Page 33 of Small Town Firsts
He brushed his nose along my jaw and gave me a light lick. “Mmm, cherries.”
“Ugh.”
He tipped his head back with a booming laugh. Nothing about him was quiet or unassuming. Another three dozen glances and heads on swiveling necks were indeed my worst nightmare come true.
When Gillian flew out from behind the hostess station, her jaw slack with shock, I wanted the world to just swallow me whole. I knew I’d never hear the end of this for the rest of my life.
Maybe I would quit.
Gillian loved to make my life hell at work. She was the queen bee with her stunning face, sharp blue eyes, and acid tongue.
Unless Mason was around anyway. Then she was nothing but warm honey.
Ishouldprobably quit. Not that I had much time for nights here with my work at the Taproom. Even if the tips paid my rent for two months in one night.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Gillian called out as Ronan headed straight for the front door. Her gaze tracked down to where Ronan’s hand was on my ass and she sneered. “It’s not time for your break. And you’re making a spectacle of yourself—again.”
Ronan didn’t break his stride, just kept on going.
Gillian ran after us. “I don’t have coverage for you,” she shouted then stomped her foot as Ronan let the door swing in her face. Her hand came up to slap the window of the door.
The wraparound porch was still full of customers, all of them watching Ronan carry me like some hag.
“You are really living up to your name tonight, Viking.”
He gave me a feral smile. “Just wait until we get to the pillaging part.”
The laugh bubbled up even though I should’ve been outraged. “Think we already did that.” I hooked my arm tighter around his neck as he took the stairs two at a time through the crush of people.
He’d effectively stolen me from my job. What the hell was happening right now?
Gillian was still staring out the window, her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips as I glanced back at The Mason Jar rapidly disappearing from view.
Without the hum of voices pressing in on me, I noticed Ronan’s smile was a little forced. “I’m really okay. You can put me down now.”
“I really can’t.” His boots crunched over the gravel parking lot as he stalked to the edge of the property where his truck was parked.
“My car is the other way.”
“We’ll come back for your car.”
“Ronan—oof.”I linked my ankles as he twisted me to the front of him, my breasts flattening against the muscled slab of his chest and my thin, cotton pants curving to every ridge at the front zipper of his jeans.
He reached into the back of his truck and released the lever for the tailgate then set me down. His big hands gentled as they cupped my face. “Sure you’re okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve dealt with drunk idiots nearly every day of my life.”
He plucked a slice of orange out of my hair and tossed it over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, from where I was standing, it looked like more than just a drunk guy trying to grope you.”
I slapped his hand away when he fished out a cherry from under my neckline. “Would you quit that?”
“Just cleaning you up before you get in my truck.”
“Which is why I should be getting in my car.”
“While I agree your beater is not going to be hurt by your current state—no.”
“I’ll have you know Matilda is pristine on the inside. Mostly.” I tried not to think about the rusting spot on the back floorboard.
