Absolutely not.
“No,” I mutter under my breath.
The Beast disagrees.
Mine.
“I don't poach.”
Mine.
“She's on a date.”
Bad date, my Wolf points out.
Which, to be honest, is a fair fucking point.
Still—I don't poach.
Then the guy reaches across the table, trying to touch her.
She leans back.
Subtle.
Polite.
Not interested.
He doesn't take the hint.
“Come on, Baby.I got you dinner already,” he says.
“We had pizza slices, and I paid for mine.”
“Look, you accepted this date, so you know what I want,” he tries again.
My Wolf growls.
Easy.
The guy grabs her hand.
She tries to pull away.
My fingers tighten around my bottle.
Then he actually tries to yank her across the table for a kiss.
That does it.
I move before I think.
One second I'm on my stool.
The next I'm standing beside their booth.
The guy blinks up at me.
