I don’t have the energy for persistent assholes who don’t take no for an answer. The lupus flare-up took so much out of me, and I’m still not back to one hundred percent, but this arrogant prick won’t back off until I make him. “I suggest you kindly remove your hand from my ass, or I’ll remove it for you.”
He takes his hand off my backside, only to settle it on my hip. My skin heats in agitation. He is not going to ruin my first night out in weeks.
“Come on,” he drawls. “Don’t be like that. You look nice tonight. I was just thinking...”
“I know what you were thinking, and I’m not interested.” I try to step back, but his fingers tighten, holding me in place as he leers down at me.
“And why not?”
“Get your hands off her, Kyle.” The familiar voice sends a jolt through my spine. “She said no, and you’re drunk. Don’t do somethin’ she’s bound to make you regret.”
Kyle backs away with an unattractive sneer. Part of me wants to relax since Kyle’s gone, but that voice in my ear has me on edge, my stomach tight and I feel myself shrinking away, curling in on myself like a petal withered and crushed by the heel of someone’s boot.
I breathe out my nose and remind myself that I’m not the weak thing that I became when I was with the man at my back. That version of me has been dead and gone for years, and I refuse to resurrect her just because Landon fucking Prescott decided to darken my night with his presence.
“Landon, I thought we agreed I got Herds in the divorce,” I say, turning to pin him with a seething glare.
“Sawyer, it’s been a while.” He smiles, all charm without a hint of the guile I know is hiding under the well-polished surface.
Paula sets my drink on the bar, and I swipe it off, sucking it down and signaling her for another.
“Not nearly long enough,” I mutter, searching the crowd once more for Allie so I can signal her to come over here and play referee like she does with her kindergarteners when they get into an argument over crayons, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Great.
"You might want to slow down there, firecracker," he says, eyeing my empty glass with a smirk that makes me want to throw it at his head. Instead, I grip it tighter, hoping the ice will cool my flaring temper.
"Butt out, Landon," I mumble.
“Is it so hard to say thank you when I step in to save you?”He steps closer, lifting his brows in anticipation of words I'm never going to say. As if I owe him something.
I catch movement behind him, and I smile at the murderous expression on Wes’ face. Arms crossed, jaw set, body wound tight like he’s seconds from tearing Landon apart.
God, I love this side of him.
I offer Wes a reassuring look, silently telling him I’ve got this.
Tripp has a hand on his shoulder, whispering something low and warning, trying to keep him from charging across the bar and getting them all kicked out of Herds.
"I don't need you to protect me," I grit out. Paula slips my refill into my hand with a tight smile, eyeing Landon from behind the bar.
"Clearly," he replies, his mouth curling in disdain before he lifts his beer to his lips.
“I was handling it,” I snarl.
Landon smirks, slow and insufferable, crossing his arms like he knows he’s won something. “And I handled it without any bloodshed. I figured you didn’t want to get kicked out of Herds for landing that punch I know you were dying to throw.”
He’s right. And that pisses me off even more.
I take another drink, this time slower, savoring the warmth of it on my tongue—the last one I can have tonight, thanks to the medications that keep my body from attacking itself.
Wes shifts in the shadows, his body strung tight with the need to intervene, to defend me, to dosomething. But like hell am I going to let two men rescue me in one night.
I take a deliberate step back from Landon, letting my lips curl into something saccharine and mean. “I'd say it's been a pleasure, but thenagain, you never really knew how to give me much of that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have drinks to down and an ass to shake.”
I say it to get under his skin, to needle him just a little more. Getting drunk isn’t really an option for me anymore, but he doesn't need to know that.
“Jesus, Sawyer. Can’t you just—”
