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“I think he’s seeing someone.” I don’t expect to feel jealous at her innocent question, but it slices through me like a sharp blade. “Some uppity model.”
“Shame,” the blonde says with a frown, peeking around the corner to glance at the back of his head. “I’d climb all over that.”
“No men rule,” I point out, and she rolls her eyes.
“Yeah? Well, for some men you make an exception.” She bites her lips, gives him one last look, then jabs her finger over her shoulder. “Do you mind covering the frat pack on table three? I’ve got to pee and they’re over there practically beating their fists on the table for service.”
“Got it.” I turn the corner, and the hair at the nape of my neck stands on end because I can feel Jackson’s gaze following the swish of my hips. I’m winded as I greet my customers—three college-aged guys all wearing raunchy shirts about getting drunk and high. “Hey guys, what are you having?”
“That depends,” the blond closest to me says in a thick southern drawl, leering as he roams his eyes over my body. “I tip real good, sweetheart.”
“I’ll remember that when I bring your check.” Casting a frosty smile around the table, I drum my pen on the top of my order book. “So what can I get you off the menu?”
They all order the Aloha Supreme—a popular burger with pineapple and teriyaki sauce that my mom came up with during my freshman year of high school. Before I take their order to Ziggy, the blond guy shifts his knee out to stop me and rests his hand on my ass. “Jesus, girl, you’re hiding everything under that apron.”
My nostrils flaring, I start to softly tell him we won’t serve their party if he can’t keep his hands to himself, but hard footsteps stalk toward the table. I flinch when the voice that’s haunted my filthiest dreams over the last several days angrily demands. “Is there a problem?”
I swallow hard, shaking my head at the man towering over my tiny frame and the guys at the table, but Jackson ignores my pleading look. He clenches his jaw and leans his face close to the man who’d grabbed my ass. “Why the fuck do you think it’s acceptable to touch her?”
“I—” the other man starts, but he can’t even finish the sentence because Jackson grabs his hand, squeezing hard. The blond wheezes and stutters, and when Jackson shoves him backward, he clutches red fingers to his chest.
“You nothing,” Jackson spits out. “Get the fuck out of here. If I see you near her again—if I see your goddamn face anywhere in this city again—I’ll rip you to shreds. You got me?”
Though there aren’t many, I feel every eye in the room on us, and I pray that by some miracle, I’ll go invisible.
All three men nod their heads, practically tearing apart the restaurant as they rush for the door. The blond turns bold just before they stumble out onto the sidewalk, twisting around to shout out. “Fuck you and the slut. You gotta double-bag for girls like her, anyway.”
Jackson takes a step in his direction, but then the door slams shut and I watch with my mouth hanging open as they take off down the sidewalk. Ashamed, I cover my hand over my face when I feel a possessive hand on the small of my back and smaller, feminine fingers on my shoulder.
“Flick, are you all right?” Brooke asks, and when I drop my hand from my face, tears swim in my eyes, blurring my vision. She pats my shoulder softly. “I’ll handle things out here, honey. Maybe you should go to your dad’s office. Clean up your face.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I take off for the back of the building, balling my hands into tight fists when I hear her thank Jackson for sticking up for me. I’ve barely stepped into Dad’s cramped office when the door cracks open and the scent of woodsy cologne overpowers my senses. I whirl on him, shoving him hard against the door as soon as he closes it.
“How dare you?”
“What?” He gathers my hands in his, turning our bodies so that he has me trapped against the door. “Not stand to watch some little shit feel you up? Get angry at a bunch of entitled fucks for disrespecting you?”
“I could have taken care of it!” I hiss.
“Because you were doing a hell of a job removing his hand from your ass,” he retorts, stretching my arms high above my head. He dips his mouth to my ear. My heart thrums wildly—out of anger and lust—and when I strain against his firm body, he whispers, “If you think they were going to leave you alone just because you asked them to, you need to wake the fuck up, Little Flick.”
