Page 53 of Best Served Cold

“What the fuck?” Jonah says, finally sidling out of the booth. It’s obvious he’d like to be the one to throw a punch this time, and maybe I’d let him—a punch for a punch—if she weren’t in my arms.

I set her on her feet to give him his chance if he wants it. I’m surprised, and pleased, when she stays by my side, her body pressed to mine. Then she steps slightly in front of me, as if she can feel the violence brewing between my brother and me.

“We didn’t plan for it to happen, Jonah,” she says softly, firmly. “But Rob felt bad about everything that went down with the phone, so he checked on me a couple of times, and we got to talking, and what do you know? He and I havemuchmore incommon than you and I ever did. We’re in love. So I’m thankful to you for cheating on me with several women?—”

“Yup, he’s the STDs guy all right,” someone mutters, reminding me that we not only have witnesses buta lotof witnesses. My mind was so sandblasted by Sophie that it had erased all of them, leaving only fuzzy pencil imprints behind.

I glance up and feel all the eyes on us, hear the buzz of countless people talking in undertones. I tell myself it’s no different than performing on stage.

My gaze darts to the stage, where Travis is gawking at me. I grin sheepishly at him.

Out of nowhere, a fist comes flying at me, clocking me in the face. I stumble, caught off guard. In my periphery, I catch sight of Sophie thrusting out a hand to catch herself, clearly having been knocked aside. And then there’s Jonah, shaking out his fist with a look of shock on his face, like he’d forgotten there was an opportunity cost for throwing a punch.

Got to hand it to him, for a guy who doesn’t know his way around the gym, he got in a good one. The pain radiates from the epicenter of the punch like an earthquake.

But I’m more pissed off than injured. He pushed Sophie. Not fucking okay. And no way am I going to let him get in a second punch, especially not with Sophie and dozens of other innocent bystanders hanging out around us.

Before I can react, Sophie pours the tasty nonalcoholic drink on Jonah. “You…jerk,” she says. “I hope you choke on it.”

I need to get her away from him.Now.

I go for him, and we scuffle—in a dance that’s been familiar to both of us since we were kids—and I manage to get his arms pinned behind his back without much difficulty.

I glance around for Sophie, feeling the wild need to check on her, and she’s standing just behind me, wielding the empty glass as if preparing to thump Jonah with it.

She’s okay. Thank God she’s okay.

Blood is pumping through my head, in my ears, and through my injured nose.

“Ohgoodness,” I hear a familiar voice say. The crowd, which has moved back by a few feet, parts like the Red Sea to admit Dottie Hendrickson and a tall, built guy I recognize as Dylan, the tasting room manager and therefore Sophie’s boss. He’s a former Marine, and even though he’s known as “the Gentle Giant,” he’s not a man anyone with half a brain would like to piss off.

Hannah and Briar are following in their wake.

“What happened?” Dylan asks with a slightly dazed look. “We have a strict no-violence policy, as you both know.”

“Does that mean Briar and I don’t get to knee Jonah in the balls?” Hannah asks.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Dylan says with an edge of annoyance in his voice. “Now, what happened?”

Most guys would threaten to call the cops, or tell us to take it outside, but Dylan’s different. He likes to settle things himself to make sure people don’t come back and make more trouble. Too bad this problem doesn’t have an easy solution.

“Well,” an old man says, wiping his mouth and standing up from his seat. His date tries to pull him down, but he persists. “This idiot”—he points to my brother, who tries to struggle his way to freedom and fails—“came in with a boom box, saying he wanted to serenade that pretty lady, but she was having none of it. She climbed onto the booth seat to try to get away from him, so this other young buck comes in and swoops her off her feet and kisses her. The idiot didn’t like that much and punched him in the face. They danced a bit, and there you have it. You know, I wasn’t sold on the live show, but it was actually pretty entertaining. Garbage Fire indeed.”

A woman pipes up: “He’s that young man who has all the STDs. I’ve seen flyers about him all around Asheville.”

Hannah is shaking with silent laughter, while Briar looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Let. Me. Go,” Jonah says.

I set him free and take a step back. Jonah’s hair is dripping from the drink, and he’s shaking out his hand. I know it must still hurt. Good. My face does too.

Sophie places a hand on my lower back, letting me know she’s there, and I feel like we’re back at The Ginger Station, when she first put her arms around me.

“You’re fucking dead,” Jonah snarls at me. “You’re going to regret this.” He glares at Sophie behind me, and I immediately sidestep so he can’t get to her. Right now, I don’t even want him looking at her.

“Oh, no,” Dottie says. “I think he’ll be quite all right. Looks like little more than a love tap, and I have just the thing to help him. I have something to help you, too, young man.”

“Dottie,” Dylan says, and then someone else, another man, calls her name worriedly from the back of the room.

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