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“Outside!” Rachel and I yell in unison. I’m not in the mood to deal with a bunch of emotional armchair quarterbacks tonight. “Before I toss you out by the ear,” I mutter.
“Water,” Hunter says, his lips curving up.
Once upon a time, he spoke full sentences to me. “What’s the magic word?” I keep my tone light, almost flirty.
His hazel eyes sharpen, and heaven help me, his lips twitch again. Almost a smile. What would it take for a full Hunter Dawson smile? I haven’t seen one in ages.
“Please.”
I reach for a glass. “You want dessert?”
Ask me if I’m on the menu, my heart begs.
He shakes his head, but the heat in his eyes, the way his gaze lingers on my hands, says otherwise. We’re both starved for the same thing, and a burger or cheesecake won’t leave us satisfied.
“Okay, well let me know if you change your mind.”
He gives a single dip of his head. As I pour his water, my phone vibrates in my back pocket while his chimes on the bar.
The family group text.
They’re like an invisible chaperone. Freaking cock-blockers.
I’ve always wondered but never dared to ask where his reluctance came from. Was it the age difference or because he’s besties with my dad? Would he have held me at arm’s length these last few years if he’d never met my family?
Ignoring my phone, I move down the bar, taking orders and filling drinks. During a lull, I make a water with lime and gulp half the glass down before I’m back at it. All the while, Hunter sits there like a sentinel, nursing his water after he finishes his burger and fries. Regulars stop to chat with him, but they never stay long. Probably because the man won’t speak more than a handful of words at a time.
Cheers echo off the walls, and an equally fervent chorus of boos dampens the excitement. The scent of freshly grilled burgers wafts to my nose as I carry a tray of beer to one of Rachel’s tables. Suddenly, a chair abruptly scrapes against the floor. Someone shouts the F-word. And that’s when the world slows.
I’m vaguely aware of the energy in the room changing. Bodies moving. Shoving. The sound of a fist connecting with flesh and a resounding ‘Oof,’ and an elbow comes out of nowhere, ramming against my temple so hard my head snaps around.
My vision goes dark.
THREE
hunter
Unable to stop myself, I track Piper’s path across the room. She’s wearing sensible sneakers, form-fitting jeans, and a tank top that clings to her torso. A slightly oversized button-up hides some of her assets, which I love and hate.
She starts handing out the beer from her tray. Her smile is back, and my heart squeezes, wanting one of those for myself.
Behind her, there’s a swell in the crowd of football fans. Someone shouts a profanity, and a split second later, the pushing starts. I’m off my chair before the first punch spins a guy around.
“Piper!” She doesn’t register my shout. Instead, she half turns. Her tray and the last beer crash to the floor.
A guy rears back to throw a punch, and my body surges with adrenaline and fear. Time slows, my raging pulse drowning out the sounds of the room. My overactive imagination plays out the scene before me, filling my head with awful things like a dream. A nightmare. The kind where you can’t move, and all you can do is witness a tragedy.
Piper getting hurt or worse.
Back in the here and now, an elbow connects with the side of Piper’s head. A cry tears from her lips, and she jerks away, cradling the side of her face.Fury batters me. Three strides, and I’m across the bar, shoving the son of a bitch who hit Piper. He topples into the rest of the group, and the fighting stops immediately. I turn and pull Piper’s crumpled form into my arms, nestling her against my chest.
“I’ve got you, honey,” I whisper.
“What the fuck, man?” There’s a hard shove between my shoulder blades, but I don’t budge. “This doesn’t involve you.”
But around him, no one’s moving. A group of regulars have closed ranks. They glance from me to her to the prick and back, expectations in their eyes. Like they’re waiting for me to protect my woman.
My woman.
