Free Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) by Eve Jagger Page A

reaching out, grabbing those wrists and pulling her soft curves against my hard abs, when—
    The door to the supply closet bursts open. We leap apart like we’ve been burned. Maybe we have.
    But neither of us recognize the guy who stumbles inside and starts groping around the mics.
    “If you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s on the other side,” Shelby says, and he startles, glancing at us like he had no idea there was anyone else in here.
    Just a random drunk attendee, thank god.
    “Sorry,” he says, staggering backwards. Then his eyes shoot back and forth between us, and his grin deepens. “Really sorry to interrupt.” He winks at Shelby and flashes me a thumbs up, before he slams the door behind him, leaving our mouths hanging open mid-protest.
    “Close call,” I say, running a hand through my hair with a nervous sideways grin at her.
    She scowls. “Too fucking close. Knox, even the drunkest idiot here can tell there’s something going on between us. We need to cool it. Now.”
    Before I can respond, she follows him out of the door. I’m left to calm down—and cool down—solo. For about half a minute, before I need to follow her out of that door and onto the waiting stage.

8
    Shelby
    I have to admit , Knox certainly pulls this disaster out of the toilet. The boy can talk. He spins out a full five-minute speech, the same amount of time Jackson was supposed to talk for, so we don’t even fall off schedule. He’s graceful about the trade, talking about how much he already loved Atlanta being a native and all—and yes, making more than a few jokes about the ladies here, which earns him a lot of laughs and more than a few catcalls from the women in the room.
    He only borderline freaks me out once, in the middle of talking about why he’s so excited for the upcoming season, when he catches my eye for way too long, in front of the entire crowd, and says that the very best thing about coming back here is his friends—old friends and new alike.
    My heart throbs in my chest the whole time he’s talking, but somehow, Ryder, Cash, Cassie, and Savannah (who had been late to arrive and long to linger by the introductions table, where I set them up chatting with our star player, Banjo) don’t seem to notice. Or if they do, they ignore it, thank god.
    He rounds out with introducing Mike, then descends the steps to stand by my side, his stage grin still fixed onto his face. Damn, he’s handsome as hell when he smiles like that.
    Okay, maybe all of the time.
    He takes a stand beside me, where we’re watching the speakers beside the stage. Under my breath, I murmur, “You just saved my life, you know. I owe you one.”
    His eyebrows dance. “Owe me what, exactly?”
    I narrow my eyes. “A favor, Knox.”
    “Can that favor be delivered in the form of a repeat of New Year’s, or . . . ?”
    I resist the urge to elbow him. “You know the answer to that already.”
    “Yeah, but I’ve been thinking,” he replies, keeping his voice so low that only I can hear it. I hope my facial expression remains as neutral as that tone of his. “Jackson isn’t even here, after all. And I did just save his ass. So did you, not calling him out for skipping.”
    I chew on my lip. “Doesn’t change anything.”
    He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant, like he didn’t really care. “Ah well. Can’t blame a guy for asking.”
    The final speech ends, and the audience flood the speakers. I lose sight of Knox in the crowd for a while, and I take the opportunity to duck out behind the bar for a breather. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but every now and then you need a break.
    I’m only just starting to relax, when the ballroom doors open behind me. Knox strides after me, a purposeful expression on his face.
    “How did you manage to ditch the groupies?” I ask him.
    He doesn’t even reply. He just grabs my waist and pulls me into a deep, searing, hotter-than-hell kiss, one that sends my knees knocking against each