Page 73 of Wood Riddance
At one point, she put her hand on his arm and threw her head back in laughter. The sight combined with the sound made my eye twitch and my chest hurt. It was irrational, but the thought of her sharing those rare, beautiful smiles with any man but me made me see red.
“Tone it down, brother,” Gus warned, lining up his next shot.
I shot him a glare, willing the rage simmering beneath my skin to settle, but it was no use.
“You’re like a bull moose ready to fight over a mate. Let it go,” Jude added.
I clenched my fists. The anger I’d kept a lid on was beginning to boil over. I couldn’t let it go.
She was mine.
At least I wanted her to be. Desperately. I was a caveman, but I wasn’t delusional.
Obviously, with her consent, she’d be mine.
And Dylan fucking Markey was whispering in her ear and making her laugh.
I had several inches and at least thirty pounds on the guy, but he was strong in his own right. He could probably hold his own. And if he had the backing of an army of Gagnons behind him? Shit. Things could get ugly fast.
More than anything, though, I wanted to throw Adele over my shoulder and make sure everyone in town knew who she belonged to before I took her home to my bed.
Then I’d spend all night fucking her like she deserved. I wouldn’t stop until she begged me for forever.
Yes. That was my fantasy. I was clearly deranged.
It was late, the bar had mostly cleared out, and my mind was buzzing.
Not from the beer. I hadn’t even finished my first one, which had long ago been discarded. But from Adele. Her presence.
She was wearing her standard cotton tank and jean shorts. The edges of those shorts were frayed, and the tiny threads brushed against her strong thighs.
Shit, I wanted to drop to the dirty floor right here, regardless of the people still here, and kiss my way up those legs.
That impulse meant it was time to call it a night. I needed to get out of here, clear my head, and talk myself out of knocking on Dylan’s door first thing in the morning and punching him in the face.
I was headed to the bar to close out our tab when Dylan shrugged off his flannel shirt and draped it around Adele’s shoulders.
Instantly, my vision went red.
Nope. Not wearing his shirt.
My spine snapped straight and my vision tunneled on her, my brain on high alert. Like I was flying a combat mission and I had one objective. Get that punk away from my girl.
Without a moment of hesitation, I was striding across the bar at top speed. I dodged groups of people and a table of my mom’s friends who attempted to say hello.
Nothing registered except the rage pumping through my veins.
The thought of his clothing touching her precious skin sent me into a tailspin, and before I could come to my senses and consider the consequences, I was standing next to her, pulling myself up to my full height, and growling in Dylan’s direction.
Unbuttoning my own shirt to reveal the white tank underneath, I shrugged it off, even as several sets of wide eyes landed on my bare arms.
I stepped between them, boxing Dylan out entirely.
“You cold, She-Ra? Here,” I growled at Adele and jutted my chin. “Take that shit off.”
She looked up at me slowly, her eyes narrowed and her gorgeous mouth set in a firm line of disapproval.
“Go away, Stretch,” she said. “I don’t want your shirt.”
