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“I didn’t,” he insists as he presses a towel filled with ice against his knuckles. “I know where I’m hitting.”
“Do you think he’ll really sue you?” I ask.
“I don’t fucking care if he does,” Keegan says and then reaches out to drag his fingers down my cheek. “When I saw his hands on you, and you fighting to get away, I saw red.”
“I guess so. Let’s finish work and talk about it later.”
I can see that he wants to pull me to him, and I know that we’ll have to talk this through later. I can’t have Keegan beating up every man who says something inappropriate.
But Scott took it way past inappropriate and into assault.
And that’s what I tell the cops when they arrive with the ambulance.
“And you have witnesses?” the cop asks.
“I have a bar full,” I assure him. “He was awful, and once outside, threatened to rape me.”
He sighs. “He’s had other complaints filed against him. When the hospital’s done with him, I’ll book him—if you want to press charges.”
“Yes.” I raise my chin and look him in the eyes. “I want to press all the charges. He can’t do this to anyone else.”
“Good.” The cop smiles. “Very good.”
When I return to work, the pep has left my step, and the adrenaline is gone, leaving me a little shaky and a lot tired. But I’ll be damned if I let another man like Troy or Scott ruin my day or make me run away and hide.
I’m a bit more careful in my flirtation with the customers, and I certainly don’t touch anyone in greeting. But I paste a smile on my face and get through the rest of the night just fine, holding it together until I can go upstairs with Keegan and see to his knuckles.
It’s my turn to take care of him.
Chapter 12
~Izzy~
“Your knuckles look sore,” I say the next morning as I help Keegan with the morning delivery. It’s been a couple of days since the incident in the pub. Keegan didn’t want me to clean up his knuckles for him. He just needed me.
And that didn’t include sex. He wanted to hold me, to make sure I was safe and sound, all night.
And I was happy to be with him.
I don’t know that I’ve felt so cherished and respected before.
But I wish he’d let me tend to the open cuts on his hand.
“They’re not too bad.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “I understand that you don’t want me to make a big deal of it, but you don’t get to lie to me about it either.”
He glances up from his invoice and arches an eyebrow. “Okay, they hurt like a bitch, is that what you’re wanting to hear, Isabella?”
“Yes, actually, if it’s the truth.”
“There’s no need to make a fuss.” He sets the invoice on a box and glances around. “I don’t know where I put the box cutter. I’ll be right back.”
He wanders out of the room, and I reach for the invoice. I quickly glance down the page and frown when he walks back into the room, box cutter in hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“This must be a mistake. It says that you ordered five gallons of orange juice.”
“No, that’s right.”
“I just dumped two gallons the other day because they’d gone bad, and we had like three more in the fridge.”
“We order five gallons every week.”
“But we don’t use them. And it says you bought two cases of vodka, but there’s still a lot of vodka out there under the bar. This is an Irish pub. People come here for Guinness and Irish whiskey.”
“I know what kind of pub it is, love.”
“I’m just saying that you didn’t have to order this much stuff. We don’t sell that many OJ drinks in a week.”
“We have the standard order every week.”
“There’s at least a thousand-dollars-worth of liquor and other non-essentials that we won’t use—or could have waited on for a week, Keegan.”
“So now you know how to run a pub, then?” He folds his arms over his chest.
“No, not at all. But I minored in business in college, and I know my way around an invoice.”
He rubs his hand over his mouth in agitation, and I don’t understand why he’s being so defensive about this. I’m just trying to help. To save him some money.
“I think you should stick to waiting tables and leave the bar ownership to me.”
I purse my lips so I don’t say something I’ll regret later. I don’t have to be here. I came to help him out, the way I’ve done for the past few weeks.
But I think it’s best if I just go ahead and leave for a bit. I reach for my purse, set the invoice on a box, and turn to go.
But before I walk through the door, I turn back to him. “You know, it’s kind of refreshing to know that you’re not perfect, after all.”
