Meant to Marry Me

"What the hell was that?" Bree demanded, jabbing Trent in the arm. She was carrying her guitar in her left hand so she'd have her strongest hand to assault him with.

"What do you mean?" Trent asked, not even rubbing his arm since she hadn't hit him hard enough to hurt him. "I was defending you."

"That's what the bouncers are for," she reminded him. "Now, those jerks are going to be outside waiting for us."

He looked hurt, like she'd inflicted more emotional pain than physical. "I'm sorry, Bree. But I couldn't let them shout insults at you." "He was drunk, Trent. It happens all the time."

"Well, it shouldn't. And I'm not going to sit by and listen to someone say things like that to you."

Now that she saw how passionate he was about it, Bree was a little flattered that he was willing to put himself into harm's way to protect her. "Thank you, babe, but really, it's not worth it. That guy was so drunk, he probably won't even remember any of this in the morning."

"Well, if he's waiting outside for us, I'll give him a memento for him to remember it by."

"And if he has ten of his friends out there, too?"

Trent didn't seem to have an answer for that. He blew out a hot breath and rested his hands on his hips. He was hot, and she wanted to completely forgive him, but she also had to make sure he didn't make a habit out of this. It wouldn't be safe for either one of them if Trent was constantly stirring up problems with the audience members.

"You guys need some help getting out of here?"

Bree glanced around Trent to see a familiar face and froze. "Zach? What are you doing here?" Immediately, she felt her face flush. Had he been there for her show? Had he heard her play guitar? If so, he probably thought she was pathetic. "Yeah, I know some of the guys in the opening band. When I found out you were playing after them, I thought I should come hang out a while, see how your set went. Sounded good." "Thank you." That seemed like a lot of words for him.

"Anyway, I saw the scuffle and thought you might need some help getting to your car. If those assholes decide to wait outside and jump you, you'll probably be outnumbered."

"I got it, thanks," Trent said, his tone conveying he didn't appreciate the offer nearly as much as Bree did.

"Trent, it might be a good idea. I don't think I'm gonna be much help."

"Swing that guitar case at them and you might be," Zach said, and it was evident he was joking.

"I think I value this guitar more than I do my own face," Bree admitted. It was the one her grandmother had given her.

"In that case, why don't you let me walk you out? Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and there won't be anyone out there. But if there is, you'll be better off with me than without me." Bree thought she might just start feeling that way about Zach in general--in her band, of course.... Not in any other regards.

"Fine," Trent said reluctantly. "But if there's ten of them and two of us, I don't think that will make much of a difference."

"So I don't count?" she asked, not sure what he was getting at.

"I'm not letting you get into a bar brawl, Bree," he replied, already walking toward the side door they'd used to enter earlier.

"You gotta mean right hook?" Zach asked her. Bree assumed he was just buttering her up, trying to get on her good side so he'd get the position in the band, but he seemed really nice, and she was glad he'd shown up, even if she didn't end up needing him--which she also hoped.

"No, but I have a mean ear-shattering scream I like to employ when I'm in a pinch."

Zach laughed. Trent didn't. He was annoyed, and she couldn't blame him. But he'd pissed her off first.

Trent pushed the door open and stuck his head out, looking around before he opened the door and stepped out. Her car wasn't far away, but as they started to walk over, a few men stepped out of the shadows. "Shit," Trent muttered.

"You come to teach me how to mind my goddamn manners?" the drunk asked, and Bree took a deep breath. They were outnumbered, and she wasn't sure even if she did scream that anyone would come.