Eight sets of eyes swung my way.
“Great, we told your staff she’s been the best waitress ever,” one guy said, slurring a little.
Her cheeks flushed — not from pride. Embarrassment.
“My wife is the best,” I said, sliding an arm around her waist, feeling the tremor she couldn’t hide.
“Wife?” a voice repeated, crushed.
“Your wife is hot,” another chimed in.
“Thank you,” I said, voice steel under velvet.
“Man, just when I thought the prettiest girl would be going home with me tonight.”
My eyes cut to the voice — a cocky prick sitting close to me. A napkin sat in front of him, a number and a name scrawled across it.
Blood roared in my ears.
I picked up the napkin and flicked it lazily in the air. “Who’s Johnny?”
“That’s me,” the guy across said, grinning like he owned the world. Tall. Handsome. The kind of bastard who is used to getting exactly what he wants. His smirk curdled something black in me.
“Johnny, did you not notice the ring on her finger?”
I held up Melanie’s hand for emphasis.
“It’s fine,” she snapped, yanking it back.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Johnny said, his eyes bloodshot and stupid with booze.
“But that’s never stopped beautiful chicks before.”
“Excuse me?” I leaned in, my voice dropping lower.
He dragged a hand through expensive hair, flashing a Rolex. Trust fund baby, no doubt.
“You heard me. It wouldn’t be the first time a married woman was riding my c?—”
I grabbed his collar, dragging him halfway across the table before the words could finish. Chairs scraped back. Glasses rattled.
“If you finish that sentence, I will throw you out of the restaurant myself.”
Hands pressed against my shoulder.
“Nick, it’s fine. Let him go, and come with me to check on their order,” Melanie whispered against my ear — too close, too sweet, too necessary.
She moved away, and I let her, but my glare pinned Johnny in place.
“Ya man, it’s okay, chill out,” someone muttered from the side.
I shoved Johnny back, hard. His chair skidded, and he nearly toppled, scrambling to fix his dress shirt and shattered pride.
“My friend didn’t mean any harm,” a pudgy preppy type said.
“In fact, you should consider it a compliment.”
I arched a brow, slow and deadly. “A compliment?”
