Page 74 of Iron

“That's so.” Freddie's smile doesn't move, but something behind his eyes sharpens. “Which means I've got opinions about who gets to walk in here holding his hand.”

“Fair.”

“You treat him right?”

“I try to.”

“Trying's not the same as doing.” He says it easy, no heat in it, wiping down the bar in slow circles, but the weight underneath is unmistakable. “That boy's had enough people in his life who tried and then didn't follow through. I'd hate to see you be one of them.”

“I don't plan on it.”

“Good.” Freddie sets the rag down, decision apparently made, and pours two drinks without asking what I want, sliding one across. “Because I will absolutely make your life difficult if you break his heart. I know people. I know everyone. I've been slinging drinks in this town for thirty years.”

“Noted.”

We fall into easier conversation after that, Freddie leaning on the bar between customers to tell stories about TJ at nineteen sneaking in underage, about Caleb behind the bar, about Geoff before he ever met Ben, and I'm half listening, half watching the dance floor, when I feel someone drop directly onto my lap.

I don't even see him coming. One moment I'm turning back toward Freddie, the next there's a tiny blond twink who can't be older than twenty straddling my thigh, grinding against my chest, glassy-eyed and grinning like he's just won something.

“Hi,” he says, way too close to my face, breath thick with tequila.

“Hi,” I say back, hands going up, trying to find a polite way to physically extract a stranger from my lap. “Um. You want to…”

“You're so big.” He's got both hands on my shoulders now, rolling his hips like this is the plan for the rest of the evening. “I love a really big guy.”

“I appreciate that, but…”

I don't get to finish because TJ appears out of nowhere, storming off the dance floor with a thunderous look on his face I've genuinely never seen before, not even at the gala. He grabs the guy by the arm and hauls him clean off my lap, no hesitation, no gentleness about it, dropping him onto the floor in a graceless heap.

“Get your own Daddy, bitch,” TJ snaps, loud enough that half the bar turns to look. “This one's mine, and I don't share.”

The kid blinks up at him from the floor, too drunk to fully register what just happened, and behind the bar Freddie's laughing so hard he has to brace both hands on the counter.

TJ rounds on me next, hands on his hips, still breathing hard from the dance floor.

“Did you invite that?”

“He just climbed on, TJ. I didn't invite anything, baby. Promise.”

“You could've moved.”

“He weighs about a buck twenty and was directly on top of me. There wasn't a lot of moving happening.”

TJ glares at the kid, who's finally scrambling back to his feet and stumbling off without a word, then glares back at me, though the heat in it is already starting to crack around the edges.

“I don't share,” he says again, quieter this time, mostly for me.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.” I catch his hand, tug him up onto my lap, close enough that there's no room left for anyone else to make that particular mistake twice. “For what it's worth, I don’t share either.”

“You'd better not.” He settles against my chest, some of the tension finally draining out of him, though he keeps one hand fisted loosely in my shirt like he's still deciding whether to trust the situation.

“Who’s going caveman now?” I grin.

He hrmphs. “Bitch was in your lap, Gavin. There’s a difference. Freddie, back me up. Tell him.”