So this fucker has been bothering her. The knowledge pours gasoline on my anger that might fucking take off any moment now. I curl and uncurl my hands at my sides, ready to punch this fucking prick for disturbing her.
“I know the game. But no need to play. I’m interested, all right.”
She turns around and crashes right into my chest. With my hand wrapping around her back, I support her. She’s safe. I have her. Nothing will happen to her. I repeat that like a mantra but it’s not enough to ease me, still pumped to knock the fucker out.
She giggles as she looks up at me with her bright green eyes. I want them to only ever see me.
I cup her cheek, and as she leans into my touch, she closes her eyes for a moment, smiling brighter than any star.
“Hi, reckless boy.”
“Hi, flower girl.”
“Hey, dude,” the bastard says, interrupting our moment. “We’re having a conversation here. Find yourself another one.”
My chest heaves with ragged breathing. With my attention set on her, I forgot about him. This asshole is testing my restraint right now.
“Are you deaf, dude?”
I pin him with a death glare. I guess the alcohol flowing through his veins is giving him beer muscles.
And then he does something even stupider, making ignoring him impossible. He grabs her ass and says, “This’s mine to tap tonight.”
I don’t think, I react. Shoving him back, I am about to punch him when Lilly curls her hand around my arm, eyeing me intently.
“He’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
She’s right. I am about to do that when he says, “Slut.”
I thrust my palms out, pushing him with all my strength. The asshole trips, dropping on his ass.
“Stay down or I swear you won’t get up a second time. And now fucking apologize,” I grit out, channeling some calmness that has eluded me since the asshole insulted her.
My blood boils to beat him to a pulp, but an audience has gathered, some phones already out and recording.
Lilly takes my hand, intertwining our fingers, and whispers, “Baby, it’s fine.”
My heart pounds stronger at the endearment, each booming beat a vow to cherish and protect her.
My jaw sets in a firm line. “Drunk or not, no one gets away with calling you that. Never.”
Caressing along my hand with her thumb, she soothes my anger like nothing else.
“He doesn’t matter.”
I hear the snap of photos being taken, but I can’t focus on that because her touch feels so good.
Some guy helps him up, whisper shouting something at him. The asshole sways on his feet and says, “Sorry. My bad.”
Lilly offers a strained nod. I place my hand on her back, guiding her to the car, but it’s more to anchor me and not turn and fucking kill that prick.
Reaching my car, I open the passenger door for her. This will be all over the news tomorrow. I couldn’t fucking care less. When it comes to her, I’d cross any limit—legal or moral.
“Are you okay?” I ask, feeling a bit calmer now, but the residual anger simmers low under my skin. Fucking asshole.
She places her palm on my hand, which is gripping the wheel so tightly that my knuckles whiten.
“I am,” she says softly and waves her hand in the air as if erasing the incident. “He was drunk.”
