed the text to his friends. “Jesse, are you in a conspiracy with my mom? Or do you just think like a girl?”

Brandon laughed. “Dude, I don’t know what’s funnier. That your mother thinks the only thing holding you back is a lack of a smile, or that she thinks a Magic Mike knock-off show with total amateurs in small-town Minnesota is the place to meet a forever girl.”

“You mean it’s not?” he asked, sarcastically. “Perfectly fine with me because I have no plans for a forever girl.” Marriage was not on his bucket list.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it,” Rick said. “You never know who is out there in the crowd tonight. Look at me and Sloane.”

Rick had hooked up with Sloane O’Toole after this event the year before, much to the chagrin of their other buddy Sullivan, who happened to be Sloane’s brother. “You fucked your best friend’s hot older sister. I don’t think I can top that.” Nor did he want to.

“Hey. We’re still going strong a year later. That could be you next year.” Rick gave him a grin.

“I wouldn’t bet your auto body shop on it. Because you’ll lose.” Axl was the very definition of content. He liked being alone, even if no one else, and sometimes even he, didn’t understand why. He enjoyed women. He appreciated their soft skin, and their curves, and light, sweet voices. He thought women were amazing creatures that occasionally he got to touch.

But he knew women had emotional expectations and needs and generally speaking, he would fail to live up to them because he wasn’t Rick, who laughed easily and had been in love with Sloane from the age of fifteen. Or Sullivan, who had loved his wife Kendra since high school, and was still devastated from her death.

Then there was Jesse fully enjoying being single. If anyone, Brandon might get where Axl was coming from, but at the same time, Brandon was a serious and accomplished flirt, and he was more the “you, me, my place,” kind of guy.

He scanned the crowd, casually. Amused that it seemed like every woman in Beaver Bend was at the bar, from twenty-one year old Rachel Ryder to Mrs. Dobish, who was ninety if she was a day. In her wheelchair, wearing a hot pink cardigan, she was waving a twenty. Damn.

Lilly, the choreographer, spoke into a microphone. “Hey, everyone! Give a warm welcome to our Tap That Dancers, back for our second annual Breast Cancer Awareness Event! Let’s hear it for the boys!”

The crowd roared. The music started. Axl felt nothing more than casual amusement, entertained by the break in his normal day-to-day routine. He stepped onto stage.

The room was a sea of familiar faces, the hallmark of small-town life. Most women were in jeans and T-shirts or clingy silky shirts and were women he recognized.

“Introduce yourselves, guys,” Lilly said, holding the mic to each of them in turn. “Tell us something we would never guess about you.”

“I’m Axl,” he said, twirling the handcuffs on his index finger. “But you can call me Officer Moore.”

“Oooh, more what?” Lilly asked, giving him a grin.

“More of everything.”

The women screamed even louder and he smirked at the idea that somewhere out there in the throng was a forever girl.

Jesse had the right idea. If ever there was a perfect opportunity to get laid, this was it.

The door opened and a blonde wearing a dress, her generous curves outlined gloriously in it, slipped into the bar.

The night just got a whole lot more interesting.

---

“You have to bring it,” Sadie Spencer barked to Leighton Van Buren on the phone. “I need you to be on, do you understand me? On.”

Leighton stood outside a bar named Tap That and took a deep breath, nodding. “Bring it. Right. Got it.” Her stomach hurt because she really kind of sucked at bringing it. She could hear her mother yelling, “Sparkle, baby!” as she shoved her onto the stage at beauty pageants. That terror of having no clue at five years old how to sparkle.

She still didn’t know how to sparkle. She wasn’t even sure what it meant, exactly.

She could organize your spreadsheets.

Be on time.

Create an elaborate party theme.

Corral a pack of barking Chihuahuas.

All of which she had done, and excelled at, as her boss Sadie’s Creative Director for the hit bridal show, Wedding Crashers.

“I’m trusting you, Leighton. I really, desperately feel like you need to push yourself. I know you’re nervous, but you can do this. Our recent footage has just been dull and I have the producer on my ass. I need you to whip this bride up and get some outrageous footage before I get to wherever we’re going next week.”

“Beaver Bend, Minnesota,” Leighton said, her palms starting to sweat as she stood on the sidewalk outside of a classic bar. Like a roadhouse bar. A dive bar. Nothing like what she was used to in Los Angeles. There were no bouncers or doormen or lines to get in the club. Not that she ever went to clubs at home, but she saw them. Here the Tap That sign was fluorescent, glowing in the darkness of a Minnesota summer night. The parking lot was crowded with trucks and motorcycles and what seemed odd to her, minivans. She was expecting a biker gang to burst out at any moment or maybe a Patrick Swayze lookalike to strut out and call her “little lady.”

