He smirks. “You here alone, sweetheart?”
“No.”
The word lands with quiet certainty.
His gaze flicks over my shoulder, searching. “Boyfriend?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t need to label Jesse to deserve respect.
The guy laughs. “Sure.”
Then his hand shoots toward my waist.
Too familiar. Too fast.
I slap it away. “No.”
That’s when I feel it—the shift behind me.
Jesse has noticed.
I don’t even have to turn. I can sense it in the air, like a current changing direction.
Jesse steps up beside me, his presence steady and calm, but his eyes are hard.
“Problem?” Jesse asks.
The guy straightens, puffing up. “Just talking.”
Jesse’s voice stays even. “You were told to stop.”
“Oh, look,” the guy sneers. “Bar owner playing hero.”
Jesse doesn’t bite.
“Leave,” he says simply.
The guy laughs louder, feeding on attention. “Or what?”
Jesse’s jaw flexes. “Or you get escorted out.”
“By you?” The guy scoffs. “What are you gonna do? Throw your little cowboy hat at me?”
Jesse’s hands remain relaxed at his sides. Controlled.
I glance at him, and something in my chest warms. Not possessiveness. Not dominance.
Protection.
The guy takes a step closer to me, eyes ugly with it. “Maybe I should teach you some manners?—”
His hand reaches again.
This time toward my chest.
I jerk back, adrenaline flooding my body.
