I glance up at TV. The Yankees are up three runs on the Braves. But I'm not interested anymore. I look to the back of the bar to find her standing between two other women. Someone who can't sing belts into the microphone, and the woman she is standing next to tries to chat, but the music is too loud. So she types on her phone and shares the screen with the woman. The woman laughs and agrees. While waiting for her to type a response, she looks up and catches me watching her.
I lift my beer to toast her, and she nods in acknowledgment, grinning. Then I lift an empty shot glass and hold up four fingers, inviting her to return for another. She laughs out loud and gives me a thumbs-up.
The other woman holds her phone up and she leans over to read the screen.
I take my phone out to text Reno.
I'm going home with someone tonight.
Copy that. What's the name? I'll run a background check.
I don't need a background check. I need you to prepare for a long night. Possibly the weekend. When we exit, you will be our Uber.
Good copy. I'll have your six.
Mickey leans over and asks, "Bossman, I haven't seen her in here before. I'd like your permission to follow and check out the neighborhood."
"Discretely," I acknowledge my friend's expertise. Mickey understands.
"Folks, you have only a few seconds left to cast your vote for #9, Marathon Man." There is a smattering of applause, and then he announces, "Our last contestant this evening is #10, Dixie."
I grin. Dixie, huh? So, she's a sassy, southern girl. A vision of her dressed in low-rise Daisy Duke cutoff jean shorts with an un-buttoned plaid shirt tied at the waist, showing off her tits and her toned abs. Twirling around, her thick blonde hair fanning out, then strutting off with her cute ass twitching. Her shapely legs end in studded red cowgirl boots, and she has a cowboy hat in her hand. My cock approves of the vision.
Dixie pushes her short skirt down and walks onto the stage, where she politely thanks the man and takes the microphone. Then she turns her back to the audience and lowers her head, looking at the ground.
The drinks didn't give her enough courage to kill her stage fright. That's too bad.
But then she looks over at the guy running the sound system and gives a very confident nod. Oh, Dixie is a drama queen. She is going all out for the win. This is going to be interesting to watch.
When the first few notes float over the crowded room, people stop talking and look at the stage. I laugh out loud at her song choice. It's fucking brilliant!
With her back still showing, she cocks her beautiful butt with the melody. By the time the opening guitar strains finish, she's in complete control of an attentive crowd. Right before she belts out the song's first lyrics, she spins around, blonde hair fanning out like in my vision, fist pumps the air, and then lets the lyrics go.
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog…."
The whole damn room goes nuts! As she sings, she struts her sassy ass along the edge, not needing the teleprompter to tell her the words. Giving the crowd a mini concert, she gestures the lyrics, shoots a finger gun at me, then blows off the tip, making my cock rock hard, then sprays the crowd with gunfire. She holds the microphone out and encourages everyone to sing along. Moving it back and forth from us to her.
It's impressive and funny as hell. She's clearly smart, talented, and fun. Just what my trapped-in-success ass needs. Someone to have a good time with.
When she finishes the song, she looks at me, and I put my fingers in my mouth and whistle for her. She deserves to win. She's made everyone in here happy! Including me.
She hands the microphone back to the emcee, walks to the edge of the stage, blows kisses to her new fans, and takes a much-deserved bow. I whistle again, and I hear Mickey laughing over my shoulder.
Then she walks down the stage steps, high-fives everyone in her path who wants one, and makes her way back to me for her victory shot. I'm feeling very pleased that she wedged her way into my life.
I flag Erica to bring the victory shot, indicating to make it a double.
Dixie is about twenty feet away when our eyes lock, and the smile she gives me makes my heart skip a beat. I grin back, amazed that the twinkle in her eye is nothing to the sparkle of her smile. I can't wait to kiss her lips, nibble down her neck, fist her hair, lick her rosebud tips, spread her legs, flick her clit until she begs me to fuck her, and then fuck her until she moans and screams over and over, 'Oh, God! Yes, yes, yes!' all night long until she's begging me for a break.
Then a man steps directly in her path and blocks her way, jarring me out of my fucking fantasy. Instant rage surges through my veins, and I stand beyond pissed off that he's making a move on her. But Mickey's hand grabs my arm and, with a grip tight enough to cut off the blood flow, holds me back. "Hang on, Boss. Let my boys work."
I watch for a moment as she attempts to push him out of the way and go around, but he's drunk and insistent. I look for Mickey's men, and they are making their way there. But her eyes find mine, and the pleading to be rescued is too much for me.
I snatch my arm out of Mickey's grip and clear a path to her, pushing people out of my way. In five strides, I arrive. He's bent over her with his arms around her waist as she tries to push him back. Her arms fighting to keep her body off his with her head turned, avoiding his kiss. I grip his wrist, pulling it off her. Then I shove him, spinning him around, and plant my fist in his surprised face.
I had forgotten how satisfying crunching bones caving in sounds and forgotten how blood splatters with a broken nose. He's knocked out cold and falls over backward. But Mickey's men have arrived and catch him before he hits the ground. Dragging his unconscious body out of the front door to the curb by his arms, his limp feet scrape the ground behind them like a rag doll.
I look down at Dixie, expecting her to be horrified by what I did to that dude. But to my surprise, she says, "Thank you!"
