Her eyes resemble burning sapphires as they connect with mine for a split second before I hear the man say in a deep tone, “I’d kill to see her come on my cock.”
As soon as she hears his words, the girl stills beneath my hands, her bright irises fading right before me. She curls into herself as she looks around, taking in our audience. Her eyes begin to water around the edges—and a familiar sense of unease creeps up in my belly.
I have three sisters.
I know that fucking look.
And I don’t like it.
Clenching my jaw, I release her shoulders, turn on my heel…and deck the ass-fuck square in the jaw.
The satisfying punch propels him into his buddy, and they both topple to the floor, clearly not expecting my swing. My pulse thunders in my veins as men begin pushing in on us to break up the fight. What they don’t know is there won’t be a fight. I knocked that fucker out.
Without a word, I do a one-eighty, grab the shocked girl around the waist, and practically carry her away from the swarm of men all grappling for a look at the fallen prick.
I suck in deep, cleansing breaths, trying my hardest to lower my blood pressure so I don’t turn around and knock out his high-fiving loser of a friend as well. It’s been a decade since I hit someone. Apparently, it’s like riding a bicycle…you never truly forget. I’d worry about someone calling the cops, but I’m ninety percent certain everyone in that bait shop wanted to deck the fucker too. Something tells me no one is calling anyone.
I guide the girl through the tackle shop and into the small attached diner. It’s decrepit like the rest of the place, and full of old folks slumped into the worn booths and wobbly, mismatched chairs. Thankfully, the smell of grease and musty vinyl is calming, and I need to be calmed right now.
The girl appears to be in shock as she slides into the red corner booth out of sight from the rest of the bait shop. I picked this spot on purpose because I definitely don’t need that fuckwad eyeing her or me while I try to figure out what the hell to do with this spark plug.
Looking down at her, I watch her pick at her nails nervously, her hair sheeting her face so I can’t see her expression. She’s clearly freaked out, and I can’t say I blame her. That scene was ugly.
However, I’ve been to Marv’s hundreds of times, and I know it’s a safe place. What happened today was not the norm around here. But since it did happen, there’s no way I’m letting this chick out of my sight until things blow over.
I pull off my Carhartt winter coat and wool hat, running a hand through my copper hair before hanging them on the hook alongside the booth. I silently offer to take her coat, and without looking up at me, she quickly slips out of it and hands it over. Her jacket feels as light as air as I hang it on the hook with mine. Marv’s assessment was probably spot-on about not letting her go out in this thing.
I slide into the booth across from her and do my best not to check out her tits beneath her fitted gray sweater. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice deep from the spike of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
She nods woodenly as she tucks her hair behind her ears.
“Are you sure?” I ask again, noting the tremble of her gloved hand. Her fingertips look cold as ice. “That guy was a fucking dick, so I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t.”
She swallows slowly and stares down at my hand fisted on the table. My knuckles have some faint red splotches where my fist connected with his face. Nothing I haven’t seen before.
“I’m fine,” she mumbles and wrings her hands together.
I exhale heavily. I just knocked a guy out right in front of her. Of course, she’s going to be scared of me. “I’m sorry for what I did. And I’m doubly sorry for what he said.”
She looks up at me with narrowed eyes. “Do you know that guy or something?”
“Fuck no,” I reply, jerking back. “I’m just apologizing for all mankind, I guess. We can be dicks. But I want you to know the other guys who frequent Marv’s here are nothing like those two fuckwads. I’ve never seen them before, so I know damn sure they’re not from around here.”
She half smiles and looks around the cozy diner, her eyes sliding from one old fisherman to the next. “It looks like a retirement community in here.”
I follow her gaze to the elderly man in a wheelchair who’s playing cards with few other blue-hairs. “I think you mean a nursing home for Colorado’s finest,” I murmur out of the side of my mouth. When I hear a small huff of laughter come from her, I’m somewhat relieved to see she’s not totally shook up from everything.
The wheelchair man catches us looking at him and gives us a big toothless smile with a delicate wrist flick of a wave. I find myself smiling back at the sweet old guy. Looking at her, I see she’s smiling too. It’s a genuine smile that’s so sweet it could give me a toothache. And somehow, with just that one look, I can tell this girl is good people. She may seem a touch crazy today, but deep down, she’s a decent person.
She turns her head to face me, her eyes lingering on my whiskered chin. “I’ve never had a man punch anyone for me before,” she states curiously. “Let alone a stranger.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lower my chin. “Are you about to yell at me for interfering in your business?”
“No,” she retorts, her brows knitting together in the middle. “I think I probably owe you a thank you.”
“I’m shocked,” I reply, shooting her a lopsided grin. “I have three older sisters who would have my head if I meddled in their business and freaked out like that.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Three older sisters? How did you end up so…?”
“Masculine? Virile? Rugged and courageous?” I waggle my brows at her and puff out my chest.
She pulls her lips between her teeth as she attempts to conceal her laughter, and a deep dimple emerges on her left cheek. “So what, you just go around knocking assholes out to impress girls?”
“No,” I reply simply with a shrug. “Impressing girls is just a fringe benefit.”
“Seriously, though, how’s your hand?” she asks, whipping off her gloves and reaching for my hand.
When her skin touches mine, the connection can only be described as electrifying. Like feeling the pins and needles sensation in your hand after it’s fallen asleep. She quickly grabs a paper napkin and fishes some ice out of the cup sitting on our table to put inside it.
“That water was from whoever sat here before us,” I state, my tone flat.
Her nose wrinkles, but then she shrugs one shoulder. “Oh, please. If you can handle fish guts, you can handle some secondhand ice.”
She holds the ice to my knuckles, and I prop my chin on my free hand, watching her with rapt attention as she tends to my battle wound. She catches me staring at her and shoots me a mischievous smirk. “I feel like I know you.”
I lift my brows at that. “Did you grow up in Boulder?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I have this…I don’t know…comfortable feeling around you. Like you remind me of someone I know really well. Do you ever meet people, and feel like you knew them in a past life?”
“I don’t know if I believe in past lives,” I reply honestly. “I think you just hit it off with some people, and others you don’t. You’re just totally hitting it off with me because I’m so incredibly charming.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses my hand away, causing the ice to fall out of the napkin in the process. Hitting me with a serious look, she says, “I hope you realize I’m not going to fall for a bearded ginger knight in shining armor type.”
I bark out a laugh at that description. “Oh, I know! If you don’t fall for Marv’s charm, then you certainly won’t fall for mine.” I reach up and stroke my chin. “And this is called ‘tangerine toughness’ by the way.”
When she giggles, it makes her look young, which she clearly is, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s at least twenty-one.
“I wouldn’t call your beard tangerine…more like a dark red kidney bean. But regardless, you gingers are lucky that Prince Harry brought you back in style,” she says with a smirk as she chews her lower lip in a way that makes me think she is flirting with me.