I smirk at the way his mouth gapes open like a fish gasping for water. Red wine drips off his face before dripping onto the front of his now-stained dress shirt.
“You fucking little—”
“Is there a problem here?” A shadow falls across the table, and I’m forced to look up… and up. Standing there, towering over both of us, is the most handsome alpha I’ve ever seen. Dark hair and warm brown eyes. Mr. Handsome is in a well-tailored suit fit to perfection. It hugs his muscular arms in this tempting way that makes me want to peel off his suit jacket with my teeth.
Totally awkward, but I would try my hardest to make it work.
Mr. Handsome peers down at me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. See, nowthisalpha looks like a quarterback. And, goddess forgive me, but I want to jump his bones.
Huh, maybe Fergi-boy here had a good point.
Fergison sneers, head jerking up to look at Mr. Handsome, but as soon as he does, that amused smile and the warmth in thoseeyes fall away, replaced with a mask that’s intimidating as hell. The man is scary as fuck in alpha mode.
I squirm in my seat. Yeah, so not the time to get all hot and bothered. But come on, he’s playing the role of my knight in shining armor so well. Fergison must see what I see because his confidence drops. Fergi-boy knows this alpha would win in a fight.
“Who the hell are you?” Fergison asks, voice cracking just a little.
“You’re causing quite a commotion. This is a fine-dining restaurant. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”
“He’s the one who threw wine at me,” he complains, waving a hand my way.
Mr. Handsome glances between me and the table before returning his gaze to Fergison’s stained shirt. “Yes,” he replies. “And it looks like he has great aim. Not even a drop of wine on the tablecloth.”
My smile widens. Goddess, this gorgeous man really is defending me.
Fergison stands, I’m assuming to get in this other alpha’s face, but it’s so satisfying to see him fall short. A whole half a foot short. Not that I think height means power, but alphas like Fergison will see it that way. Sure enough, his shoulders slump,but his attitude stays in place. “I said, who the hell are you? The owner or something?”
“I am,” Mr. Handsome replies easily.
Fergison straightens his dress shirt, his hand running across the wet wine stain he must have forgotten. Once he feels the moist fabric, he winces. “Come on, Henry. Let’s go find somewhere better to have dinner.”
He holds out his hand.
I cross my arms over my chest and smirk, not even bothering to correct him with my real name. “Nah. I think I’m good here. But you should probably leave before they call the cops.”
Fergison narrows his eyes and huffs. He throws his white linen napkin onto the table. “Fine,” he grumbles. “You pay for the wine. Good luck, Henry, ’cause this shit is expensive.” And just like that, he walks off.
The tension drops from my shoulders, and I’m about to thank the handsome owner of this fine establishment when he waves a hand at Fergi-boy’s empty seat. “Would you like some company? My treat.”
I arch a brow, curious. “Sure, why not?” My stomach decides to make its presence known and growls.
Mr. Handsome chuckles, flagging down the server. He slides into the chair across from me. For an alpha, his moves are graceful, almost feline, reminding me of a predator.
“Let’s get something to eat,” he says. “I’m starved and could go for some decent company. I’ve dealt with assholes like that all day today, and you’re… a breath of fresh air.”
My heart does a little flip at his sincere tone. I know he doesn’t really mean anything by it, but after a horrible string of alpha-holes and boring dates, it’s a nice compliment. Plus, I’ve always been a sucker for praise.
“My name is Thorne,” he says, extending his hand toward me from across the table.
“Hayden,” I reply. His hand is large, practically swallowing mine.
He grins. “I didn’t peg you for a Henry. Hayden is more fitting. Prettier.”
Oh, goddess, is he really flirting with me? If the words came from anyone else, I would think they were cheesy as hell, but from Thorne, he just sounds confident, yet honest.
He studies the menu as if he’s never seen it before. By the time the server reaches our table, she’s ready to take our order. She eyes my empty glass. “Would you like another wine, sir?” Hereyes sparkle with humor, and it seems she’s also impressed by my wine-throwing.
“Why don’t you order something you prefer? Not what that alpha-hole wanted. Thorne nudges my foot from under the table, and for some reason, the move makes my stomach flip. I don’t think I’ve ever played footsie with someone before, so why do I find it so tempting now?
