Page 48 of Through the Flames
I couldsmellhis weakness from here.
They were close enough for me to catch most of the conversation if I leaned the right way. He asked about her major, pretended to care, and interrupted her answertwice.
She smiled anyway, because Ella was nice, even when people didn’t deserve it.
He told her about his internship, about how “crazy busy” he was, and about how he barely had time for dating. I’d bet my fucking truck it was a lie.
Men like him always had time. What they didn’t have was the spine to admit when they were desperate.
Ella laughed once, softly, at something he said. It wasn’t real, though. I knew her real laugh, and this one was paper-thin, almost brittle. A laugh meant to smooth things over.
Her hands fidgeted with her napkin, twisting it under the table.
I wanted to take them in mine and steady them. Scratch that. I wanted to pull her in my lap, or better yet, fucking haul her out of here completely.
But I stayed put.
Because the time wasn’t right, not yet. Which meant right now, he was a problem I needed to solve.
The edges of my vision darkened the longer I watched.
Every careless smirk, every time he leaned too close across the table, and every flash of hunger in his eyes fueled the low simmering but steadily climbing fury inside of me.
He didn’t see her. Not the way I did.
This idiot saw nothing but a girl he might impress, a body he might touch if he said the right words. A fucking conquest. I sucked my teeth before taking an aggressive sip of my drink.
Ella deserved better thanhim.
So when he excused himself to the bathroom, I followed.
Whistling tunelessly, he was washing his hands, like he’d already decided the night was his. When he glanced up, he caught sight of me in the mirror.
I stepped up beside him, close enough to make him flinch. I was not above physical intimidation — if you’ve got it, flaunt it.
At six-six, I was already a big motherfucker, and as someone who pushed himself hard in the gym, my biceps were about as thick as his puny thighs.
“You Ella’s date?” I asked, my voice low and even.
He glanced sideways, his hands twitching. “Uh, yeah. Who’s asking?”
I smiled at my reflection, not him. “Someone who knows she deserves better.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
I didn’t repeat myself. Instead, I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the counter, caging his reflection in the mirror. He tried to straighten, but I was taller. Broader. And I wasn’t moving.
“You look at her again like you did when she walked in,” I said softly, “and I’ll break your fucking hands.”
His mouth opened, then closed again. A nervous, disbelieving laugh followed, as if he wanted so badly to believe I was joking.
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? I don’t even know you!”
“That’s right.” My eyes found his in the glass, and I let the smile slip. “You don’t know me. But I knowher, and I knowyou’renot good enough. So here’s how this is going to work: You’re going to walk back out there, apologize for having to cut the night short, and then you’ll disappear. If I ever see you near her again, I’ll make sure you remember the lesson.”
He scoffed, but his voice cracked halfway through. “You’re a psycho, dude.”
Probably.
