But now—now every sense I have is tuned to a single frequency:him.
My fiancé.
His gaze locks on mine, sharp enough to flay skin.
He looks like something untamed, his shirt stretched tight across his chest, black fabric clinging to muscle and heat. Power contained, not hidden. The air between us hums with it.
I shouldn’t notice the way his throat works when he swallows. I shouldn’t want to trace the ink snaking beneath his collar or feel the tension coiled in his thighs pressing against me. But my body doesn’t ask for permission. Heat pools low, nerves lighting up one by one.
It’s too much. Too close. Toohim.
And all I can think is… Bridget’s right. This isn’t high school anymore, and he’s definitelynoboy.
Cavin cuts through the crowd like a blade. A man on a mission. The crowd parts like oil and water, scattering instantly.
I once read a description of what happens when a predator lands in a crowded flock of birds. How they squawk and scatter and flee for cover.
That’s exactly what’s happening now.
I should look away. Step back. Dosomethingbesides stand here like I’m waiting for him to pounce…
But I don’t.
He reaches my table in seconds, and I forget how to breathe.
“Get up,” he growls.
My heart hammers. My palms are sweaty. I hate that he has this effect on me. I feel just like I’m in school again—everyone staring, nowhere to go, nothing to say.
“I saidget up,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “This is not a request.”
Fight-or-flight kicks in, but I’m frozen to my seat.
“Excuse me?” I manage, though my voice comes out smaller and squeakier than I’d like. “I’m not a?—”
His huge, calloused hand, scarred with tattoos on the knuckles like messages, wraps around my upper arm. Not rough, but firm enough that I know he’s not asking twice.
“You and I will have a talk about my expectations, Erin.”
His eyes drop to my arm, and something dangerous flashes across his face.
“My god,” he says, his voice rising with barely contained fury. “You had the fuckin’ nerve to wearthatin here?”
“Of course I did. I’m not with anyone.”
The waitress’s eyes are wide as saucers.
“Mr. McCarthy, she just sat here having a drink?—”
“Be quiet,” he snaps without looking at her. “Say one more word and you’ll be turning in your fuckin’ badge.”
She runs away.
“Cavin, you can’t?—”
“You too,” he growls at me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Erin. Up.”
Heat floods my face—part anger, part something else I don’t want to name.
