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Her skin flushes right up into the hairline of her silvery brown hair as she wags a finger at me. “If only I were thirty years younger,” she laughs. “As it is, this woman needs her beauty sleep, and I haven’t got the energy to chase a strapping, blonde, tattooed bear of a man around town.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I reckon you’ve still got it in you,” I flirt.
“You, Hendrix Hammer, are a charmer.”
I shrug. “If the shoe fits.”
She drops her gaze to my size thirteen feet, then slowly raises her gaze up my body, letting out a peel of laughter. “Frankly, I don’t even know how it would fit.”
Now it’s my turn for my cheeks to flush. “And there’s me thinking you’re one of the innocent ones.”
Her laughter erupts as she turns her attention to the only other occupants in the cafe at this ungodly time in the morning. “I’ve had my fair share of bad boys in my time,” she throws over her shoulder.
“I’ve no doubt,” I mumble, rubbing at my temples as a headache starts to bloom. “Fuck, I really need to get some sleep.”
“Mama, he swore!” a childish voice accuses, reminding me that I’m not the only person in the cafe this morning.
“Sorry,” I mumble, eying the kid sitting at the table opposite. He eyes me right back.
“It’s fine,” the woman with him replies, her hand wrapping around her kid’s shoulder protectively.
Well, I’m assuming he’s hers given they look so damn alike in every way but the shade of their eyes and the colour of their hair. Where his are both dark brown in colour, her eyes are a pale shade of green, her hair the colour of warm honey. She’s pretty in an understated way.
My eyes flick to meet hers, and I give her a polite dip of my head as she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. I can’t help but notice the lack of a wedding ring, and the way her fingers tremble.
“Don’t mind him,” Daphne pipes up, chucking a grin over her shoulder. “He might look like someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night, but he’s one of the good ones.”
“Thanks, I think?” I mumble, catching the look of… fear scattering across the woman’s features. I guess she sees what most people do. It kind of comes with the territory.
Besides, I’m used to that kind of reaction. If I look like I could crack a person’s head open with one punch it’s because I can. I might look like a thug on the outside, and act like one when the need arises, but that’s the reputation I’m required to maintain, not want.
“May I have the bill, please?” she asks Daphne, and something about the way she draws her son closer and the skittish way she flicks her gaze away reminds me of a time I’d sooner rather forget.
“Sure thing, sweetie. Just give me a moment,” Daphne replies, heading off to the counter to ring up her bill.
“I apologise,” I say after a beat, as she quietly reminds her son not to stare. “For swearing in front of your boy.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbles, not lifting her head as she swipes a napkin across her little boy’s face, collecting the chocolate smudged around his lips from the hot chocolate he’s just guzzled down with gusto.
“You know, Mama says it’s rude to swear,” the little boy adds, pushing his mum’s hand away so he can give me a curious smile. “Why do you have so many drawings on your body?”
I chuckle, resting my tattooed hand against the counter, the word love written across my left knuckles to match hate written across the right. Original, I know. “Well, firstly, your Mama’s right. It is rude to swear.”
“Toby, that’s enough. Leave the man to drink his coffee in peace,” the woman warns, shushing him.
“It’s okay. You’re right to teach him his manners.” I give her a warm smile, hoping it makes her relax a little. I don’t like the idea of making this woman uncomfortable. I might spend some of my nights scaring the shit out of the men who fuck off the families I work for in this town, but that doesn't mean I want to do the same here. I’m not a complete arsehole.
“I also told him not to speak to strangers,” she mutters, casting me another concerned look as she drops her gaze to my thick tattooed arms, and the numerous tattoos inked into my skin.
Pulling the sleeve of my hoody down, I grin. “Well, if you know my name, I won’t be a stranger anymore, right?” I say to her son. “Toby, is it?”
“Yes,” he nods, brushing a flop of hair out of his eyes that just falls back into them seconds later.
“Well, Toby, my name is Hendrix Hammer, but everyone around here calls me Drix. Nice to meet you.”
“Except that lady, she called you Hendrix,” he points out, grinning at me.
“Very observant, kid. And whilst that’s true, most people call me Drix.” I lean across the aisle, holding my hand out to him. He takes it instantly, his tiny hand slipping into mine as I gently shake it. Behind him, his mother stiffens.
