I shouldn’t.
“No, I’m okay. But thank you.”
He tips a nod as he fills the cup with brown liquid and strolls to the end of the bar.
A man enters the bar, tall and dressed in all black. I take in a breath as heat washes over me, and I straighten on instinct.
This man is absolutely stunning. He has wavy hair, a swirl of caramel and copper. His hair matches with honey-hued eyes that only enhances his sharp jawline.
A chest cuts in front of my view, the pattern of flowers and leaves taking over. Another man with an untamed beard gives me a crooked smile.
I shoot him a polite smile and turn away, spinning my empty glass on the counter.
“Looks like you could use a refill. The name’s Owen.”
His words are slurred and eyes are glazed over. Is this man really drunk this early in the day?
“Hi. No thanks, I’m all good.” I give him another quick smile, then whip my head the other way.
“Oh, come on...” He puts his hand on my thigh, my skin crawling. “How else will you give me the time a day if I don’t buy you a drink first?”
“Sorry. I am spoken for.” I push his hand off of my leg.
I tell myself this isn’t a lie because, technically, I’m just waiting for the OK to meet my husband.
“Look, if you just don’t want me, say it. You don’t have to be a cunt about it and lie!” He pulls my stool, spinning me to him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I ask forgiveness from the Divine for my dirty mouth, even if it is just in my head.
“Hello there, gorgeous.” His deep voice washes over me. “Sorry I’m late. Work was a fucking disaster. I didn’t mean to make you wait.”
The man pushes past Owen.
Leaning back, he rakes his gaze down my frame.
I try to not shake from the goose bumps erupting down my spine at the combination of his voice and the way his eyes scan every inch of me.
I have no clue how to reply when Owen says, “This is your guy?”
“And who are you?”
The man’s voice grows cold.
“Owen. I was just keeping your girl company.” He wags his brows to me with a sloppy smile.
I cringe in my seat.
In a split second, the man turns to Owen, gripping his floral shirt in his fist and drags him in close. He whispers something into his ear I can’t hear, and the smile slips from his face, replaced with what looks like fear. He drops his gaze to the floor.
With a quick release of his shirt, Owen is stumbling away from the bar, not looking back at me.
“Sorry about that, gorgeous.” The man looks back to me as if nothing just happened.
“What did you tell him?” I ask.
I want to know what had Owen washed over with terror to run away from him. I am grateful that he is gone nonetheless.