“Oh, that’s right, Minnesota. God, why do they send us to these places?” Sadie asked with a groan.

“Everyone loves a small town, Sadie. It’s good TV. Most of America is not LA and New York City and people want something relatable. I should go meet up with the bride though. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Fun, Leighton. Give good face, seriously, or we’re going to have to talk about your future at Wedding Crashers.”

Wait. What? She was going to be fired? Oh, my God. Leighton didn’t even know what she said as she mumbled her way through a goodbye. She could not lose this job. She couldn’t. Like, she really couldn’t. She had signed a non-compete contract so no one else in LA would hire her in the industry. Which was her only skill set, unfortunately.

On a day-to-day basis she loved this job. Florals and lace and organization made her happy. Her parents were already disappointed in her and if she got fired from the job they had gotten her an interview for, she had no idea what she would do with her life. She was the two things that did not fly in LA—introverted and not a size zero. Not even close. It had been an annoyance her whole life, which was frustrating because she happened to like herself. She was smart, she was thoughtful, she was creative. And she was short and curvy and all one hundred percent natural because she was content with the way she looked.

Her mother and Sadie might beg to differ, but Leighton felt no need to change who she was.

Besides, she was good at this damn position. She was. Why did she have to “bring it?” Which she thought was code for being a person who talked a lot at a high volume. That was Sadie’s job. Her responsibility was to do everything else. And side note, she didn’t do the casting for these segments. If the bride wasn’t excited enough, she wasn’t sure how that was her fault, but whatever. There was no use arguing with an egomaniac of a boss.

Dropping her phone into her clutch, she rubbed her palms down the front of her peach cocktail dress. She was fairly certain she had dressed wrong for this venue. Appropriate dress was always her goal and she might have missed the mark this time. But it was the bride-to-be’s bachelorette party and she had envisioned dinner and cocktails. That’s what the bride had said. Dinner and cocktails.

More like beer and cock.

That was the horrified thought that entered Leighton’s mind when she yanked open the heavy wood door and stepped into a crowd of women clapping and cheering for male strippers. She actually heard herself gasp before she quickly pressed her lips together.

Oh, no. This was not her arena. She was Sunday brunches and botanical gardens. Quiet events, where she could fade into the flowers and pretend she didn’t have social anxiety. Not loud raucous bars with beer and…booty.

“Holy…” She swallowed hard as she studied the four men on stage in various state of undress, hip thrusting and dancing and winking.

She was used to buff men in LA. They were everywhere, wearing plunging V-necks and golden tans. But they were polished, high-maintenance, attention seeking. These guys were manly men. Manly, like they legitimately strolled in from their day job and started stripping. They looked real and like they were having a blast, not making a buck.

One was a hockey player. Another was wearing a suit. The third was in a mechanic’s work uniform and tool belt.

Then there was the cop.

Leighton swallowed hard as she took in the sight of him. Black pants, shiny black shoes. No shirt, displaying a muscular chest, with a faint farmer’s tan. A tan from the sun, not the salon. Handcuffs swirling around his finger, mirrored sunglasses covering his eyes. He had black short hair, tidy and trim. But it was his expression that really did her in. He did not look suave or charming or amused.

He looked like the kind of man who would pick a woman up, throw her against a wall, and make her scream with pleasure.

How she knew that, she had no idea. She’d never been thrown against a wall in her life.

Flustered, Leighton fanned herself and tore her gaze away from the strippers. She needed to find the bride and “bring it,” not get a tingle in her vagingle for a total stranger in Beaver Bend. Ironic name, that was. Her beaver would bend over backwards for that cop. There were groups of women of all ages, and a few men. The bartender was shaking his head as he watched the act on stage, like he found the whole thing ridiculous.

Finally, Leighton spotted Winnie Schwartz, the bride who had won a spot on Wedding Crashers. The way the show worked was Sadie’s team came in, did a whirlwind makeover of the wedding that the bride and groom had planned, then blew on back out. Leighton usually arrived a week in advance to secure a new venue and arrange for floral, catering, etc, while Sadie flew in the day before the actual wedding. Leighton didn’t do any filming. It was all presented as if every creative idea and venue hot spot was Sadie’s idea, not Leighton’s. But because this particular couple did not have a gut-wrenching backstory to film, Sadie wanted Leighton to manufacture some outrageous moments. A crew was meeting her here in twenty minutes to get some clips of the bride with her friends at her bachelorette party. They would film three or four hours so they had plenty of shots and moments to draw from to get about sixty seconds of footage. Surely Leighton could force herself to be witty or adorable or probing and pushy or something in that timeframe to force a reaction.

