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“You’re welcome.”
Paige watched him walk away for a few moments, before turning her attention back to the array of concert shirts. She’d just decided which one she was going to buy for herself when the person in line next to her bumped her shoulder, enough to push her forward quite a bit. Almost immediately, she felt a hand at her waist as if the person was trying to steady her, and she glanced over in shock to see a man in his mid-thirties, looking more than a little drunk. He also smelled like weed, either because he’d actually been smoking it himself or had just been sitting on the lawn where everyone had been lighting up.
“Sorry about that,” he told her as he leaned in close, his words a little slurred.
“It’s okay,” Paige returned with a fake smile before attempting to pull away from him.
Instead of letting her go, the man shocked her further by tightening his hold and putting his other hand on her hip, then looking her over rather thoroughly. Per David’s request, she’d dressed like she was going to a concert, in distressed skinny jeans, ankle boots with three inch heels, and a black, off the shoulder blouse with an elasticized neckline and three-quarter sleeves with tight, ruffled cuffs. It was simple, whimsical, and sexy, and David had approved wholeheartedly.
The guy with his sweaty paws on her apparently liked it, too. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, finally dragging his glazed eyes up to her face. She had opted for slightly dramatic make-up, heavy on the eyeliner and lipstick, and had curled the hell out of her hair to make it a little wild.
And now, this guy was making her regret it.
“None of your business,” she replied, hunching over a little bit, her entire body stiff. His unwanted touch was conjuring up dreadful images of Carter, and Paige found herself struggling to stay in the moment and not try to mentally escape—to remember her training and breathe calmly in through her nose and out her mouth.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“None of your—oh, you’re a little salty. I like that,” he chuckled, blasting her with alcohol fumes, which further reminded her of Carter, whose favorite drink was anything with vodka in it. “I’m Chase, by the way.”
Paige didn’t know if he was aware that his hand had moved north, his fingers just cupping the underside of her breast, but she was hyper aware of it. Her heart was now pounding, her skin cold, and she felt herself draw inward, becoming smaller. The people standing in lines around her faded away and she felt her world shrink to just herself and the man with the iron grip. “Get your hands off me, Chase.”
The words weren’t delivered as strongly as she’d wanted them to be. Paige could hear the slight tremor in her voice, but she was proud of them anyway because she’d at least been able to say them.
Frowning, he tilted his head back to get a better look at her, still maintaining his grip. “What’s the problem, sweetheart? I thought we were getting along, here.”
His derisive tone was bad enough, but the expression on his face was even worse. It said he thought the ‘problem’ was entirely hers, clearly without value or substance, and he didn’t give one shit about it.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
To her shock, Paige felt the breathing exercises actually working a little bit. Her heart rate slowed from a gallop to a trot and her fear started to leech away. She could actually feel it leaving her body and being replaced with a steel resolve to dispatch this guy … because he’d earned it. Paige didn’t care if he was drunk and might be a nice guy when sober, because she wasn’t dealing with that guy. She was dealing with the guy who thought he had the right to call her ‘sweetheart’ and put his hands on her, then make it seem like it was her ‘problem’ for not wanting any part of it.
Well, she was going to educate him and make him understand that it was his problem, not hers.
School was in session.
Paige smiled—this time a real one—and locked eyes with him as she took the hand on her hip in hers. Chase responded with a self-satisfied smile, probably thinking she’d changed her mind. She let him continue to think that for a few seconds before grabbing his thumb with her other hand and twisting it in the wrong direction, at the same time rolling his wrist.
His smile instantly vanished and he cried out in pain. “Fuck, let go!”
“You’re lucky I’m not holding onto your dick, instead, sweetheart,” she told him.
He stared at her, seemingly shocked at her cold delivery. “I was just trying to be friendly. You don’t need to be a bitch—”
“Don’t you dare call me a bitch. Not wanting your hands on me doesn’t make me a bitch. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. So what makes you think I want your hands on me? The only man who gets to touch me—because he has permission—is the man I came here with tonight, and that man isn’t you.”
Paige could see people watching them in her peripheral vision, but she kept her attention focused on Chase, who was now looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“Do you have a sister?” she asked.
“What?”
“Do. You. Have. A. Sister?”
“Yes.” His answer came out laced with pain.
“What’s her name?”
“Amy.”
