“All right. Get off me.”
“Hold me back first,” I request.
I need it, I whisper inside my mind. We need it.
A light touch grazes my hip.
I shake my head against his, then smile into the crook of his neck when he draws both arms around me and holds on, just like he used to.
I hold on too, closing my eyes.
Yes.
We are getting over this bump.
“YOU TULLY?”
I jerk my chin at the guy standing at the security booth after he speaks, then throw a look of appreciation at the bouncer who led me over here before he steps away.
“Name’s Mark. I’m running things tonight. It’s good to have you,” the guy says.
We shake hands.
“Yeah. Don’t mention it,” I reply.
He looks around the venue and gestures. “Packed joint tonight. Shouldn’t get too crazy with this band and the crowd it’s bringing out, but we never wanna risk it. It’s good having backup.”
“How many of us you got?” I ask him over the music when the band starts playing, leaning closer to hear his response.
“You and another guy who’s already here. He's hanging out up by the stage. Plus, a bunch of our guys.” He hooks his thumb at the floor to ceiling windows along the front of the building, adding, “I got some uniforms on the street keeping that shit under control in case people get tossed out.”
I nod, liking what I’m hearing.
The Red Door isn't the biggest venue I've worked security on, but it's big enough. Managing this shit alone can present a challenge. And by the looks of it, it's a sold out show.
The more eyes we got on the crowd, the better.
“You run into any problems yet?” I ask.
The guy shakes his head. “Nah. Just normal shit. People trying to sneak in their own booze,” he replies, glancing at the door where everyone is filing in. “Confiscated it. No issues. Everything else seems to be running smooth.”
“Good,” I say when I meet his eyes. “I'll keep near the back since the other guy's covering the front.”
“Sounds good, man.”
We exchange another handshake, then I step away and move through the crowd.
I stop near the center of the room and stay to the back like I said so I can have full view of the floor that's packed with bodies, some keeping position and others moving away from me, pushing to get closer to the stage.
Bringing my arms across my chest, I stand tall and do a sweep of the place. I’ve been here before so I know the layout.
There's a bar to the right of where I'm standing, stretching the length of the wall. Restrooms are behind me. Other than the hallway leading to the rooms behind the stage where bands hang out, there isn't much that isn’t visible. Plus, it’s one level, standing room only, so I don’t gotta worry about another floor I need to cover.
Should be an easy gig.
I do shit like this on the side for the extra cash. Venues hosting concerts are always looking for cops who are willing to come out and beef up security. We stay in civilian clothes so we blend in, and unless I’m having to act on something, I typically get out without anyone knowing I’m a cop.
Easy money. Nothing wrong with that.
I look back to the dance floor.
The lights are dimmed. Red and blue strobe lights positioned on the ceiling illuminate the crowd, along with the bright, white lights shining from the stage. Visibility is good.
Another plus. I worked a few of these where it wasn’t and that only presented problems.
But here, I can see faces. Can see other shit going on too if someone’s dumb enough to try something.
I anticipate it. Events like this always bring out some of the stupidest motherfuckers. Which is exactly why they like having us work these things.
Security can only do so much.
I’m three songs into the set when the beat picks up. The bass vibrates along the floor. I feel it pulsing in my feet.
The faster rhythm stirs the crowd and shifts them around. More bodies gather and move closer to the stage, jumping up with their fists in the air and belting out lyrics, drawing people away from the bar. Others stay toward the back where there’s room to dance.
That’s where I’m looking, and that’s where I see her.
Blonde.
I blink. My eyes refocus. Then I stare at waves the color of sand flowing down the back of a tiny thing swaying to the music.
Shirt tied off at the waist. Lower back showing. Hips shaking in some tight as shit black jeans. Ass looking fucking incredible.
Damn.
She reaches above her, bends her elbows and rakes her fingers through her hair, lifting it off her neck as her body keeps moving in ways I feel straight in my cock, then after letting her arms drop, she looks toward the bar with eyes searching, giving me full view of her profile.
My chest grows motherfucking tight.
I blink again, thinking I’m seeing things.
Riley Tennyson wets her lips.
Fuck.
I’m not seeing things.
Jesus Christ. This is just what I need.
Working this shit, needing to stay focused and eyes alert to all bodies in this room and now I know for damn sure that’s not going to be happening, meaning this gig just went from easy to really fucking complicated.
There’s only one body I’m interested in keeping eyes on, and it’s the one making my dick hard.
Motherfucker.
Riley Tennyson is going to fucking kill me.
I pull in a deep breath, watching that sweet face get ripped out of view when Riley looks toward the stage again.
She keeps dancing. Keeps shaking that perfect ass and swaying those perfect hips, fingers curling in and lifting those long waves again, also perfect.
Every part of her. Every fucking inch.
Perfection.
And I’m not even considering what she’s got going on in the front. Shouldn’t even be considering it—we’re friends, she’s taken, and I’m not a fucking asshole—but that didn’t stop me all day when I couldn’t keep those spectacular tits off my mind, even going a step further into crazy when I shared that with her through a text.
I need to quit now. Stop this shit.
I can avoid it. I got options.
Switch with the guy hanging up by the stage, hoping Riley keeps her location. Or fuck it. Just pull out of this gig all together. Make up some excuse. I don’t need the cash.