She found herself desperately wishing her mother were here. Barbie Van Buren knew how to make drama happen.

Winnie, having met with her that afternoon, recognized Leighton and stood up. She enthusiastically waved her over.

Yep, Leighton had chosen the wrong outfit. Winnie was in tight jeans and an equally form-hugging T-shirt that read “Cheers, Bitches.” There was a veil on her head and a large dildo on a string of beads around her neck. She was going to have to lose the penis before filming. Leighton hated to be a cockblock but they were a so-called family show.

Winnie reached out and enveloped her in a hug when she got to the table. Having come from a family who avoided physical affection like an IRS audit, Leighton was always startled when people she barely knew invaded her personal space. But in the interest of bringing it, she hugged Winnie back. They had clicked when they’d met that afternoon. Winnie had zero social awkwardness and Leighton envied that. She had also thought Winnie seemed genuinely in love with her fiancé and happy with her career as a dog groomer. It must be nice to have everything you’d ever wanted. Or at least confidence in what you said.

Leighton had never had that. She’d developed a stutter by age three and her mother’s insistence that beauty pageants would fix the problem had done nothing but erode her already shaky confidence. The stutter had eventually gone away, the anxiety had not. Even as she hugged Winnie back and asked her if she were having fun, she was wishing they could sit down. Standing in the middle of a crowd of seated people made her far too much the center of attention. All she could think was that everyone was looking at her and were probably annoyed that she was blocking their view.

“Sit, sit!” Winnie said, grabbing an empty chair from the next table and pulling it next to her.

It was jutting out into the aisle and blocking the server’s path, but at least Leighton could sink down into obscurity. Loud social events just wrung her nerves.

That blissful relief lasted all of one minute before an attractive and fit brunette bounded onto the stage with a mic and shouted, “Let’s hear it for our bachelorette party! Congrats to Winnie Schwartz on her upcoming nuptials to Todd Lawrence!”

Winnie gave an ear-splitting shriek of excitement.

The Wedding Crashers cameraman, Jackson, appeared at Leighton’s side, hunched down so he could talk to her. “It’s going to be hard to set anything up in here,” he yelled, cupping his hand to her ear. “We don’t have any room for lighting or a mic it’s so crowded. Do you think we can clear some of these people out?”

Leighton studied the enthusiastic women drinking and having fun. “Uh, no. I’m not throwing these people out of a Friday night hot spot.” She envisioned being punched in the face by an irate Minnesotan. “Just get a few shots of Winnie and then we can interview her in the parking lot.”

“Come on up here, Winnie,” the woman up front with the mic said. “The Tap That Dancers want to congratulate you.”

Winnie leapt up with a dexterity that made Leighton’s eyes widen. It was like she’d won ten million dollars.

“Come on, girls!” she said to her bridesmaids.

Four women around the table stood up with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but they were all good-natured.

“You, too, Leighton!” Winnie grabbed her arm.

“Oh, no…” She shook her head in horror. “It’s your wedding, I couldn’t. No, no.”

“I insist!” Winnie tugged harder.

Leighton shot a look of panic at Jackson, who had known her for two years.

He grinned. “Go for it.”

“Traitor.” She had thought he would save her. But he looked amused by the prospect. “I can’t do this, Jackson.”

“Of course you can.” He gave her a double thumbs up. “Have some fun for a change.”

Fun. Why couldn’t people ever appreciate that her idea of fun did not involve booty grinding? Her fun was a book, a cup of tea, and smelling the roses. Literally. Not dancing on a platform.

But before she could figure out a strategy to hide behind one of the muscled men and give a few tepid dance moves, Winnie shoved her up on stage and she collided with the hockey player. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks burn.

“No problem.” He tried to move past her and they both went the same way and bumped into each other again. He laughed.

Leighton was horrified. She jumped backward and landed against a wall. Only that wall had arms that reached out and steadied her. Anxiety causing her throat to constrict, she whirled around and found herself face-to-face with the stern and super sexy cop. She had to raise her chin to look into his eyes and what she saw there made her want to die. He wasn’t laughing. She opened her mouth to apologize but nothing came out.

