Free Last Resort by Jeff Shelby

and told me Springsteen sucks,” Jake said. “He said he'd outlawed all Springsteen here.”
    I stared at him, dumbfounded. Jake had a thing for Springsteen. Man-crush. Bro-mance. Whatever you wanted to call it, Jake had it for The Boss. But I didn't think he was so passionate about his Jersey Boy that he'd take a grown man to the floor for saying his favorite musician sucked. Then again, it was Wayne Hackerman. I thought about the reaction he'd evoked in me earlier that day.
    “Springsteen does suck!” Hackerman said loudly, still wiggling beneath Jake. “Anyone who thinks that guy is a musician needs their ears checked.”
    “See?” Jake said, his eyes pleading with me. “He won't stop.”
    I planted my hands on my hips. “Get off him. Now.”
    I must've used my presidential voice, because after only a second of hesitation, Jake let go of Hackerman's arms and stood up. The larger man scrambled to his feet and pulled his shirt down over his gut, huffing and puffing.
    He pointed a finger at Jake. “You assaulted me.”
    “You think that was assault?” Jake asked. He puffed out his own chest a little. “I'll show you assault.”
    “You will not,” I said, grabbing his elbow.
    “Assault,” Hackerman growled. “Plain and simple.”
    “You grabbed me first,” Jake said. He looked at the guy running the DJ table. “You saw him.”
    The man wearing the bucket hat wrinkled his nose, looked at Hackerman, then leaned forward so we could hear him over the music. “You did put your hands on the man first, Wayne. Probably don't wanna do that unless you know you can take care of yourself and, by the look of things, pretty sure this guy here had the upper hand on you—”
    “Oh, shut up, Stan,” Hackerman muttered. “No one asked you.”
    “I did,” Jake said. “I actually asked him.”
    Hackerman shot daggers at Jake with his eyes.
    Rhonda Hackerman shimmed up to us, her boobs shaking in a red and blue Twins tube top and her legs poured into ill-fitting denim capris. Her black hair was down from her elaborate hairdo from earlier and she was holding two beer cans. Both of them were open and I wondered if she was drinking for two. “Wayne! What is—” But then she saw Jake and stopped short. “Oh. Hello there. Again.”
    Jake ignored her, which was the smart move because otherwise he might've ended up wrestling with me.
    “What is going on?” Rhonda asked, looking at her husband and completely ignoring me.
    Hackerman jabbed his finger at Jake. “This jackass assaulted me.”
    She looked at Jake again and I swore I saw the hint of a smile. “Oh no. That's...terrible.”
    “It was,” Hackerman spat. “I came up here to look at Stan's song list and this jackass is standing here, hogging the list.”
    “It was on the table,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I didn't even pick it up.”
    “And then he started asking Stan if he had any Bruce Springsteen,” Hackerman continued. “And all I said was that I wasn't a fan of that kind of music.”
    Jake rolled his eyes. “What you said was 'Ain't no way Stan's playing any of that Springsteen crap  because that music sucks.' That's a direct quote.”
    I looked at Stan, who waited a moment, then nodded. Rhonda's eyes were bouncing between the  men like she was watching a tennis match.
    “Well, whatever I said, then this fool assaulted me,” Hackerman said. “And I was afraid he was gonna kill me like he did Harvey.”
    Button officially pushed again.
    Jake took a step toward him. “How about if I take you down to the ground again and hold you there?”
    “So hot,” Rhonda whispered to herself. She took a long swig of beer from one of the cans, her eyes never leaving my husband.
    I glared at her, then put my hand on Jake's chest. “Look at me.”
    After a second, he looked down at me.
    “Enough,” I said. “Enough. Let's go.”
    “I swear I'll make him swallow his teeth,” Jake said.
    “No, you won't,” I said, pressing on his chest. “Because