Page 11 of When The Dust Settles

“Fuck you, Glenn,” he retorted, getting up, but not before knocking my glass of ice water into my lap, just to be a dick.

Everybody laughed, and I was left with a wet spot on my crotch that made me look like I pissed myself. And people wondered why I didn’t spend more time with my family.

Walking back from the bathroom over loose, rocky gravel, I tripped and would have done a nosedive if someone hadn’t closed their hand tight around my arm.

“Careful.”

I would have rather wiped out than talk to him twice in one day.

“Watch what you’re doin’.”

“I’m fine,” I growled at Mac, cursing my annoyance and the sort of daze I was moving around in. I was usually more coordinated.

“No,” he contradicted. “You were about ready to fall on your face.”

“Yeah, so? Ya wanna medal?”

He shook me and I lifted my head so I was gazing up into his eyes.

“You should go home, Glenn. Go back to your restaurant where you belong.”

“I can’t,” I griped. “I’m covering for Everett and—”

“We’ll get along just fine without you.”

I knew he would, they all would, but I was paying Stef back, and that was more important than anything else. “Oh, I’m sure you will,” I said snidely. “But I’m here to do the job that was asked of me.”

I tried to tug my arm loose, but he was bigger than me, and stronger, so until he wanted to let go, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“We don’t need you to do nothin’.”

I sucked in a breath because the silver flecks in his eyes were really something to see.

“You hear?”

I’d never asked Mac where he was from because, honestly, wherever it was, he should have stayed there, but it was definitely not West Texas like the rest of us. His voice was softer, richer, with a sprinkling of something in it that only came out when he was mad.

“What?” he asked suddenly, scrutinizing my face as though something had changed.

I shook my head because there was no way I was ever going to tell him the warmth of his voice could have gotten me right out of my clothes. For one, straight men didn’t tend to enjoy hearing things like that, and for two, he was a prick.

He jerked me closer and I had to lean my head back farther—he was so damn tall—and his stormy eyes narrowed to slits.

“How come you’re so skinny?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I ain’t skinny,” I assured him. “I’ve just been busy. Most days I don’t get a chance to eat.”

Slow nod from him. “But other days you run?”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve seen you running at night.”

“How?” I asked, trying to wiggle my arm out of the death grip he had on it. “Aren’t you in bed at like nine or so since you gotta be up by four?”