It was at that moment one of Winnie’s bridesmaids felt compelled to twerk. On Leighton’s ass. A strangled gasp emerged from her mouth and she felt sandwiched between a rock and a hard place. Trapped between a jiggly female booty and a very firm, very unrelenting stripper cop, Leighton had no idea where to go or what to do. She felt the telltale rush of heat up her neck and to her temples, the one that said she was about to have a full-blown panic attack.

Her expression must have revealed her distress because the man said, “It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

Then he firmly gripped her upper arms and moved her away from the twerking and to the rear of the stage. She tried to speak again but nothing came out. She had no idea what she would say anyway when he wrapped his arm around her lower waist and drew her against him, snug and tight against his chest. Her hands were trapped between her chest and his and she felt the warmth of his bare skin. She really wished he was wearing a shirt. It was too intimate, so she actually shifted her hands to his biceps and looked up at him, wondering what he was doing but too freaked out to really care.

He was a solid, manly anchor, mooring her to the floor in the midst of her crashing waves of anxiety.

“Listen to the music,” he said. “Focus on the beat.” He moved her hips slowly with his to the pounding bass of the pop song playing.

He had sharp cheekbones that she studied, mesmerized by him. His eyes were a deep rich amber, with flecks of gold around the pupils. Leighton drew a breath in through her nose and tried to relax. The sounds of the room had receded. It was the feel of his hands on her waist, the sway of their bodies together, his confident, take-charge expression that she focused on. It was clear he had seen her panic and he was helping her calm down. It struck her as unbelievably intuitive and kind. She wasn’t sure she had ever had a total stranger read her and step in immediately.

Leighton knew the song and she found her voice again, softly singing along with the lyrics to distract herself. This wasn’t a song most people would slow dance to, yet she and this man were and it felt right. Easy. Separate from the booty grinding and excited screaming behind her. She was facing him and the wall behind him, not the bar, and she felt the panic recede. She had passed the moment of danger where she might have gone into a full-blown attack.

The song wound down and she pulled back, grateful but ready to get off the stage. “Thank you for that,” she said, assuming he would know what she meant. “I’m Leighton.”

“Axl. Pleasure to meet you.” He didn’t smile. But he did release her.

Leighton shivered. Even his name was sexy. “You, too. Seriously, thank you.”

Then before she could get roped into staying on stage for another song, she got the hell out there, jumping down the two steps with a speed she hadn’t known she was capable of.

Jackson was filming.

“I better not be in that frame,” she said as she flung herself into her chair and wished like hell a glass of wine would mysteriously appear in her hand.

“Nice moves,” he commented, setting his camera down on the floor beside him. “I’ve never seen anyone slow dance to Cardi B.”

“I’m not discussing this,” she said. “Ever.”

Jackson snorted. “You know how Sadie likes to give everyone office nicknames? I think yours is about to be changed to Dancing Queen.”

Still flushed, Leighton said in pure exasperation, “Yours is going to be Dickhead.”

Given that she rarely swore or stood up for herself Jackson was so stunned he just about fell out of his chair laughing.

It actually made the corner of her mouth turn up. The stripper cop had saved her ass, but from Jackson’s perspective it must have been bizarre as hell. “I guess I can live with Dancing Queen. It’s better than my current nickname.”

“Agreed. Amazon Prime is a wonderful thing, but not when your boss is calling you that.”

Leighton pulled her phone out, checking to see if she had missed any calls. “No, it’s not.” Sadie thought it was clever. She liked to say she could get anything from Leighton in two days or less.

Winnie and her friends came back to the table, laughing and reaching for their cocktails. Leighton went back to work, discussing with Jackson how to set up an interview with Winnie.

But she felt eyes on her and she glanced over at the bar.

The stripper cop was watching her.

A shiver rolled up her back and heat pooled between her thighs.

Yum.

That’s all she could think. Just yum.

---

“Who is that girl?” Axl Moore asked his best friend and owner of Tap That, Sullivan O’Toole. “The one I was dancing with.”

“I have no idea,” Sullivan said. “I’ve never seen her before.” He was behind the bar as usual, serving both customers and himself. He shrugged, like he couldn’t care less. Which he probably couldn’t.

Sullivan had been no stranger to the bottle since his wife Kendra had died from breast cancer two years earlier at twenty-seven. This was the second year Axl and the other guys from high school had done this entertaining charity strip event in Kendra’s memory. Sullivan seemed a little less annoyed by it than he had the previous year when they’d done it, but he still refused to participate in the choreographed, albeit bumbling, routine they did.

“If you don’t know her, she must be new in town.”

