Page 32 of Diesel

“Ollie.”

“I’m serious. Put me down.”

Setting him on his feet, I kept one hand on his shoulder just in case he decided to make a run for the door. He didn’t. Instead, he spun to face me, his expression a mix of fury and embarrassment.

“That was—” He stopped, running both hands through his hair. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“You were defending me.”

“I was about to assault Gerald.” His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists again. “I don’t do things like that. I don’t threaten people. I don’t—”

“You did tonight.”

“Because he was being mean to you.” The words burst out of him, sharp and angry. “Sitting there all smug, acting like he’s better than you because his painting looks nice. And then he had the nerve to tattle like we’re in kindergarten? Who does that?”

“Gerald, apparently.”

“I hate him.” Ollie started pacing, his boots crunching against the gravel. “I hate that he made you feel bad about your painting. I hate that Miss Patty spent the whole night treating you like you didn’t belong. I hate that I even suggested we come here. You’re not trash, Diesel, not even if your name is fuel.”

A sensation punched through my chest, knocking the air right out of my lungs. Ollie didn’t notice, too busy seething.

Fuck. I rubbed my sternum. My wolf had just chosen Ollie as its mate.

“Ollie.” I kept the shock out of my voice.

He kept pacing, his rant picking up speed. “And the flask thing? Who cares? You paid for the class. You should be allowed to drink whatever you want. It’s not like you were being disruptive or bothering anyone. The sip part never said it had to be wine. It says you just have to sip. You were sipping! You were just sitting there, trying to paint, and they made it into this whole thing because—”

“Ollie.”

“—because they decided you didn’t fit their idea of what someone at a paint and sip should look like, and that’s bullshit. Complete bullshit!”

He headed back toward the door. I steered him away with just one hand.

“I want our paintings. I worked hard on mine, and yours was blobby sunset.” He glanced up at me, eyes wet. “We painted those together. They’re pieces of our journey, Diesel.”

Pivoting, I headed back inside. Everyone was gathered by Gerald’s easel, talking in hushed tones. Conversation died when I walked through the wall of beads. Eyes wide, Gerald ducked behind Miss Patty.

Ollie would’ve wiped the floor with him, but I refused to let that happen. His hands were clean and were going to stay that way.

“Diesel,” Miss Patty said.

“Just grabbing what we paid for.” I lifted Ollie’s painting first, cradling it carefully. The paint was still wet. Then mine, not with as much care.

They’d ruined Ollie’s evening. He’d been looking forward to tonight, and two narrow-minded people had taken that from him. They needed to consider themselves lucky they were still breathing.

Chapter Six

Ollie

Diesel set aside the paintings as soon as we walked into my house. I couldn’t believe how alive I felt right now. Gerald should consider himself lucky that Diesel grabbed me. No one talked smack about my man. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my hands shake. The encounter at the paint class had my entire body buzzing like I’d chugged five energy drinks. I couldn’t stand still, pacing back and forth in my living room.

“Someone’s wound up,” Diesel said, watching me closely.

“I was ready to fight him.” The words tumbled out fast and breathless. “I’ve never wanted to hit someone that badly in my entire life. Gerald’s stupid smug face and his stupid perfect painting and—”

“You defended me.” Something soft entered his expression. “My hero.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my mouth. Raising my arms, I flexed, showing off biceps that were decent but nothing compared to the mountains Diesel was packing. “Damn right. Nobody messes with my man.”