“You guys done acting like dickheads?” I clipped, glaring at them both. “If your fist had connected with her head, you could have really hurt her.”
The punch thrower held his hands up in the air and shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. It’s been a shitty week, and I took it out on this guy. It won’t happen again.”
Turning my back on them, I placed her on the ground, holding on until I was sure she was steady again.
“Thank you for”—the woman waved at where she’d just been standing—“that whole thing. That would have sucked if I’d been hit.”
Sucked? Was she high?
“Honey, if you’d gotten hit, you’d have ended up in hospital with a concussion or a traumatic brain injury. My brother was punched by a guy with ‘roid rage. He got a concussion from it, and he’s a big guy.”
She tilted her head to the side, making her bangs slide farther to the side, allowing me to see both of her eyes now. Fuck me, they were a stunning light shade of hazel and framed by thick dark lashes.
“‘Roid rage?”
I blinked, trying to get my brain back online. “Oh, yeah, you know, when someone takes steroids, and it messes with their anger levels.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Damn, that’s a real thing? I thought it just helped them bulk up.”
“No,” I snorted, shaking my head. “Those things mess with everything. Some guys who abuse it even end up with a higher voice because it messes with their hormones and shit.”
Why were we talking about steroids in the middle of a crowded bar?
“Huh!”
When she didn’t say anything else, I held my hand out. “Marcus Townsend.”
Her skin felt like silk when she touched me to shake my hand. “Adrienne Valtolina.”
“You’re Italian?”
Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Malaysian and Italian. Mom’s the Malaysian one, and Dad’s the Italian.”
The two gene pools had created a gorgeous woman.
“I feel boring just saying I’m American now,” I chuckled, still holding her hand and not feeling weird about it.
“Both my parents were the first generations of their families to be born here, so I’m American, too. I just have two other countries that made me look the way I do.”
Gesturing with my free hand at a small table with two barstools, I led her over to it and helped her onto her stool before taking my own. “What brings you to Florida, Adrienne?”
“I’m on vacation. I live in California and needed a break from work and everything there, so I decided to catch some sun and just kick back and relax for a week. I only got here last night. What about you?”
“I was born here, but I have a ranch just outside of Branford.” As I’d mentioned the place, the noise level in the bar had increased as a group of people came in. “It’s a town on the Suwannee River, but my ranch is about an hour and a half away from Gainesville.”
I added the last bit in because everyone had heard of Gainseville, which usually helped them with the geographical location. Still, though, she just looked blankly at me.
“Okay, have you heard of the University of Florida?”
She looked relieved at the question. “Oh, yes, who hasn’t?”
“Fine, so that’s in Gainseville. My ranch is an hour and a half away from there or about two and a half hours away from Orlando.”
Looking interested in what I’d just revealed, she asked, “What kind of ranch is it?”
“A horse stud ranch. We work with stud and fertilization services.”
She blinked. “Wait, you deal with equine semen?”
I shifted awkwardly. That wasn’t entirely incorrect, but the description made me feel gross. “I guess you could call it that, but I think the word stud sounds less horse-porn like.”
Throwing her head back, she burst out laughing, the sound and beauty of her doing it catching quite a few people’s attention.
When she lowered her head back down, she was wiping under her eyes while she caught her breath. “I’m so sorry, it really shouldn’t have been as funny as that, but can you imagine someone running a ranch for horse porn?”
Sadly, yes. In this day and age, there were dirty, kinky motherfuckers who did the grossest shit.
“So, what is it you do, Adrienne?”
Clearing her throat, she caught the attention of a passing server. Once we’d placed the order for our drinks, she rubbed her lips together. “I’m a jingle writer. I write the little tunes and songs you hear during commercials.”
I was momentarily stunned. I’d never really paid attention to the things when I watched television or listened to the radio in the truck, so it’d never occurred to me that someone created them as a job.
“Have you done any I’d be familiar with?”
Adrienne nodded her head, and a pink hue bloomed on her cheeks. Fuck me!
“I have. You know the new toothpaste that hit the news because it sold out of most shops on the first day a few weeks ago?”