Free Rescue Me: A Bad Boy Military Romance by Vesper Vaughn Page B

voluminous hair.
    “And you are married , Amy. Where is that asshole husband of yours, anyway?” I ask.
    She rolls her eyes. “Probably banging the nanny in the bathroom. Like I care,” she adds darkly, sipping her bottle of Corona. Some of it dribbles down her face and I see tears forming behind her eyes.
    I sigh and take her by the elbow. “Let’s get you sat down somewhere with a glass of water,” I say to her. I spot some of her friends and we weave our way over to them. “Will you take care of this? Make sure she doesn’t wander into traffic like a stray fucking puppy,” I say.
    A few of them sigh, and Vicky Martinez shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
    “Yeah, continue being such great friends to her,” I say sarcastically, leaving Amy behind with her head in her hands. I fish a bottle of water out of a massive tailgating cooler and unscrew it. Several more people shout out a greeting.
    My head is a little fuzzy and I suddenly remember I forgot to eat when I took my pills. I shake my head and walk back over to Amy, setting down the dripping water bottle and sliding the beer bottle out of her fingers. She’s so drunk she doesn’t protest.
    “Make sure she drinks this, alright?” I say to her friends. They wave me away and get back to their conversation.
    Satisfied that I’ve done all I could, I wander back to the dance floor, my heart beating. I see Ella’s red hair in the middle of the crowd; she’s still dancing with Clarence, who is determined to shuffle her around the dance floor. I’m within a foot of tapping her on the shoulder when the DJ, who also runs the diner here in town, comes over the speakers.
    “All right, y’all. You know what time it is! It’s time for some boot scootin’ boogie!”
    The crowd immediately gets into line-dancing formation and I’m forced three rows back from Ella as Brooks and Dunn blare out of the speakers. I start shuffling my feet, knowing that if I violate the laws of line dancing I’ll be publicly shamed. The crowd is clapping and tapping their feet and I move with my line of people. I see my chance to move up a row and I take it. I grab the shoulders of a teenage football player in front of me. “Swap,” I say.
    He looks at me, panicked. “Y-y-yes sir,” he says, moving back a row. I grin to myself and join back in the dancing. I’ve moved up one row of people. Ella’s six places over from me in the front row. I see who’s in front of me and realize I’ve got another easy target in the woman who owns the grocery store. I wink at her as she turns around and I yell to her over the music.
    “Swap places with me?” I ask.
    She grins. “Anything for you, Luke.”
    I twirl her around in time with the music and assume the position. Ella is one row up but six people over. I manage to twirl, swing, and bribe my way within two spaces of her. I actually end up slipping a twenty to an enterprising kid I recognize from the youth group I lead at church. Now there’s only one person left. My target nearly acquired, I groan. It’s Michael Evans – Amy Waters’ husband - who would rather I beat him up than do anything for me as a favor.
    “Swap with me,” I say, trying to sound as commanding as I can while also doing this ridiculous line dance.
    He laughs in my face, turning and clapping in time with the music. I turn my back on him and contemplate just knocking him out right here in front of all these people. I can smell Ella’s shampoo all the way over here. I’m so fucking close. “Seriously, man. Fucking switch with me,” I say. “I was just cleaning up your drunk-off-her-ass wife a minute ago. You owe me.”
    “I don’t owe you shit, Davis!” Michael yells back with a greedy grin on his face. The music’s nearly ending and I know what always follows this song, because the DJ is as predictable as his breakfast menu that hasn’t changed in fifty years. The music stops and the line breaks up, the strains of LeeAnn Womack’s “I Hope