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I laugh, because if I don’t, I’d grab Asshat by the collar and go to town.
“What?” Brian asks.
“It’s just that—God, that’s good—you really thought she was waiting around for you.You.”
He narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means you need to walk the fuck away, or we’re going to have a problem. You come near my wife again—you call her or text her or reach out in any way—and I’ll be sending you to the hospital.”
His boys are looking at us. One starts to approach. I stand, roll back my shoulders. He stops.
“Fuck you, man,” Brian says.
Jen holds up her hands. “All right, y’all, that’s enough?—”
“Walk away.”
Coward that he is, Brian cuts me one last glare before turning around. His foot catches on a chair and he stumbles, catching himself on a nearby diner who visibly recoils from Brian’s beer breath. He and his boys disappear onto Stede’s patio, where there’s another bar.
I look at Jen and cock a brow.You were hung up onthatguy?
I know.She looks back.Iknow.
I sit. We eat and then order dessert. I can tell Jen is rattled, so I keep the flow of light, easy conversation going. The bill comes and Jen reaches for her purse. I grab her hand.
“C’mon, Abel, let me?—”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” I toss my Amex into the billfold. “You’re my wife. You don’t pay.”
Her lips twitch. “Okay then,husband.”
The way she says it—playful, voice sultry, eyes sure—goddamn, my dick’s got its own heartbeat now.
Which makes no sense. I’ve never wanted to be anyone’s husband. Hell, I’ve never wanted to be anyone’s anything.
But something in me is drawn to the fantasy of being Jen’s everything.
Of being her rock. The kind of stand-up guy Situationship isn’t.
I put my hand on the small of her back as we head out of the restaurant. People stare. I nod to a few slack-jawed locals and bite back a smile.
I hold open the door and Jen steps out into the night. It’s dark now. The air is cooler. Still humid.
And those guys are still here. Raising a racket at the little tiki bar on the patio. I slip an arm around Jen’s waist and restmy hand on her hip. Watch the motherfuckers in case they want to retaliate.
Jen looks their way too. “Let it be, Abel,” she murmurs.
“I won’t lay a finger on them. Not because I don’t want to, but because you asked me not to.”
She pats my chest. “Such a good husband.”
Brian must feel the heat of my glare, because he turns his head. Light spills from the patio onto the sidewalk, so he can clearly see that Jen and I have our hands all over each other.
A muscle in his jaw tics. I grin. It’s too easy, and too fun, to get under this guy’s skin.
Ten minutes ago, I was telling myself in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t allowed to kiss Jen.
But now I can’t resist. I have to fuck with Brian again. One more time. Just because I can.
