Left Field (New Hope #4)

Chapter Ten

Blake

Beer.

I don't even like beer, but it's a necessary evil. 

"Corona with lime, please."

The bartender nods, twisting to grab a bottle from the fridge behind her. She sets the glass on the lacquered wood, and I immediately swipe it, drinking half the contents in two gulps. The carbonation sizzles its way to my stomach, stifling the burn from Lucy's kiss.

"Blake, my man."

Go get eaten by a shark.

My beer makes a dull thud when I set it on the counter. "Not your anything, Julian."

The biggest douchebag I've ever had the displeasure knowing saunters toward the outdoor bar like he owns the entire club. He's still wearing his pretentious golf attire. A cigar dangles from his fingers, the smoke polluting the air, but no one calls him out on it. He's the groom. He can do whatever he wants, including give his guests lung cancer.

"See that yacht out there?" Julian gestures with his thick cigar toward the private pier. A midsize catamaran yacht is docked, an American flag pinned on the top deck like a candle on a birthday cake. "Brand new. Wedding gift for Nat."

"Mmm," I grunt, desperate for a way out of this conversation.

"We're throwing my bachelor party on it. Just my boys, a harem of strippers, and a few party favors. Should be fun."

What a wonderful gift for the woman you love on your wedding day. A boat you've sullied with cocaine and stripper sweat.

"So," Julian continues, noticing my inability to formulate a cordial response. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

I follow his line of sight to the other side of the pool. Lucy chooses this moment to exit the water, running her hands through her hair and down her torso to shake the droplets off. She may as well be shooting an ad for Sports Illustrated.

I drain the rest of my beer. "A few weeks."

He raises his brows. "Moving fast, huh?"

"With a woman like her?" I chuckle, but there's no depth to it. "Obviously."

"Yeah, I bet," he ruminates.

He won't stop looking at Lucy with the strangest expression—a mixture of lust and hatred—and it's pissing me off. I've never been possessive, but fuck... Lucy is mine.

For the weekend.

"Are you seriously ogling my girlfriend at your own wedding?" I ask, the question hissing through my gritted teeth.

He shrugs, the movement reeking arrogance. "Just appreciating the view."

"Appreciate it somewhere else," I advise. "Like your fiancée."

"Scared I'll go for round two?" Julian finally looks at me, his mouth breaking open in a lecherous grin. "Steal something else from you?"

Prick.

"First, Lucy is a someone, not a something," I retort, my upper lip peeling back in disgust. "And second, I'd love to see you try."

In other words, give me a reason. Julian may weigh more than me, but it's padded fat. I'm over two hundred pounds of muscle curated in martial arts. I can knock him out with one kick to the temple.

"Nah." Julian shakes his head, puffing on his cigar. "I'm happy right where I am. Lucy seems like the type of girl that'd give you fleas."

"Careful, Heathrow," I growl, smiling despite the hot stab of anger in my gut. "I'm not above giving you a black eye before the big day."