“Just busy.”
“Where’s your friend from?” Roger asked, sizing Mason up like he was competition. Although, considering Chase’s attitude toward the guy, he knew there wasn’t any competition. Chase just wanted the guy to leave him the fuck alone.
“I’m from Georgia,” Mason replied through his teeth.
“Atlanta?”
“North Georgia.”
“What the fuck could you be doing in North Georgia?”
“His family owns a dairy farm.”
Our family.
“Oh, so you’re the ex-hubby!” Roger exclaimed. “You’re a long way from the dairy, aren’t you, Mason?”
Even though the guy wore a pearly white smile, there was something predatory in the way he stared Mason down and didn’t let up his hold on Chase, like he was claiming him.
Mason was itching to find out how they knew each other, but he had to keep reminding himself it was none of his business.
Roger was nearly as tall as Mason, his hair gelled to the side. He wore a button-up shirt—collar undone, sleeves rolled up—and black pants. He was so clean, put-together, stylish. Like Chase, nothing like Mason.
“Congrats to your sister, by the way,” Roger said. “I met her when she came out to visit. Nice, beautiful girl.”
Mason’s rage shifted into confusion. That asshole knew about his sister?
He kept his cool. “Thank you.”
“Well, we’re getting another drink,” Chase said, “and then we’re going to probably head back out to dance some more.”
“That’s fine. You boys do your thing. But you need to call me back soon, mister. I’ve been missing that tight piece of ass you got. You know what I’m saying, Mason?”
Mason’s face flashed with heat. Every impulse in him told him to charge—to attack the man who was being so disrespectful to his husband—but he restrained himself. “You should be very careful how you talk to him,” Mason said, his words cutting through the air.
Roger winced. “’Scuse me, farm boy?” He glanced between Mason and Chase. “Oh, did you guys have like… a thing going on? Again? Huh. I figured you guys already tried that and it didn’t work out.” He directed his words at Mason, obviously trying to hurt him because of how he’d scolded him for the way he insulted Chase, the way he’d treated him like a fucking object.
“Okay, you’re drunk, Roger,” Chase said. “And I think you’ve been enough of a dick for one night.”
He started to pull away, but Roger kept his arm hooked around him and pulled him closer.
“Where you running off to, man?”
Mason couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
A defense mechanism in him—like a day when some assholes had cornered Chase in the bathroom at school—seized control of his body. He rushed Roger, wanting to beat his fucking face in for how he was manhandling Chase. He shoved the bastard in the chest.
“Is that how you want to play?” Roger asked, moving toward Mason swiftly. He balled his hand into a fist, and as he raised it, Mason prepared for the fight that was about to ensue. He craved it…if only so he could put the asshole in his place.
Before he had a chance, Chase took Roger by his shirt collar and shoved him back against the bar. Roger’s eyes widened, and he glanced around like he was lost. Hell, Mason was confused as fuck by how quickly Chase had reacted.
“Lay one hand on my husband…I fucking dare you to,” Chase spat out, the tone in his voice fierce, threatening.
He took deep breaths, as though he was trying to restrain himself—keep himself from beating the shit out of the asshole.
As surprised as Mason was by Chase’s gesture, a calm swept through him at hearing the word husband slip past Chase’s lips.
“Chase, dude,” Roger said, like suddenly he was trying to calm the raging Hulk that Chase had unleashed.
