I press my palm down on it to cage it.
“Hey, you waitin’ for someone?”
I hear the voice before the body slides in front of me.
This one stands right at my table with a cocky smirk. A cross tattoo is stamped on his neck.
Tall. White tee. Jean jacket. Mid-twenties.
“If not, you could join us.”
He hooks a thumb behind him,
where there're two more guys at the bar,
both watching me.
“I’m Lucas,” he adds.
“I’m married,” I say.
Takenmeans nothing.
Boyfriendmeans competition.
But the second you saymarried?
Most of the time, they’ll back off.
Not because they respect you,
but because they respecthim.
It’s not about boundaries,
it’s about ownership.
“Yeah?” he nudges his chin at my hand,
as if he’s heard this line before.
“Where’s your ring?”
He’s looming over me now,
making my hand tremble.
I slip it off the table
and hide it under my thigh.
“Same place as your invitation to stand next to me.”
Liam laughs, taking it as flirting.
Or was it Larry?
“Damn, aight. You got jokes, huh?” he says, angling in and resting his forearm on my table, propping himself to pull me into conversation. “You’re one of those—mouth on you, but you like the attention.”
