“I’m Ryan.”
“Okay.”
He laughs like I’ve said something charming instead of dismissive. “Feisty. I like it. Can I buy you a drink?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Come on. One drink. You look like you could use some company.”
“I have company.” I nod toward the table where the guys are still deep in conversation. “I’m with them.”
Ryan follows my gaze, then turns back with a knowing smirk. “The hockey players? What are you, a puck bunny?”
I bristle. “I’m a physical therapist.”
“Even better.” He leans closer, and I catch a whiff of cologne that’s way too strong. “So you’re good with your hands?”
Oh, for the love of—
“Look, Ryan, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested.”
“You don’t even know me yet.”
“I know enough.”
His smile falters, then hardens. “What, you think you’re too good for me? I’m just trying to be nice.”
“And I’m just trying to get back to my table. Alone.”
He doesn’t move. If anything, he shifts closer, leaning into my space. “You know, most women would be grateful for the attention.”
His hand lands on my waist, and I go rigid, anger and discomfort warring in my chest.
“Touch her again.” Zayden’s voice dropped to something low and lethal. He didn’t raise it—didn’t need to. He just moved into Ryan’s space, all six-foot-two of barely leashed violence, and the temperature in the hallway plummeted. “And we’re going to have a problem you won’t walk away from.”
Ryan goes still, then drops his hand.
I turn and see Zayden. His eyes are fixed on Ryan with an expression I’ve never seen before—cold, focused, deadly.
“We’re just talking, man,” Ryan says, but he pulls back.
“No. You were leaving.”
“Excuse me?”
“She told you she wasn’t interested. Twice.” Zayden’s hand comes to rest on my lower back—warm, steady, grounding. “So now you’re going to walk away, find someone else to bother, and forget this conversation happened.”
Ryan looks between us, calculation flickering behind his eyes. He’s sizing Zayden up—the height, the build, the fact that he’s clearly not someone to mess with—and whatever math he’s doing, the answer comes up in our favor.
“Relax, dude.” He moves away, straightening his shirt.
Zayden takes a step forward, and Ryan practically trips over himself backing away, disappearing into the crowd.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Zayden’s hand is still on my lower back, and I can feel every point of contact like a brand.
“You okay?” His voice is softer now.
“I’m fine. I had it handled.”
