Feeling Hot (Out of Uniform #7)

Not gonna happen, babe.

Cash swept his gaze around the room, searching for a way out. He and Polly were standing by the two pool tables at the far edge of the room, but he had a good view of the main floor, which featured a handful of tables, booths lining the wall, and several high counters surrounded by tall-backed stools. Unfortunately, the two chicks Patty had been hanging out with earlier had disappeared, so he couldn’t use the old your-friends-are-calling-you escape.

“I love how all you military boys have tattoos,” Polly gushed. “I’ve always wanted one but I’m scared of needles.”

“That’s too bad,” he mumbled.

His gaze strayed to the long counter against the opposite wall. He could always pretend he needed a fresh beer, then duck out of the bar before reaching the counter…but he feared his groupie would tag along and wait with him while he ordered.

“I know you probably hear this all the time, but you’re, like, a real-life hero,” Patty babbled on.

Ditto on the men’s room—she totally seemed like the kind of girl who’d offer to keep him company while he waited out that monster line.

“Wanna know a secret? When I was a little girl, I always dreamed of marrying a navy man.” Giggling, she sucked down the rest of her daiquiri.

Shit. Running out of options here. Time to resort to default mode—the phone fakeout.

Cash jerked a little, pretending to feel his phone going off. Fortunately, the loud Katy Perry song blaring out of the Tavern’s sound system masked the nonexistent vibrating of his phone.

He slid the cell out of his pocket and brought it to his ear, lifting one finger to signal Polly that he needed a minute. The one-sided conversation that ensued was one he’d perfected over the years.

“Mom? Hey, what’s up? What? Well, that’s not good. Hold on, I can’t really hear you. Let me find someplace quiet to talk…what? No, don’t do that. I’m on my way.”

He punched the end button and pasted a regretful look on his face. “My mom’s car broke down,” he told Patty.

Disappointment filled those big brown eyes. “Oh no. That’s awful.” An edge crept into her voice. “Can’t she call roadside assistance?”

Wow. Had she really just said that?

Okay, fine. So maybe he’d flat-out lied right now. But what if his mom’s car really had broken down? Would Polly seriously still expect him to get jiggy? While his poor sweet mother waited on the side of the road, a sitting duck for roadside predators?

He shook his head in mock remorse. “Sorry, babe, this real-life hero needs to come to his mother’s rescue. I’ll see you around.”

“Wait, don’t you want my phone num—”

Cash was already heading far, far away from the pool table.

But he felt Patty’s eyes burning a hole into his back like a laser, and every instinct in his body told him the chick would follow him, if only to slip her number into his hand. He picked up the pace, his gaze honing in on the door. Ten more steps and he’d be outta here.

The door swung open just as he reached it. He halted, politely waiting for two middle-aged women to stroll inside. They wore matching lemon-yellow tank tops with the words Rita’s Getting Married! sewed on with blue sequins, and they were clearly sloshed, swaying and giggling as they burst into the bar. Two more women followed the duo. Then a third. A fourth.

Sweet baby Jesus. It was like a damn clown car. Female bodies kept popping through the door, all clad in those cheesy yellow shirts that had him inwardly cursing that wretched Rita.

He snuck a peek at the pool table and saw Polly eyeing him with the kind of determination you saw on the faces of suicide bombers—set on accomplishing the task at all costs. She took a step forward.

Crap.

He tapped his foot in impatience as more women streamed into the bar. Shifting his gaze, he noticed a doorway to his right. Another glance across the room revealed that his single-minded brunette had turned to retrieve the purse she’d left on the pool table.

Without hesitation, Cash ducked into the opening he’d spotted.

He found himself in a narrow passage that boasted yet another doorway. Making a beeline for it, he burst into a small room bathed in darkness and let out a breath heavy with relief.

Thank the Lord. Now all he had to do was wait a few minutes, peek out to make sure the groupie wasn’t looking, and get the hell out of—

“I know I’m not supposed to be in here!”

Cash’s heart stopped, then took off like a runaway train. As adrenaline surged through his veins, he spun around, searching for the owner of the panicked female voice that had just knocked ten years off his life.

“I need a few more minutes and then I’ll be gone, okay?”