“Have you tried saying no to that cute face?” she whispers back, glancing toward Remi, curled into Sarah’s side.
A quiet laugh shakes my shoulders as I swipe a handful of popcorn from her bowl, watching her, waiting for her to answer my first question. The longer I stare, the more stubborn she gets, the corners of her mouth twitching as she focuses a little too hard on the screen, plucking popcorn one piece at a time. She finally caves, her eyes flicking to mine, and I grin as she tosses a piece of popcorn at my head.
“Good day or bad?” I murmur.
“Good,” she whispers. “Really good. The best yet.”
Relief rushes through me, the tension sliding from my shoulders. “That’s my girl. We’ve got this.” I cup her cheek, resting my forehead against hers.
“Thank you,” she breathes. “For everything.”
“Anything for you,” I tell her. “Always.”
She smiles. “Love you, handsome.”
“Love you more.”
We pass the bowl to Asher, and I pull her closer, guiding her head to my chest as I breathe her in. Her fingers trace slow, lazy scratches over my stomach. We spend the night listening to Connor recite every one of Donkey’s lines, Remi laughing at him, and somewhere between all the noise, the warmth, and the steady rise and fall of her breath, sleep finally pulls us under.
32
HEART DANCING
MADISON
Slamming three shot glasses onto the bar, I tip the bottle of whiskey and watch the gold liquid pour. The first glass fills, and I move quickly along to fill the second and third, twisting my wrist to bring the bottle back down. I smile at the three guys in front of me, slide their shots across the bar, and hold my hand out for the cash. The one in the middle, his dark eyes roam over me, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth twisting into an unpleasant smirk.
Here we go.
My first week back at work has been uneventful, to say the least. Hunter didn’t want me returning at all. He was convinced I’d overdo it the second I stepped behind the bar. So, we compromised. The first two days, I stayed in the office, reorganizing and sorting through twelve weeks’ worth of paperwork. I flew through it, caught up faster than expected, and even managed to get ahead for the week. After that, I eased back in, doing short shifts on slower nights, a couple of hours here and there. It helped. It was sensible. But after twelve weeks of healing, physical therapy,and learning how to trust my leg again, it was also driving me insane.
Slow isn’t for me. I crave the hustle and bustle, the noise, the constant movement. The stories people spill after a drink or two, and the town gossip passed between locals.
His clammy hand slaps the cash into my palm, but he doesn’t let go. I try to pull back at the same time he yanks me forward, my hips slamming into the counter hard enough to steal my breath. I wince, my pulse kicking into double time as I glance toward Connor.
Only it’s not Con.
Hunter’s stormy gaze locks onto mine before darting to the guy still gripping my hand. I try to smile—to defuse it, to tell him I’ve got this handled—but my man has been extra protective since we went all in.
“Let go of my hand,” I tell the guy, my voice steady even as my heart races.
“Oh, come on, sugar. Don’t be like that,” he drawls, his tone slick and mocking, like this is all part of the game.
His grip tightens, crushing my knuckles together. Pain shoots up my arm as his buddies chuckle beside him, tipping their shots back.
“The lady said let go.”
I attempt to pull my hand back again, but it’s useless. His grip doesn’t budge. My gaze cuts to the man who’s stepped up beside him, and every instinct I have goes on high alert.
His eyes are dark and knowing, as if they’ve seen too much and kept every secret. A scar cuts down his lower lip, drawing attention to the hard line of his mouth, and though he’s dressed in a long-sleeve tee, the ink creeping up his hands and along his neck tells his own story.
This isn’t a man who repeats himself.
He grabs the slimy guy by the arm and yanks hard. Hestumbles back, finally releasing my hand. I pitch forward, catching myself on the bar. Hunter’s there in an instant, his hands wrapping around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest.
“The fuck, man?” the guy shouts. “The pretty girl here was asking for it. Look at her in those boots, and that come-fuck-me smile she gave me?—”
“Cole,” Hunter cuts in, his voice low and lethal enough to send a shiver racing down my spine. “Get this piece of shit out of my bar.”
