Page 134 of The Right Kind of Wrong

The band had just taken a small break, and lively chatter broke out now that there was no twangy music pumping through the speakers.

At least the three of them were a united front where Noah was concerned. Monroe very much doubted that Blake would hang out with someone who still called Noah Duvall a friend.

Monroe looked toward him as he started walking between the tables, glad-handing as he went. Slapping men on the back like they’d just scored the game-winning touchdown.

Monroe rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself from baring her teeth. “I’m not going to say anything if you don’t want me to, Blake, but let me be clear that I would be oh so happy to tell him to get bent. In fact,” she added, “you don’t even need to say it. Just squeeze my hand, and I’ll take it from there.”

“He can’t be stupid enough to come over here,” Holland said, though it soon became apparent she was deeply overestimating Noah’s intelligence.

He had to be the dumbest man in the entire universe, given the way he swaggered straight up to the table when he noticed Blake sitting there.

His too-thin lips (in Monroe’s humble opinion) twisted into a sneer. “It’s so good to see you out and about, Blake. It’s been a minute. Didn’t know if you were still off licking your wounds.” Then, he tipped his cowboy hat up with a flick of his finger, looking past Blake to Monroe. “I’m Noah. And who are you?” he drawled.

She kept her voice calm even though, inside, she was ready to get into a brawl on the wooden planks beneath their feet. Now, she thought that it would be Dean who would be proud of her. “We didn’t get the chance to meet when I dropped you into the dunk tank. I’m Monroe.”

His smile faltered, and he stood up a little straighter, clasping his hands around his belt buckle. He clicked his tongue and gave her an appraising stare.

Gross.

“Are you new to the area?” he asked, looking between Monroe and Blake. Monroe had forgotten how beady his eyes were. “Seems like it, since you don’t exactly know the right sort of people to be spending time with.”

The fact that he had a whole-ass wife and new baby at home aside, everything about him made her skin crawl. Genuinely, and she’d never make Blake feel badly for it, she could not understand what had made it possible for her to stay with Noah for so long.

Her lips pulled into something that maybe, possibly passed for a smile. “Is that so? And what type of people should I be spending my time with?” she asked, leaning forward into Blake’s space.

Blake, mercifully, squeezed Monroe’s hand under the table as her chest brushed against Monroe’s shoulder.

Yes.

Monroe was ecstatic from both feeling the press of Blake against her and because she couldn’t wait to eviscerate this worm.

She knew that Blake didn’t need Monroe to save her, but damn if she didn’t relish the chance to deflate this puny man’s ego.

Noah started to say something, but Monroe cut him off. “The kind of men who leave their wife and brand-new baby at home so that they can go out and hit on women right in front of their ex-wife? Those kinds of people?”

Noah bristled. “What the fuck? You can’t talk to me like that.”

Monroe smiled, genuinely this time. This was kind of fun. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. What the fuck?” She looked at Holland, then at Blake, before turning her attention back to Noah, whose mouth was agape. “What kind of loser would do that? Then I met you, and now I don’t have to wonder about it anymore.”

Holland let out a low whistle, which attracted the attention of even more people around them.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Noah seethed, puffing out his chest.

“I’ve never been great at the veiled Southern insults thing, so let me be clear: You’re the bitch, Noah. And the next time that you think about saying a word to any of us, reconsider it and keep your flat ass moving along.”

Pop.

Even though Noah was trying—hilariously hard, in fact—not to turn around, the people around them instinctively looked behind him, just to see if Monroe was telling the truth.

Which she was, obviously.

His whole face turned crimson, and he pushed his friend, who was staring at his ass and laughing.

“What the hell, man?” the guy said, squaring up to Noah. “What was that for?”

“Not even a chance,” Lainey bellowed from the microphone that she had behind the bar. For what, Monroe wasn’t sure.

Maybe instances exactly like this one.