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I’m not the lead guitarist who has problems when she looks at me – I’m just Ryker James to her, the man before all the fame caught up to me.
As I look around, there’s heated gazes trailing over her body, but she’s got her eyes closed as she loses herself to the beat of the music. The fact that she’s oblivious to their stares only makes me want her that much more.
When the song comes to an end, I pull her back to the bar where we left our drinks and wave a hand in the air for more – I’m not about to trust that no one came over and put something in her drink.
The restrooms are close, so I tap my hand down on the bar to her attention and give her a small smile. “I’ve got to go to the restroom. Will you be okay out here by yourself?”
She shrugs as she takes a sip of her new drink. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, it’s only about ten feet away.”
I know she’s right, but the way these guys are looking at her – like they want to devour her for themselves – makes me nervous to leave her alone and vulnerable to them.
She says she’s okay, I should listen to that.
My mind goes back to what she said to her brother, how she let him know that she's capable of taking care of herself, and that’s the only thing that has me rising from my seat without her following me.
It takes a few minutes to take care of business, but my steps come to a grueling halt when I notice a tall guy standing next to Wren’s chair as she leans away from him. Even from a short distance away, I can tell she’s not into him, and it’s only confirmed when she shakes her head at him.
Instead of walking away like most men should do, the guy chuckles as if her answer is funny and angles himself closer to her while placing his hand on the back of her chair. The blood in me heats up, hating that he’s close to touching her when I should be the one doing it, and I clench my hands together at my side.
I’m doing my best to think about the first yoga session when Wren had me let my anger free, but it does nothing to curb the craving to push the stranger away from my girl.
He says something else to her, leaning in too close for my liking – and hers, since she pulls away from him with a frown – and I quickly head in their direction with my eyes narrowed on his frame.
There’s a small tattoo on his forearm, but aside from that, he looks like the typical rich playboy who doesn’t like when women reject him. That much is apparent when he scowls at her, which happens at just the right moment because I come to a stop at Wren’s back with my arms crossed in front of me.
“Is there an issue?”
The guy glances briefly at me, then rolls his eyes. “Not really the time, man.”
His response is not helping. “Oh, I think it’s the best time,” I grind out while pulling Wren into me.
He watches my movement and smirks. “I get it. You want to take her for a ride yourself. You can have your chance when I’m through with her.”
“Excuse me?”
At this point, there’s no taming the anger coursing inside of me, and I know before I’ve done a single thing that it’s going to get bad. Wren senses this, too, because she places her hand gently over my arm, shakes her head with a frown, and looks at the guy before bringing her attention back to me. “Let’s just get out of here, Ryker.”
I hear what she says to me, but it doesn’t translate because as soon as she says that, the guy reaches over and grabs hold of her arm.
Hell no.
Within seconds, I’m standing between the two of them and knocking his hand out of the way, and a finger pointed at his face while mine grows hot with anger. “Touch her again, and that will be the last thing you do.”
He blinks, clearly not taking the hint that I’m about to kick his ass, and chuckles. “Come on, man, there’s nothing wrong with sharing.”
When he takes a step closer to her, I block his path and push him back. “There is when she doesn’t want anything to do with you. She’s said no, so walk away and take it like a man.”
“Ryker,” Wren says, her voice soft and angelic, like she’s hoping it will tame the anger inside of me. “Please, let’s just go.” She tries to pull me, but my feet are rooted in place as I stare down the man in front of me.
“You should listen to her,” he says.
“And if I don’t?”
Much like they do in the cheesy movies, he brings his hands up in front of him and cracks his knuckles while smirking at me. “I’m not sure you want to find out.”
Would it still be considered me snapping if he’s the one who throws the first punch?
We stand there staring at each other, both eager for the other to make the first move, and I’m brought to sweet relief when he slams his fist into my jaw.
