I winked up at her and asked, “Who cooked my usual?”
She smirked, “My dad.”
I grinned, “And who cooked my second usual?”
Yes, I was asking as if she didn’t know what it was.
She chuckled, “My mom.”
I paused for a beat, and then I asked, “And who cooked my favorite?”
And just like it always did, her cheeks tinted pink.
Fuck. Me.
She giggled, trying to hide it, but it was there, all the same.
“I did,” she said softly.
I winked, “Then you know what I want.”
She spun around then and headed to place my order.
And yeah, I watched her go.
Those long-tanned legs, those thighs that had that jiggle, that rounded ass that would overfill my big hands, but I was here for it.
To say I wasn’t an ass man would make me a fucking liar.
And here I sat, four months from turning thirty-eight years old, and she had just turned twenty-four. I was too goddamned old for her.
But man, do I wish that weren’t the fucking case.
I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about Harlee Belle.
See what I mean... I wasn’t good enough for this girl.
Even though I wasn’t good enough for her, the motherfucker who just whistled in her direction in the blue polo, khaki shorts, tennis shoes, sure as fuck wasn’t good enough to lick the bottom of her sneakers.
With that single thought on my mind, I braced my hands on top of the table and stood.
Then I casually walked over to where he was sitting and, without thought, I tagged the fork and slammed it into his hand, getting low, using my big body to block out anyone from seeing what I was doing.
In a low tone I reserved for pieces of shit, I said, “You’re going to pull your wallet out and place enough to cover your meal, along with a nice tip. Then you're going to get up and walk out of here with your eyes on your feet. Get in your vehicle and drive away. Never coming back here. Am I clear?”
His face was white, his teeth gritted in pain, as he asked, “And if I don’t?”
I grinned, hoping he would go that route.
“Well now, see, that all depends,” I said. Letting a smirk play along my lips.
The piece of shit asked, “On?”
“Oh, a few things. See, you can make it easy on me and do exactly what I said. Or I can remove this fork, jerk you out of this booth with my hand wrapped around your throat, haul your ass outside, and then slam this fork into your tiny pencil dick. Or I can do the second but take you to my truck and drive you out to some very infested swamp land. Your call.”
“I’ll have you arrested.” He gritted out.
I grinned, “See, that’s the thing about small towns. Everyone knows everyone around here. And about a third of our little population is related. So, imagine your surprise when you hear that the woman you whistled at, the very same woman, just so happens to be beloved by this entire town, if not this entire county. But she’s especially loved by her godfather, who just so happens to be,” I paused, grinned, then said, “the Chief of Police.”
