Page 2 of Next in Line
“When what?” the girl asks.
“When are you going ice fishing?”
“Right now, of course!” she retorts, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll need a pole and a fishing hook as well, please. And whatever you use to break the ice.”
Marv looks down the girl’s body, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “Do you have more clothes than what you’re wearing?”
“I have gloves,” the girl replies, digging into her pockets and producing a pair of fingerless gloves. They look like children’s gloves, gold sparkles and all. She puts them on and waves her fingertips to Marv, who does not look impressed.
“Darlin’, I can’t let you go ice fishing in that getup. You’ll freeze to death, and my old heart can’t be worrying over you out there all alone in a spring jacket.”
“This has down feathers!” she exclaims, pulling her black jacket tight around her body. “It’s really warm. It just has the illusion of being lightweight.”
He tsks. “Those boots there are worse than a pair of summer waders. Your feet would get cold in those if you were fishing from the shore in the spring, darlin’. I’m sorry. I won’t be selling you bait and tackle today. You look more like a warm weather darling anyways.”
The girl lets out a strange noise from her throat. “Oh, come on. I’m trying to step out of my comfort zone here and I am so tired of being labeled, I could just scream.”
“I’d like to hear her scream when I’m balls deep in her,” a man old enough to be her father mutters not so quietly from behind me.
My teeth crack as I clench my jaw and turn around just as his buddy high-fives him. Toothless smiles greet me as if they think I’m joining in on the joke. I open my mouth to say something but am pummeled in the shoulder by the young girl as she launches herself at the two men.
Everyone erupts into shouts as she shoves the big guy with all her might, but she only ends up knocking his camo hat off. Big guy looks scary pissed, so I quickly wrap my arms around the girl’s waist and lift her off the ground to yank her back away from him. He leers at her, almost perversely turned on by her attack.
“Easy, sparky,” I murmur into her ear as a whiff of her floral shampoo invades my nostrils.
“Say that to my face, you old pervert!” the girl shouts, flailing her arms as if she’s going to claw the man’s face off. One benefit of her fingerless gloves, I guess.
The two assholes blink slowly at her, clearly feigning innocence as I struggle to hold her back. She’s a wiry one, for sure. A lot tougher than she looks.
“Come with me,” I urge, pulling her away from the group of men who clearly just want to entertain themselves with this spectacle. I move around to face her with my back to the guys. I grab her shoulders and look her square in the eyes. “They’re fucking dicks and not worth it. Your actions are just encouraging them, so I’m asking you to please come with me.”
Her eyes resemble burning sapphires as they connect with mine for a split second before I hear the man say in a deep tone, “I’d kill to see her come on my cock.”
As soon as she hears his words, the girl stills beneath my hands, her bright irises fading right before me. She curls into herself as she looks around, taking in our audience. Her eyes begin to water around the edges—and a familiar sense of unease creeps up in my belly.
I have three sisters.
I know that fucking look.
And I don’t like it.
Clenching my jaw, I release her shoulders, turn on my heel…and deck the ass-fuck square in the jaw.
The satisfying punch propels him into his buddy, and they both topple to the floor, clearly not expecting my swing. My pulse thunders in my veins as men begin pushing in on us to break up the fight. What they don’t know is there won’t be a fight. I knocked that fucker out.
Without a word, I do a one-eighty, grab the shocked girl around the waist, and practically carry her away from the swarm of men all grappling for a look at the fallen prick.
I suck in deep, cleansing breaths, trying my hardest to lower my blood pressure so I don’t turn around and knock out his high-fiving loser of a friend as well. It’s been a decade since I hit someone. Apparently, it’s like riding a bicycle…you never truly forget. I’d worry about someone calling the cops, but I’m ninety percent certain everyone in that bait shop wanted to deck the fucker too. Something tells me no one is calling anyone.
I guide the girl through the tackle shop and into the small attached diner. It’s decrepit like the rest of the place, and full of old folks slumped into the worn booths and wobbly, mismatched chairs. Thankfully, the smell of grease and musty vinyl is calming, and I need to be calmed right now.
The girl appears to be in shock as she slides into the red corner booth out of sight from the rest of the bait shop. I picked this spot on purpose because I definitely don’t need that fuckwad eyeing her or me while I try to figure out what the hell to do with this spark plug.
Looking down at her, I watch her pick at her nails nervously, her hair sheeting her face so I can’t see her expression. She’s clearly freaked out, and I can’t say I blame her. That scene was ugly.
However, I’ve been to Marv’s hundreds of times, and I know it’s a safe place. What happened today was not the norm around here. But since it did happen, there’s no way I’m letting this chick out of my sight until things blow over.
I pull off my Carhartt winter coat and wool hat, running a hand through my copper hair before hanging them on the hook alongside the booth. I silently offer to take her coat, and without looking up at me, she quickly slips out of it and hands it over. Her jacket feels as light as air as I hang it on the hook with mine. Marv’s assessment was probably spot-on about not letting her go out in this thing.
