“Why didn’t you say something?”

I shrugged. “Because you gave me wine? I don’t know.” I hadn’t said anything because I didn’t want to be a nuisance, and I still didn’t, and I knew that’s why Matt was going to do what he wanted here. Because I didn’t have the balls to stand up and insist we leave. The same reason I didn’t speak up when I started to have a bad feeling about coming to this place.

“Please, please, please.” He whispered, “I promise to take you anywhere you want for dinner, once I get back. How about that? Or we can order food in, have a movie night at Kash’s? Bowling? Pool party. Anything. I will owe you. Promise.”

I hated promises. They were always broken.

But, lowering my head, I moved it up and down, enough to indicate a nod, and he whooped. His hand squeezed my shoulder. “Thanks, Bailes. I’ll be right back. Promise, promise, promise.”

Then he was gone.

Bailes.

Gah. I liked that he gave me a nickname.

The guards went with him, and two others rotated up. I recognized them as the ones normally assigned to me. Standing, I went to the banister and watched as Matt and his bartender walked around the field, heading toward the main lodge area. Three guards tailed them.

“You said you were hungry?”

“Hmm?” I turned. The other bartender had approached, a friendly enough smile on his face.

“Your stomach is growling.” He nodded to me. “I can actually hear it.”

“Oh.” I pressed a hand, feeling the rumbling. “Yeah.”

He was smiling. His eyes were smiling.

My head was clouding up and my vision was tunneling, but if I had some food in me, and water, I would sober up. I’d be okay then.

He offered, “I can make a call to the kitchen, have them send something over. Would you like that?”

I waited a hot second. “Hell yes.”

He laughed, moving back behind the bar, taking my glass with him. “I’ll top this off for you, too.”

That’s when the guard moved forward, a phone in his hand. “Miss Bailey?”

“Yeah?”

The bartender was pouring the wine, not watching us, but sound traveled. He could hear us.

The guard held out the phone. “Mr. Colello’s on the phone for you.”

I couldn’t squash down the tingle that went through me at hearing Kash was on the phone. Taking it, I tried not to hop up too quick. The floor would’ve rushed me.

The bartender was bringing over the wine as I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

The wine was held out to me.

I took it, trying to keep my hand clear of his, but the bartender moved his finger at the last second. It grazed against mine. My eyes went to his. A seductive gleam was there, a faint grin on his face, and taking my look as permission, he rubbed his finger against mine more gently, and way more suggestively.

I jerked back. My wine splashed, hitting my face, the phone, my top.

I gasped.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.” The bartender and guard moved at the same time.

The bartender was going toward my top, the towel that he rested over his shoulder already in hand, ready to help dry something. Me. My shirt. I didn’t know. But the guard growled and hip checked the guy. He literally bumped him back. The other guard rushed forward.

Kash was saying something on the phone. “What’s happening?”

I was burning up. My face. My neck. My ears. I was embarrassed.

And I could only stare in terror as both guards wrestled the bartender to the ground.

“Stop!” I ran forward, holding the phone, ignoring Kash. I went to one of the guards, pulling at his arm. “Stop. Let him up. He was trying to help. I did it. I jerked back and spilled the wine.”

“Bailey!” From the phone.

I put it back to my ear, saying, rushed, “I gotta go. There was a thing.”

“A thing?”

I hung up, thrusting the phone at the guard.

Both stepped back, letting the bartender get back to his feet.

I was there, patting him on the arm now, the chest. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Why was I doing this? I was the one still wet. I felt bad. That’s why. “Again. I’m so sorry. They’re just—”

He was easing back from me, putting a safe distance between me and him, and he nodded. “Doing their job. I got it.” He held his hands up, moving one step at a time until he was behind the bar. “I’ll … uh … I’ll be doing my job.” He was the face of professionalism now. Cold and detached. Not the flirting guy from seconds earlier. Clearing his throat, he kept eyeing the guards behind me. “I’ll, just, call in that order, ma’am.”

Great.

Not that I cared, but there was another person who thought I was a pariah. It shouldn’t matter. I was telling myself that, as I went back to the couch I’d been sitting on. The next match was starting, with new horses, ones that looked fresh under their riders.