Something I don’t like passes between them, and I shift to put my body between the two of them. The vibe is all wrong.
“I’ve got her,” I say, standing tall. I have several inches on him, and there’s a substantial difference in our muscle mass, I’m sure. And I can fight. Been doing it since I was a kid. “Take a step back before I help you do that.”
Sawyer is pressed to my back, and it almost feels like she’s hiding.
“You going to lay hands on me? It’d be costly.”
“I’ve got money.”
“The government has more. And assaulting a member of the Advisory Council is a capital crime. Substantial jail time.”
“You’ll swing first. Then it’s self-defense.”
We stare at each other for a beat, and I fucking dare him to test me. I’ve become an expert at getting the other guy to take the penalty.
“Sawyer’s well-loved on the island. The Tucker family is a big deal here.”
“I’ve heard.” I reach a hand back to Sawyer, and it lands on her hip. Her hand settles over mine, and she squeezes. Feels like an agreement that I’m fighting the right battle.
“I wouldn’t be doing my civic duty if I didn’t make sure she gets home unharmed,” he says.
“Sure, if she was alone. But she’s got me.”
“How do I know you’re trustworthy?”
“Sawyer trusts me.” Two of the guys from my line must have spotted the brewing trouble, and they close ranks beside me. Radek and Auston don’t say a word, but they block any view this dickhead would have of Sawyer.
“Everything all right here?” Radek asks, a thick Czech accent coating the words.
“Dalton Worthington,” slimy politician guy says, extending his hand. Any hint of animosity disappears in a puff of smoke. “Just making sure your guy is on the up and up, given that Sawyer’s had so much to drink.”
“I’d trust Bishop with any woman in my life,” Auston says. “Any day. All day. He’s not laying a hand on her that she doesn’t want.”
“When she’s had that much, consent—”
“She’s my physiotherapist,” I say, fed up with Dalton’s bullshit. “She lays her hands on me. I don’t lay them on her.”
Yet.
The thought hits without me wanting it to, but I’m not an idiot. There’s a strange concoction brewing between me and Sawyer. Could be friendship. Could be something else.
“Wouldn’t want our star player getting in trouble.” Dalton holds up his hands, a friendly grin aimed at Auston and Radek. “No harm meant.”
I scoff and turn to look at Radek. We’ve played together on the same line for the last three years, and I’m sure he can read the expression on my face the same way he read my tense posture two minutes ago.
“Have a good night, Mr. Worthington,” Auston says.
Auston is Canadian, our team captain, and this version of his Canadian-ness is my favorite. Polite with an edge of “don’t fuck with us” solidarity.
“I will. Same to you, boys,” Dalton says before turning on his heel and walking away.
“What the fuck was that about?” Auston asks.
I’m still bristling at the “boys” comment as though we’re playing at being men as I watch him walk out of the bar. He’s definitely older than the three of us, but fucking “boys” is a piss off. When I turn, Sawyer folds into me.
“You okay?” I murmur into the top of her head.
“I feel sick,” she whispers back, and she’s clinging to my suit jacket.
