Pistol

Chapter Seven

Steph threw back another shot from the tea-pot, and scolded herself for mixing her drinks. Live a little, huh? Even the devil on her shoulder had forgotten the mammoth hang-over of only two days ago.

Cass danced about near the table, lost to the music, as Steph lost herself to the numb bliss of alcohol in her blood. All night she'd stewed over the fact Pete could take advantage of her so easily. Yet she knew her misplaced anger toward him was just that—misplaced. It was a no-brainer to figure out who she was mad at most; herself for the way she craved the dominant man behind the bar.

Was she mentally unstable? Why the hell—after the end of a two year relationship with a jack-ass—did she want to chase after a man who took what he wanted, when he wanted? Was that why? Did she feel the need to rebel against what Dave had done to her, by doing the same?

Tell you what you want to feel ...

Steph slammed a door in the face of her conscience, and poured another drink. She wasn't that stupid that she couldn't see how her body succumbed to him every time he touched her skin, shit, looked at her. But it didn't mean she had to act on those impulses. Her mother raised her better than that.

Her mother.

Steph laughed out loud at the thought of what her mother would do, should she know what her daughter was up to.

"What's the joke, sweetheart?"

Steph looked up, and into the green eyes of a handsome dark-haired man about her age. She glanced around behind him, but couldn't find Cass. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"You've got a great laugh there."

"Uh, I'm here with a friend tonight." Not. Looking. Mate.

He slid into the booth seat next to her.

"And you would be?"

"Interested," he said to her chest.

Clearly this moron couldn't read between the lines. "Nice to meet you interested," she held out her hand. "I'm Fuck-the-hell-off."

She expected the guy to swear at her, throw a drink at her, storm off. Anything but laugh and put his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened, and tried to duck out of his grasp, but he trapped her to him by wrapping his free hand around her side—to cup her breast. Oh, hell no.

Steph turned her head to his hand which rested on her shoulder, and laid her lips on the fleshy side of his palm. He hummed, and obviously thought she was keen until she sunk her teeth into him. He howled out, and pulled his arm away from her. The hand which cupped her chest rose up and slapped her hard—unnecessarily hard, given his proximity to her. Her knee-jerk reaction was to punch him in the groin. She sidled around to the far side of the booth to escape as he growled in pain. Steph stood to leave, when a strong grip tugged hard on her pony-tail, and made her topple back. She fell on her ass into the booth once more. Her ribs collided with the table as she went.

"Let me go, you creep!"

He laughed behind her. "You're a feisty one. Love to get you in the sack."

"Keep dreaming, ass-wipe." Steph relaxed against his pull so that she fell back into his lap. She reached up and stuck her fingers in his nostrils, and pushed hard.

He screamed out, and released her pony-tail. She slid off the side of the seat, unceremoniously onto the sticky floor, and away from his reach. As she scrambled to her feet from under the table, Cass pushed through the small group of on-lookers.

"You okay, babe? Shit! I only left to go to the loo."

"Fine," Steph growled in the guy's direction.