"I asked if you have something to say," Sloan said, not getting in the guy's face but definitely too close for my comfort. Close enough to take a swing if he wanted to.
"No." The guy shook his head. "Nothing to s-s-say."
He seemed terrified, and well, so was I.
And not because there were paparazzi and cameras everywhere, but Sloan looked like a man ready to fight for my honor. To be clear, no one needed to be injured on behalf of my honor. This was the twenty-first century, and my honor was just fine, even if some guy humped the air when I walked by.
"Sloan!" I called as loud as I could. So loud, my voice cracked.
After the performance and the overall excitement, screaming his name like that didn't feel great.
"No one messes with what's mine," Sloan said to the guy, low and deep and serious as hell. "We clear?"
The heckler had turned a strange shade of gray, but he nodded all the same.
Honestly, I think everyone in the vicinity nodded. Sloan was that serious.
Sloan nodded and smiled huge like this was Finn or Darius, and they were just shooting the shit. "Good. That woman is my wife. You see her ever again? You do not look at her. You do not talk to her. You turn and go the other way. You get me?"
The other guy nodded again, and honestly, I felt a bit gray myself.
Sloan started to walk back to me, but he stopped. Turned on his heel and said, "You ever have the chance to be in the presence of beauty like hers again? You show some goddamned respect."
I didn't know about everyone else, but I gulped. Hard.
Sloan said nothing else as he took his place behind me again. His slow gait and nonchalance made it seem as though nothing had happened.
"You need more security," he said, simply.
We were still in public, and I was riding on so many feelings all in a short period, I needed a second to process.
I waited until we got to the big, white, circus-style event tent. I pulled my husband aside, sighed, and said, "Sloan... what the hell was that?"
"That was a fucker who needed to be set straight," Sloan responded.
He didn't seem to understand why I might get distressed at his choice to approach said fucker.
"Security had it handled," I said, crossing my arms.
"I helped them," he replied. "The dude threatened you. That doesn't happen on my watch."
"This isn't your watch," I countered. "This is my job."
He didn't reply to that.
"And now, you've made a scene. Now, when I go into these interviews, what I say doesn't even matter because everyone is going to be talking about you and…and…Sir Humps-a-Lot!"
His expression faltered, and he was genuinely thinking about what I'd said.
"If I don't get to stop and sign autographs, you don't get to stop and play security," I said with a huff.
"Okay," he said.
"That's it?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"That might be my least favorite response of all the responses," I said.
