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“I didn’t know they served cotton candy here. Mind giving me a little taste?” a deep male voice that I don’t recognize says over my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I ask, turning around to find the offending hand and who it’s attached to.
This is the second time someone has touched my ass without asking tonight, and I’m not happy about it.
The hand in question belongs to a middle-aged man with slightly unkempt hair and glazed-over eyes. He’s had too much to drink.
Great, just my luck.
“What did you just say to her?” Isla says, turning around with me glaring at the man in front of us.
In the corner of my eye, I see Slade get up out of his chair and head straight for us.
Oh no… not him.
Anyone but him.
The drunk opens his mouth to speak, “That little blue dress looks delicious, care for a dance?”
"We're having a girl's night, so find someone else to dance with,” Isla says.
“And please don’t touch me again.”
Just as I get out the last word, Slade storms in and grabs him by the collar, lifting him off his feet.
“Did I see you just touch her? Do you have a fucking death wish?” Slade asks.
“Slade… stop it. Put him down,” I plead, looking around to see that all eyes in the bar are now on us.
But it doesn't take long before Lake, Brent, and Kaenan are headed for us, too, and Seven and Reeve start walking over from the back corner of the bar where Seven just finished and won the tournament.
“He doesn’t get to touch you or speak to you, for that matter,” Slade grits out, staring at the guy.
“I barely touched her,” the drunk says.
Lake walks up first, rolling his sleeves up, and I know how Lake gets when someone messes with any of us girls.
“What happened over here,” Lake asks.
“Nothing, Lake… it’s fine,” I tell him, not needing any more reinforcements to something that Isla and I had under control.
I hear Oakley walk up behind us at the bar.
“Charley, what the hell are you doing in here? You know you're banned for life. Get out before I call the police again.”
“The police aren’t the worst of his problems,” Slade grits out, pushing Charley sideways towards a dark corner of the bar.
It may be construed as ungrateful by people watching on, but I wasn’t in need of saving at that very moment, and Slade has a reputation for being a loose cannon on and off the ice.
“Slade,” I say, stepping between him and Charley.
Charley takes the opportunity of Slade releasing him to slink away when I create a distraction for his escape.
“I don’t need your help. I had it under control,” I grumble. “Just like I didn’t need your unsolicited help with Sean Klein back in college either. Stop butting in where you don’t belong.”
I look back over Slade’s shoulder to see that everyone in the bar is still watching us.
Every time that Slade gets involved, he finds a way to humiliate me in front of my peers.
