Page 120 of Almost Ours
Drunk. Smug. A walking reminder of exactly the kind of guy who didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
I’d noticed him earlier, loud and sloppy with his buddies at the bar, knocking back whiskey like water. But I hadn’t expected him to drag his sorry ass over to our table.
His hair was dishevelled, and his tie hung loose around his neck, as if he’d barely managed to keep himself together long enough to get here.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he drawled, leaning in far too close to Harper, his grin lazy and arrogant. “How about a dance?”
Harper leaned back slightly, her polite smile tight. “No, thank you.”
He smirked, eyes raking over her. “Come on… one dance. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“No,” Harper said again, firmer this time.
He chuckled low, like she’d just set him a challenge. “Don’t be like that. You’re too pretty to be sitting here wasting your night… unless you’re saving yourself for coach over there.” His smirk cut toward me. “He keeping your kid on the team for more than just hockey? I bet you’re real fun to be with.”
Before I could even process it, Shanes’ voice came sharp. “She said no, buddy.”
Matt didn’t even glance at him. “Mind your business. I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You are now,” Shane said, his voice cool but loaded.
Matt turned back to Harper, his grin twisting meaner. “Sweetheart, I’m just trying to show you a good time. You looklike you need a real man for once. Not some washed-up has been with anger issues.”
When he reached for her arm, brushing his fingers along her sleeve, something in me snapped.
I was on my feet before I even realized I’d moved, my legs bumping hard against the edge of the booth as I shoved myself upright. The sudden motion made the vinyl creak and the conversations at nearby tables falter into silence.
“For the last time, she said no.” My voice came out low, steady, dangerous.
Matt blinked up at me, swaying slightly, like it took his whiskey-soaked brain an extra second to catch up. “Oh, look at this, Ryan Barzal–Brookhaven’s little charity case who thinks he can throw his weight around. Is this the part where you lose your temper and swing?”
Shane was already on his feet beside me, arms crossed, looming. “Careful,” he warned, voice even. “You’re about two words away from regretting this.”
Matt let out a mocking laugh. “What, you two her bodyguards now? You think I’m scared of a couple washed-up jocks?”
From across the room, one of the hockey dads–Pete–pushed away from the bar. “You should be scared of making an even bigger ass of yourself, Matt. Walk away.”
Matt caught sight of him and let out a humourless laugh. “Wow, you’ve got the whole damn town lining up to play hero. You must have been making the rounds since you moved here.”
I took a step forward, ready to grab him by the collar and toss him out myself–until I caught something out of the corner of my eye.
Harper.
She had gone still. Not just tense, but stiff, like every muscle in her body had locked up. Her fingers curled into tight fists in her lap. And when I shifted slightly closer, she flinched.
It was small. Barely a movement. But it hit me harder than any punch ever could.
I froze.
The anger burning in my chest turned to something colder, heavier.
I forced my fists to unclench. Took a step back. Swallowed down the need to do something.
The bartender, a woman with a glare sharp enough to cut glass, was moving toward us. “Time to leave before you’re tossed.”
Matt’s sneer faltered. His gaze darted between us, weighing his odds. Finally, he muttered something under his breath and staggered back toward the bar.
I sank back into my seat, my body still tight with tension, and my pulse still thrumming with the urge to do something–anything–to make up for the way Harper had stiffened when I got too close.