Sullivan knew everyone from being the bar owner.

“She’s… different,” Axl said. He meant it in a good way. She seemed delicate, like his grandmother’s tea set. Look, don’t touch. It wasn’t that she was waifish. She was actually sporting a true hourglass figure, which he thought was sexy as hell. His hands had felt enormous on her tiny waist and she had been substantially shorter than him, but that full chest had been a thing of beauty. Damn. Axl searched the room for her and found her sitting next to a skinny guy with shaggy hair and glasses. Maybe that was her boyfriend. More her type than he was, probably, not that he was thinking anything in that direction.

Not much, anyway.

She just had him curious. That was all. Not much changed in Beaver Bend. Not many new faces. A new resident was note-worthy. Especially one with an unusual name, wearing a pastel cocktail dress in Tap That.

Lilly, Kendra’s best friend, sat down on the stool next to Axl. “Who are we talking about?”

“Leighton. The girl I was dancing with. Who is she?” They hadn’t been dancing so much as he had been holding her up. She had been on the verge of a panic attack. He recognized the signs. His best buddy in the marines had endured them frequently after their deployment.

“She’s part of the crew for that TV show, Wedding Crashers. Winnie won a wedding makeover.”

So not a new resident then. He had vaguely heard something about that, but to be honest, weddings didn’t interest him, so he’d zoned out on the details. “How long are they in town?”

He shouldn’t ask. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. For some reason his mother’s text popped into his head. Maybe you’ll meet a nice girl. Leighton looked like a nice girl. With a body built for sin.

“Until the wedding next Saturday. I imagine they leave on Sunday. Gives you eight plus days.” Lilly gave him a sidelong stare. “Got the hots for the California girl, huh? Doesn’t seem like your type.”

“What is my type?” he asked automatically because he didn’t really have one, he didn’t think. But what he did know was that girl did not seem like a Hollywood type. She had been genuinely scared to be thrust up on stage in front of everyone. It was classic stage fright.

“Outdoorsy. Athletic.”

Axl reflected on that. “Guess I can’t argue that.” He loved camping, fishing, boating. Anything that allowed him to be outside. He’d always been into nature, even more so now that he’d come home after his enlistment. Walls closed in on him. He needed to see the sky. “So, like you?” he said wryly. Lilly was a guy’s girl. Everyone’s buddy. She liked to push herself physically and took no shit from anyone. Except Sullivan. She had a soft spot for that idiot.

Lilly cracked up. “Yes. But no. We’re like brother and sister. I just see you with a woman who can share your hobbies, that’s all.”

“I see him with no one,” Sullivan said, giving him crap. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend? Senior year in high school?”

“Last year, dickhead. I’m selective.” He let that hang there for a second. It was no secret Sullivan had been less than picky in who he had sex with since Kendra had died. He maintained it wasn’t his fault that women came in, drank too much, and wanted to bang, but Axl had known the guy a long time. Since fourth grade. Sullivan was numbing his feelings. Kendra had been his one and only. His first—and what he had thought would be his last—love.

Axl had never had that kind of connection. He had experienced what he would deem nice relationships. Two very pleasant, one a little tumultuous. But not crazy passion or deep, endearing love. Just… nice. A lifelong marriage didn’t seem to be in the cards for him, and he knew it was his fault. He struggled to make deep connections with women, and he spent a lot of his life trying to convince his family and friends there was nothing wrong with that. Not much, anyway.

Sullivan gave a snort. “You’re boring. That’s what you are.”

“Guys, guys, knock it off.” Lilly eyed Axl. “So are you going to make a move on Cali Girl? If so take her a glass of rosé. It’s the in wine right now.”

“I thought only my ancient great aunt liked pink wine. That’s a thing now?”

Lilly nodded and patted his arm. “It’s a thing. I promise. But I don’t expect you, the hockey player turned marine turned cop to understand anything that isn’t laden in testosterone. Don’t worry, I have your back. Pour, Sullivan.”

Axl eyed the glass of wine Sullivan handed him dubiously. “Do I trust her?” he asked.

Sullivan shrugged. “I mean, women drink it here. But do Minnesota tastes reflect California? Fuck if I know.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But give me a beer too.” He didn’t drink a lot but he was thirsty and a cold beer sounded perfect for the moment. He had put his shirt back on but hadn’t bothered to button it up. He took the time to do that now because he felt like a douche going over there flashing chest. That was more their buddy Rick’s style, not his.

