Page 8 of And Then There Was Us (And The There Was 2)

“How are you doing?” he asked as he came up to me, leaning against the counter.

“Good,” I answered honestly.

“I’m glad,” he said, his expression seeming very… consumed as he watched me. His grin was slow and satisfied. We stared at each other another moment before I wrapped my mind around the fact that I was still at work. I rattled off the drink order, and once he had them on my tray, he gave me a wink that was probably nothing more than a “go get ’em, tiger” kind of thing, but I wanted it to be something totally different… totally sexual.

God, I am losing my damn mind.

I gave Bishop one more appreciative glance—and thankfully he had his back turned already—before I made my way over to the table, but with each step I got closer to All-American and his buddies, the more tightness I felt in my bones. I was only a few feet from them when I felt that tingling along my skin once more. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Bishop’s eyes trained right on me, this intense, almost smoldering look spearing right into me.

Exhaling, because there was no way I was imagining his attraction to me, I focused on the task at hand and faced forward, reaching the table and pasting on a fake-as-hell smile.

I noticed my hands shook slightly as I set the beers in front of them, a reaction I wasn’t sure had to do with the intensity I felt toward Bishop or the fact that All-American just made me feel on-edge. I straightened, my faux smile still in place. “Can I get you guys anything else?” Three out of four of them shook their heads and murmured they were “all set” before going right back into the conversation they’d been in before I’d gotten to their table. And of course said conversation was in dirty asshole territory, because they were boasting about the “newest piece of ass” they’d just “hit.”

I didn’t bother looking at All-American. I found him to be the most unsettling out of the four, as if he were the creepy, perverted ringleader of the bunch. Just as I was about to turn, said creepy asshole reached out and snagged my wrist, pulling me to a stop.

My entire body tensed as I pointedly looked at where his fingers were curled around my flesh and then lifted my gaze to stare distastefully into his eyes. “Can you please let go of me, sir?” He didn’t deserve the title, but I was still aiming to be a professional here. That was about to be thrown out the window though.

Get your fucking hand off me, asswipe, was what I said in my head.

When he didn’t let go, I pulled my hand free and my shoulders back. “Please don’t do that again,” I bit out. My father had always taught me never to take shit from anyone, least of all a man. And this little bastard I was looking at clearly thought he had some kind of right to do whatever he wanted. He needed his ass knocked down a few pegs. “Is there something else you needed?” I asked quickly, not bothering to keep the tightness out of my voice.

All-American didn’t seem perturbed at all on my change of attitude or the fact that he’d overstepped bounds. In fact, I saw the flair of interest fire back, as if me fighting his pathetic displacing of misogynist dominance turned him on even more.

He leaned forward, his grin widening even more. “Yeah, you can actually be of more assistance. How about giving me your number?”

Chatter all around filled my head, and I felt my face get hot once more from my anger. Unfortunately, in the bar scene, this wasn’t totally unusual behavior. There were guys who got drunk and thought they had a run at the world. I experienced it as a customer at places, and even a few times when I'd been a waitress at the diner and they’d come in already wasted.

The other three guys at the table kept their mouths shut, but I could sense them getting uncomfortable, the sound of shifting on seats and the legs of the chairs scraping across the floor echoing all around.

“Sorry, that’s not what we serve here at Lyrics. If you guys need anything else to eat or drink, just let me know.” But please don’t, ’cause I’ve already written you off.

I turned to leave, not giving him any more attention, but I was frozen in place as soon as I faced forward because Bishop blocked my way. His huge body took up my entire view, causing me to crane my head up, up, and up just to look in his face. And damn did his face look good and pissed off.

His focus was trained right on something over my head, and I knew without a doubt he was looking at All-American.

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