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A few chuckles sound out around the room, but the spell between us is broken. She drops down to her feet, stepping back from me. A single step has never seemed so far.
I see the shock, the confusion in the blue of her wide eyes before she drops them, shutting me out.
“Al—” I try to say, but her hand twists my shirt over my chest and she shakes her head, refusing to meet my gaze.
“No, we can’t.” I’m not sure if she’s telling me or asking me, so I answer as though it’s a question.
“Yes, the fuck we can. We’re adults and can do whatever we want. And make no mistake.” I tilt her chin up, forcing her eyes to mine. “Allyson, I want you.”
Heart, meet silver platter. Okay, maybe it’s not quite like Bobby predicted because I’m not offering my heart. But I’m damn sure willing to give her my cock, even knowing it’s stupid as fuck.
She closes her eyes like that hurts her to hear. “I know. I’m sorry, Bruce. I just . . . I can’t.” She takes another step back, virtually running for the door.
When it comes to fight or flight, Allyson was always a fighter, but damned if she’s not flying away right now. Which pisses me off . . . at her, at me, at the fuckwit who interrupted us. As the door swings shut behind her, I whirl toward the pool tables. I’m definitely not a flight-er.
“Who the fuck is making my business their business? Because now, your business is mine,” I roar so loudly the rafters rattle.
The crowd quiets and scatters, leaving behind a couple of skinny farm boys who are already a few sheets to the wind. They’re both holding their hands up, and one says, “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare her away. Just . . . you know . . . WHOO!”
He pumps a fist in the air like he was trying to celebrate my possibly getting laid, like we’re friends. I don’t know this asshole from Adam, though.
I take slow, measured steps toward him, nothing fast or Hank, the bartender and owner, will pull out the Louisville Slugger he keeps beneath the bar. There’s no need to do that because Hank’s a good guy and I don’t want him getting hurt. I grab the asshole’s shirt, twisting the collar up so it’s nice and tight around his throat and he has to stand on unsteady tiptoes. His buddy has already stepped off into the circle of the crowd.
“What’s your name?” I snarl low, right up in his face. His breath reeks of beer.
“Bloomdale, Kyle Bloomdale. You’re my boy’s football coach.” He’s stammering, slurring words, but there’s a thread of pride running through them.
I don’t show my surprise, but I do set Kyle down on his feet. “You’re Killian’s dad?” He nods too fast and I sneer at what I see before me. “I didn’t know he even had a dad, seeing as he never mentioned you. Seems like he’s lucky to have his grandparents raising him. He’s a good boy. Thanks to them.”
The dig is knife-point sharp, taking the bluster out of whatever kinship he thought we’d have. He gapes like a fish and I hold his eyes as I yell over my shoulder,
“Hey, Hank? Kyle here is gonna be paying for my dinner, Allyson’s too, plus a tip.”
He whines and I stare him down. “Consider yourself lucky I’m in a good mood.”
I’m not really, or at least not anymore. But I was there for a minute with Allyson in my arms, her taste on my tongue, her body writhing against mine.
From the other side of the crowd, I hear Hank’s voice, smoker rough from the packs-a-day habit he broke years ago. “Sure thing, Brutal. You boys have a nice night, you hear?”
The threat of violence at Hank’s hand is woven through the nicety with the subtlety of a crowbar to the head. I chuckle darkly and turn, walking away and heading toward the door. The crowd parts for me like the Red Sea.
Once upon a time, I would’ve busted Kyle’s nose and walked out of here with his blood on my fists. I’d like to think I’ve grown up a bit since my misspent youth.
Some days that’s true, some days not as much.
Chapter 10
Allyson
Ding dong!
The doorbell chimes happily, and I set down the rag I’ve been working across the kitchen counter for the past ten minutes. It’s already spotless, but Sunday is my day to reset for the week ahead, a little something I call ‘bless this house’.
I’ve got laundry going, the bathrooms sparkle, and Cooper’s been dusting every flat surface for the last hour. He’s not the best at it, but I think it’s important for him to have chores so he develops a sense of pride and ownership. A sense of home.