He went over to the table crowded with women and the lone guy, who Axl realized now had a camera sitting in his lap. He knew nothing about weddings but from the manic excitement on Winnie’s face, winning whatever she had won was a huge score. One of the women at the table was Sloane O’Toole, Sullivan’s sister. She worked at the groomer’s with Winnie. He said hi to her then gestured for her to give up her seat for him. She was in the chair to the left of Leighton.

Sloane raised her eyebrows. “I have no idea what that weird expression you’re making means,” she said. “And that wine better be for me.”

“That’s Rick’s job to fetch booze for you, not mine.” Sloane was two years older than the guys and she had been annoyed by all of them in their growing-up years. They were loud, rough and tumble, and then later, they’d all been a little in awe of Sloane, the hot older cheerleader. But none so much as Rick. It had taken him a dozen years but he’d scored his fantasy girl and they really seemed like an awesome couple now. Axl was happy for both of them. “But I can give you this beer if you want. I haven’t even sipped it yet.”

She reached her hand out then paused mid-reach. “Wait. What do I have to do in return?”

He leaned over and murmured so only she could hear him. “Give me your seat so I can talk to the TV chick.”

“Ah. There’s the catch.” Sloane looked amused. “Give me the beer.” She took the bottle from him and stood up. “For the record, she’s not your type.”

“I don’t have a type.” He didn’t even date that much. Why did Sloane and Lilly seem so confident that Leighton was not for him? That was annoying. And good thing the music was pumping some serious bass or she probably would have heard this conversation. “Go find your boyfriend and see what he’s got in his tool belt for you.”

Sloane laughed loudly. She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Safety first, Axl. Wrap it before you tap it.”

His response was a grin. “I’m flattered you think I’m good enough that I’ll need to wrap anything tonight.”

She gave him an eye roll.

Then she was gone and he was dropping into the chair next to Leighton. He set the glass of wine down in front of her. “You look like you needed a drink.”

Leighton turned and stared at him with wide eyes. “I think that seat is taken.”

Not quite the response he was hoping for. “Sloane went to find her boyfriend. It’s my seat now.”

Her mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. For a long heartbeat they just stared at each other while she seemed uncertain how to proceed. She had long, dark eyelashes, at odds with her blonde hair that fluttered as she looked at him. She was beautiful in a quiet way and he took the moment to study her obviously natural and delicate features. Axl had learned how to be still in the military and it didn’t bother him to just watch her and wait. She would be too polite to tell him to fuck off.

He was right. She broke their gaze and reached for the wine. “Thank you. I am quite thirsty.”

But the cameraman intervened. “Leighton. You shouldn’t drink that. You didn’t watch the bartender pour it.”

For a second Axl was fucking offended. But then he realized the guy had a valid point. They didn’t know him or his character. He would give the same advice to his female friends. She looked torn and a little sheepish.

Axl let her off the hook. “Good call, man,” he said to the guy. “You never know who is a dirt bag. Here, I’ll drink it so you know I’m above board.” He lifted the glass and took the wine down in one long swallow. It was like a bowl of sugar exploding in his mouth. He grimaced. “Shit, that’s sweet. Oh, my God.” His whole face was contorting.

Leighton gave a soft laugh. “Not your drink of choice?”

“Hell, no.” He reached past Leighton and held out his hand for the cameraman. “Axl Moore.”

“Jackson.” He shook his hand.

Then he turned back to Leighton. “If you come up to the bar with me I can get you a drinkable drink.”

“Oh, I don’t know. That’s really sweet, but I have to work. We need to interview Winnie and her friends.”

Axl stared at her for a second. He wasn’t sure if he was being blown off or not, but in either case, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to get to talk to her. “Understood. Well, it was nice to meet you, Leighton. Maybe I’ll see you around town.” If the cameraman wasn’t sitting there acting like he had no clue Axl was making a play for Leighton, he would have asked for her number.

Leighton nodded. “Maybe. And thank you. For what you did. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. You’re a good dancer.”

She smiled. “And you’re sweet.”

“I can’t say sweet would be the word most people use to describe me.” But Axl stood up and gave her a head nod. “Enjoy your night.”

“You too.”

As he walked away he heard the cameraman say, “I’m glad I was here to save your ass. A guy like that? You’ll find yourself with your ankles on his shoulders by midnight.”

Axl’s cock hardened at the thought. Damn right. That had been the plan he’d already been half formulating without even realizing it.

“Would that be a bad thing?” Leighton asked in a curious and high-pitched voice.

Fuck.

He came to a halt and turned back to them. “No. It wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. More like the best way to end your day. And mine.”