Page 8 of Rowan: His Exception

“That you talk too much.”

I can’t help but laugh.

It's either laugh or throw my fucking coffee at him.

"Tell me something, Rowan Cross from Cedar Ridge, Montana. Do you have to practice being an asshole, or does it come naturally?"

For the first time, something flickers in his eyes. It’s not amusement or irritation, but something darker. Something else about this man that makes my pulse kick up a notch.

"It comes naturally," he says.

Lou shakes her head. "Don't let him fool you. Rowan's got a soft spot."

"No, I don't," he says flatly. "Soft is for pussies."

Lou rolls her eyes. "You keep telling yourself that, honey."

He ignores her, his attention already shifting to the door as three guys walk in, laughing. One of them looks to be in his twenties, already sunburned, grinning at Rowan like they're old friends. Two more follow behind him, all college frat boy energy.

"Well, hello," Sunburn says, sliding onto the stool next to me. "Are you from around here, sweetheart?"

I don't look at him. "Nope. Just leaving."

"Stay a while. I'll buy you another coffee." He leans in close enough that I can smell his cheap cologne. "Or whatever you want."

I turn to face him. "What I want is for you to fuck off back to whatever frat house you crawled out of."

His smile disappears while his buddies laugh behind him, and he shoots them a look that says shut up. "Bitchy. I like it," he winks.

"I bet you won’t like what comes next if you keep on."

Before he can answer, the air in the room shifts. I feel it before I see it. Rowan's still holding his coffee, still not looking at us, but something's different. His shoulders are tighter. The muscle in his jaw is ticking. He's staring into his mug like he's imagining snapping someone's neck.

Sunburn notices too. "You know this guy?" he asks me, nodding toward Rowan.

"That is none of your business."

"Everything's my business when you're sitting there with your legs open like an invitation, sweetheart."

Rowan sets his mug down. Slow and deliberate. The sound of ceramic against Formica is somehow loud enough to make Sunburn flinch.

"Say something like that to her again," Rowan says, not looking up, "and I'll break your fucking jaw. Now get out."

Sunburn opens his mouth, then thinks better of it. He slides off the stool, muttering something to his friends, and they shuffle out the door like scolded dogs.

Lou watches them go, then looks at Rowan with raised eyebrows. "That was almost protective."

"Wasn't," he says flatly.

"Sure looked like it from where I’m standing."

"Looked wrong."

I hide my smirk behind my own mug. The mountain man has a temper. Who knew.

I finish my coffee and slide a twenty across the counter. Lou pushes it back.

"It’s on the house."