Page 72 of This Kind of Forever
Her tone alone should be enough to give him pause, but the guy doesn’t listen. He continues to box her in against the pool table, uncaring that she’s leaning away from him. There’s a flash of panic in her expression.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he croons. “Let’s get out of here. Go somewhere more private.”
Her spine snaps straight. “No, thanks. I think I’m done playing now. I need to get back to my friends.”
Deacon leans toward her, but before he can say something else, I speak through gritted teeth. “I believe she asked for some space.”
WhenDeaconlooks at me, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, you again. Didn’t you get the hint before?”
I step closer, angling between him and Hallie. Hand on his chest, I shove him back a step. “You want to talk about hints, let’s talk about hints. How about we start with the fact that she isclearlyuncomfortable with you touching her? Yet you don’t seem to give a fuck. How’sthatfor a hint?”
“Gabe,” Hallie says. She clutches the back of my shirt, trying to pull me away. “I’m fine.”
“See?” Deacon’s expression is smug as hell. “She’sfine. Wouldn’t want to cause a scene for nothing.”
I step forward, crowding his space the same way he did Hallie’s. “I wouldn’t consider giving you a well-earned lesson on respecting women to be nothing.”
“Hey,shecame to me. I was doing what she wanted.”
“Until she changed her mind, and you conveniently stopped caring about what she wanted.”
His lip curls. “Whatever, bud. She’s not worth all this shit.” He shrugs. “She’s not even that hot.”
People have said many stupid things in my presence, but this takes the goddamn cake. Though it’s not hard to believe he’d be the type of man whose ego is so fragile, he has to mask the sting of rejection by insulting the very woman he was just trying to sleep with. Not only that, but it’s not eventrue. Hallie Foster is beautiful in a way that commands acknowledgment.
“Say it again,” I dare him. Anything to give me the justification to give him a bloody nose.
“Gabriel.”
I don’t take my eyes off Deacon. Vaguely, I sense that some of the chatter around us has died down, which means a good chunkof the bar is looking our way. This establishment isn’t a stranger to bar fights, and they’re probably all wondering if they’re about to get a front row seat to the next one.
God, do I want to. My parents would be disappointed as hell, and I’m not sure I could look my daughter in the eye if I got arrested for hitting someone, but wiping that look off Deacon’s face would feel phenomenal.
“Gabriel,” Hallie says again, louder. She fists my shirt and tugs on it hard. “Let’s just go. I want to go home.”
I finally look at her. The satisfaction I would normally feel from her calling my placehomeis drowned out by the overwhelming feeling of dread. The expression on her face is one I haven’t seen often, if ever.
She’sangry.At me.
I take a step back from Deacon, and he scoffs, walking away. After a moment, the people around us return to their own drinks and conversations, disappointed the altercation didn’t turn into an all-out brawl.
Placing my hand on the small of Hallie’s back, I lead her away. She goes stiff at the contact, but she stays close, letting me part the crowd. At least she isn’t retreating from me completely.
We meet up with Luke halfway back to the table. He was probably on his way to intervene, to pull me back before I did something I would regret. Because that’s what he does.Big brother to the rescue.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. I’m not good. Not until I talk to Hallie.
Our group is quick to slip their jackets on and finish off their drinks. Then we all file out to the parking lot. No one utters a word about the tension radiating between me and Hallie. In fact, no one speaks at all, even when Clara and Delilah take turns wrapping their arms around Hallie, who is shaking like a leaf.
She won’t look at me.
The drive home is eerily silent.
Luke and Delilah get out of the truck first. My brother loops an arm around Delilah’s waist when she stumbles, and then I watch them climb the porch to her front door. Once they’re inside, I head for Clara’s apartment on the main street. She lives above The Dusty Rose, the café and bakery most locals frequent almost daily.
When I roll to a stop outside her building, my sister unhooks her seatbelt and then leans forward between the front seats. “Thanks for the drive,” she says. She kisses my cheek and then pats Hallie on the head. “Goodnight, kids. And good luck.”
