Free The Protector (Lone Wolf, Book 1) by Bridget Essex

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 5:   Not Really a Date
     
    Fun Boston history fact:   McBride’s was a lesbian bar long before any
of the other gay bars moved into town.   It’s been around since the nineteen hundreds .   How many lesbian bars can say that?   Way back then, of course, it was all pretty
hush hush and something that no one but ladies in the know talked about, but
nowadays, McBride’s wears its pride on its proverbial sleeve.   There’s a rainbow flag unfurled outside, off
the side of the building by the front door, and inside, the air of
be-whoever-you-want-to-be is as constant as the flowing booze, strobing lights
and constant, thumping dance music.
    As such, while there are a hell of
a lot of lesbians here on any given night, there’s also a fair share of gay men
and everyone else on the queer spectrum you can think of, and a lot of straight
people, too, gyrating to the music on the dance floor and ordering as many
beers, liquor and fancy drinks as the lesbians.   Because of the mixed atmosphere, it was usually our place of
choice after a spectacularly good—or bad—rehearsal, where we went to celebrate,
kick back and relax.   And to party, just
a little.
    Like tonight.
    “You know, after a rehearsal that
bad, I should really just turn in my fiddles and consider a career in
housekeeping,” sighed Tracy.   “Who
knows, maybe I missed my calling?”   With
that, she swung back another shot.   She
staggered in her chair a little after that one.  
    We were both getting pretty
tipsy.   And Layne sat there, only taking
occasional sips out of a club soda and grinning indulgently at the both of us.
    “You don’t want to go into
housekeeping,” I sighed, shaking my head.   “And let’s be honest—you weren’t nearly as bad as me today.   I missed a lot of notes.   Like, at one point, I played the measure
from the next line .”
    “You guys are speaking Greek to
me,” Layne chuckled, signaling the bartender for another club soda.   Unlike how the bartender, a gorgeous woman
with long, black hair that curled around her shoulders like she was about to
pose for a shampoo ad, had treated us—mostly ignoring us and getting us our
drinks occasionally, the same as everyone else at the bar—she sailed right on
over when Layne called for her with a bright, dazzling smile, leaning on the
bar so that her chest, quite visible in her plunging black v-neck tank, was
impressively propped up on her arms, and breathily asked Layne if she was sure she couldn’t buy her a shot.
      “No, I’m fine,” said Layne with a wry grin twisting her mouth
sideways.   “But if you want to buy me
that club soda…”   There was a subtle
shift in her body.   Before, it’d seemed
like she was lounging in the bar chair, like her body didn’t have a bone to it
and had just pooled into the seat like pouring water in a glass.   Now, she leaned forward a little, her lips
slightly parted, and shimmering, like she’d just licked them.   Her eyes went dangerously dark as her
muscles tensed almost imperceptibly and you were immediately aware of the raw
power in her, and suddenly, as I stared at this gorgeous creature, the bar had
become much, much, much too hot for me.   I tugged at the front of my sweater, trying to remember how to breathe.
    The bartender had apparently
experienced a similar reaction, as her jaw was almost on the bar itself, and
she poured Layne a club soda so fast, the glass almost catapulted off the
counter when she slid it toward Layne.
    But, of course, Layne caught it with
a hand that moved too quick for me to even follow.
    I’d had a few drinks at that point,
but seriously…she was fast .
    “Well,” said Layne, her rich, velvety voice moving
in commanding waves over me.   I stared
at her and breathed out slowly, conscious of the fact that, when she spoke, my
heart rate began to skyrocket.   “For
what it’s worth,” Layne practically purred, “I thought you were both