Page 72 of Sour Notes

Every muscle behind me tenses, the formerly warm, cuddly Swayze now coiled like a snake ready to strike. Before I can even open my mouth to respond, he bites back.

“The only thing sloppy in our relationship is when my girl's lips are around my cock. Isn’t that right, Angel?”

Wow, uhhhh… Swayze woke up from his nap and chose violence.

I’m so shocked, all I can do is giggle in response. Smirking, he kisses the top of my head, his arms iron bands still wrapped around my waist.

Like, what? Who is this guy?

I’ve known Swayze to argue—obviously, this is us—but I’ve never heard him launch straight into a crude attack quite like this with a virtual stranger.

The look on Pete’s face is priceless, his eyes wide, and mouth slack, before it settles on disgust, which, not gonna lie, leaves me a little smug.

“Oh, now it makes sense. You’re as vulgar as she is. I see why you’d slum it with the likes of her.”

I stiffen in Swayze’s arms, my cheeks heating in embarrassment, only fueling my rising anger. I’m still letting his words cut me, and I hate that. I thought I was better prepared to face him. In all our years together, he only aimed his venom at an audience of one.

Namely me.

In front of others, he’d play the doting, perfect boyfriend. I anticipated the dirty looks and thinly veiled barbs, but I never expected a no-holds-barred, full-on attack—with witnesses.

Lucky me.

“The only way I’m slumming it right now is by wasting an ounce of oxygen talking to you Paul.” Swayze’s voice grinds out low and menacing.

“It’s Pete.”

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is. The only thing I care about is you getting out of our faces before I toss you off the cliff for even looking at my girl, let alone insulting her.”

Spots dance in my vision, and I struggle to breathe, sirens blaring where words should be forming. I should say something, anything.

I had all these things lined up in my head, ready to show him he couldn’t hurt me again, but right now, I’ve got nothing.

Apparently, I left my badass comebacks alongside my dignity in airport security.

Swayze’s fighting my battle alone, and that’s not his job. He’s supposed to be here as man candy, not go to war for me.

I’m the idiot who put myself in this position in the first place. I should be getting the final say.

Fighting for focus, I dig my nails into my palms, so deep they’ll likely draw blood.

Come on, Mia. You’re better than this. He doesn’t get to hurt you anymore.

Frustration burns as the words stick in my throat. Why won’t they come out?

Say something, dammit.

Pete huffs, spinning on his heel, walking away from us before I can get my shit together, leaving my heart sinking to the soles of my feet.

It’s only the first day, I should cut myself some slack. But I’m so pissed off that I let him talk about me that way—and in front of Swayze too. It’s like I’ve learned nothing.

Jaw tight, teeth grinding together to the point of pain, I aim the biggest death glare in his direction. But it’s pointless. It’s not like he has eyes in the back of his head.

C minus for effort, Georgiou.

Swayze spins me in his arms, tilting my chin up to look at him, his usually icy eyes swimming with heated concern.

“You okay, Angel?” he asks in a hushed whisper, his thumb gently skimming my jaw.