Page 40 of Untruly With You

“Hey, gorgeous, mind if I cut in?” a voice slurs, the words dripping with insincerity.

I look over to see a guy around our age leering at Laine. Instinctively, I tighten my grip around her.

Laine smiles at him politely but shakes her head. “No, thanks.”

The guy's smile falters, eyes narrowing. “Come on, sweetheart, don't be like that.”

“She said no.” My voice comes out harsh and rough, like a true Davis man.

His demeanor shifts from annoyance to aggression in an instant. He reaches out for Laine's wrist. I push his arm away and step in front of Laine.

“Hey, back off,” I demand, trying to keep my control.

The guy's face turns red. I can tell by the smell of his breath that cheap whiskey—and lots of it—fuels his aggression. “And who the hell areyou?”

“Her boyfriend.”

He grumbles something under his breath and reaches around me to touch Laine again, this time his hand grasping at her hip.

Without fully realizing what I’m doing, I’m shoving the guy’s chest so hard he trips over his boots, landing hard on his back. “Don’t touch her.”

He’s so drunk he struggles to stand. I take the opportunity to guide Laine toward the door. “Let’s go,” I murmur. “Are you—”

Before I can finish my question, I’m being knocked against the wall from behind. I spin around just in time for the guy’s fist to connect with my jaw. Sharp pain webs across my face like a thousand bee stings. My head strikes back against the door frame, but I barely register it. I nudge Laine to the side before balling up my fist, ready to fight back.

But before I can retaliate, Laine puts her arm on mine, and it's as if someone doused me with water, my concern for her overwhelming my anger. “He’s not worth it,” she urges, her eyes wide.

Laine laces her fingers with mine and pulls me out into the parking lot.

“I’m so sorry,” I say once we’re in the truck, the doors locked. My adrenaline is wearing off quickly. “Are you okay, Laine?”

She lets out a quick laugh. “Me? You’re the one who gotMillion Dollar Baby’d in there.”

“You’re okay?”

Laine reaches over and holds my face between her hands. “I’mfine. I promise.”

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You were having fun. I should have just pushed him outside, not let him ruin the night.”

Her hands move down, lingering on my neck, and she scoffs. “You’re not the one who grabbed my ass.” I make aface of disgust at the thought of what happened, and she adds in a playful tone, “Not thatyougrabbing my ass would ruin anything.”

“Hilarious,” I say, deadpan, feeling warm all over again.

Laine drops her hands into her lap, and I immediately miss the feeling of them against my skin. “A Costco trip and a bar brawl,” she muses. “I’m checking off bucket list items left and right. But we should probably get out of here—getting our tires slashed isnoton that list.”

As we pull out of the parking lot, I rub the back of my head to ease the throb of pain. My palm is wet with something hot and wet.Shit.Not wanting to make the night any worse, I keep my hand over the blood, pressing into the cut from the doorframe in an attempt to both slow and hide the bleeding. Apparently, it doesn’t work, because it takes only a few moments for Laine to notice the red seeping between my fingers.

“Sutton!”

“I’m fine,” I insist, smiling at her and praying that will dismiss her worries.

It doesn’t.

“Pull over!”

At the sight of the worry in her eyes, I do as I’m told, the truck rumbling against the gravel as we slow to a stop.

Laine pulls my hand away and directs my head so she can examine the cut. She rakes through my curls. “It’s a pretty deep gash,” she whispers. “We should go clean you up.”

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