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Umm ick.
I can’t tell if his attempt was to flatter me into agreeing by calling me a pretty girl or if he was going the guilt trip route, but either way, neither landed successfully.
The groom is definitely drunk as well and smiles at me, “Ignore Marcus. He’s had too much to drink. And my fiancé isn’t a troll," he tells me and then stares over at Marcus. "…she’s your sister, remember that? Let her go, Marcus.”
“Yeah, Marcus. Let her go.”
I hear Seven’s deep voice behind me, and then I feel his chest press against my left shoulder like he’s about to take one step forward and put a six-foot-five wall between me and Marcus.
“Whoa, whoa, he didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just drunk and having a little fun,” one of the other friends finally pipes up.
“Yeah, he’s just being an idiot. We don’t want any trouble,” the groom pleads.
I look around at the other four guys, who are all looking at Seven like they’re all about to get their asses kicked. There’s a little tinge of fear in each of their eyes… all of them except Marcus’s.
“She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions,” Marcus says.
I pull my hand back again, and Marcus releases it this time, but he doesn’t take his glare off of Seven.
He squares his chest towards Seven like he isn’t scared, but there’s still uncertainty in his eyes about whether he can take Seven on and win.
…he couldn’t.
I’ve seen Seven in a fight on the ice once or twice on TV. If Marcus would like to skip a visit to the ER tonight, he’d better back off.
“She said she wasn’t interested, but you wouldn’t let her go. So now I’m going to let you and your friends off with a warning since there are kids currently in this restaurant, and I don’t want them to witness your blood splattered all over the floor," Seven says. "You and your friends are going to stand up and leave right now and swear that you'll never come back here again. Do you understand?”
“We understand, thank you. We’re leaving now,” the groom says as he pushes the guy sitting front of him, blocking his exit out of the booth.
Marcus doesn’t move an inch. He just stares Seven down.
“Do you have some kind of claim on her?” Marcus asks.
Seven takes a step closer, blocking Marcus’s view of me.
“I’ll tell you this. If I see you in here again laying a hand on any one of the female wait staff here, I’ll make sure you no longer have hands to jack off alone in your mom’s basement. Do I make myself clear?”
I swallow hard, hoping this time Marcus takes him seriously and leaves before he gets hurt.
I don’t really care about Marcus’s well-being, but I don’t want to see Seven get in a fight over me, even if he would level the idiot with one blow.
“We got it. We won’t come back,” one of them says.
Marcus’s friends swoop in front of Seven, risking life and limb to get their friend out of there. I watch as two of them manhandle Marcus off the booth seat and pull him toward the front of the entry.
Clapping erupts as soon as the five drunk idiots pass Marie’s hostess desk.
Seven turns around and looks at me as if we’re the only two in the restaurant. As if he doesn’t care that a packed restaurant of people just witnessed him threaten bodily harm to anyone who brings any unwelcome attention to the women who work here.
He reaches out, gripping my hand, which is down by my side. My belly flutters the moment our fingers touch. His grip is gentle but firm as he guides me to follow behind him. I could let go, and I know he wouldn't force me to follow him, but I don't want to let go, and I don't want him to let go, either.
He makes a beeline for the booth, where I already have my laptop bag packed since I figured we would leave after the dinner rush.
“Seven, where are we going?” I ask.
I'm not interested in protesting whatever he has planned; I just wish he would share his plans with me.
He reaches into the booth and grabs my laptop bag, slinging it over his shoulder.
