What?In what world do I look like a cowboy? “Uh, no. Actually, I?—”
The bartender sets my three pitchers of beer down in front of me, thankfully saving me from having to continue this conversation. I pull out my wallet, and hand the guy behind the counter my card. When I go to grab the handle on all three of the pitchers, the chatty guy beside me stops me.
“Here, let me help you.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I mutter. “I think I can get it.”
“Don’t be rude,” he replies, grabbing one of the pitchers anyway. “If someone’s offering to help you, just say thank you.”
What the fuck?Is this guy for real?
“I didn’t ask for your help.” When I try to take the third pitcher from his hands, he jerks back, some of the beer sloshing over the side onto his hand.
“Hey, jackass, I don’t think he wants your help.”
At the same time, me and the stranger turn our heads to look at the source of that voice.Boone.His eyes are lasered in on the guy in front of me, and boy, does he look pissed.
“Mind your business, dude,” the guy sputters, still not giving me the pitcher.
Boone steps closer, towering over both of us at this point. “I’m not your fucking dude,dude. Now, I suggest you give him back his beer before I have to drag you outside by the collar of your preppy-ass shirt and really embarrass you.”
Holy. Fuck.Why is Boone being pissed off and threatening someone so fucking hot?
The guy is staring at Boone, wide-eyed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He barely looks at me before he’s shoving the pitcher my way, spillingmorebeer. “There. Happy?” he asks Boone.
What I swear is a growl rumbles in Boone’s throat. “No, I’m not happy. You spilled beer all over his hand. Get him some napkins before he gets all sticky.”
“Th-that won’t be nec?—”
Boone cuts me off. “No, it will be necessary, G. Nobody is going to disrespect you and get away with it.”
Annnnnd I’m officially turned on.A flush creeps across my cheeks at the authority in his voice, and the way the guy scrambles to grab a stack of napkins off the bar behind him, shoving them at me.
“Here.”
“Very good,” Boone murmurs, voice sickly sweet and slightly deranged. “Now, apologize.”
“Dude, you must be joking.”
“I thought I told you I wasn’t your fucking dude, and do I look like I’m joking? Apologize for making him uncomfortable and for spilling beer on him. Here, let’s practice.” Boone clears his throat with a fist to his chest. “Say, ‘I’m sorry for being a douchebag. I’m overcompensating for what I lack in the bedroom.’”
The guy scoffs, rearing his head back like he got sucker punched. “Fuck off, I’m not saying that.”
A maniacal grin pulls on Boone’s full lips, the mustache, I swear, making him look more evil. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,dude.” He gestures over to our friends, where they’re already all watching us. “See those guys over there?”
Dudenods.
“We’re a bunch of crazy motherfuckers who think our idea of a good fucking time is wrangling wild bulls and broncs. And we don’t much appreciate people disrespecting one of our own, and Grady here is one of us. So, I will repeat myself one time, and one time only, before I drag your ass out of here, and we all take our turns showing you how much wehatedisrespect. Am I making myself clear?”
Nodding, the guy at least has the decency to look a little frightened now. Not that I blame him. Boone is a massive man, in more ways than one, and I wouldn’t want him talking to me like that. Now, watching it? That’s a whole different story.
Boone smirks. “Good. I’m waiting.”
The guy drags his wide eyes from Boone to me. “I-I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable and spilling your beer.”
“Ah-ah,” Boone cuts in. “That’s not what we practiced. Say it correctly.”
“Boone,” I breathe, wanting to get away from this situation already.
