She held her breath and fingered the smooth edge of the bottle, forcing everything else out of her head. Each wiggle scooted the whiskey closer to the edge and into her waiting hand. “Oh no,” Jeremiah groaned from behind her. Sloshing back and forth, the bottle she sought finally tipped over the shelf and into her grasp. She spun around with a triumphant grin and followed the curve of Jeremiah’s head to find out what he was talking about. Trent. The smile on her face vanished. Despite the trail of knocked-over tables and wide-eyed spectators, she hadn’t heard the ruckus. Not again. Adrenaline kicked her heartbeat into overdrive. She slammed the bottle to the counter with a clunk, placed a hand on the bar and leapt over it. Her palm hit a sticky patch and she wiped it on her jeans when she landed on the other side. She’d be damned if she let Trent get himself killed on the night she’d finally decided to lay it all out on the table…or bed as the case may be. As she pushed her way through the crowd, glass crunched under her feet.
