Page 8 of Worth Your Wild

It’s Deke. He’s towering behind me, the heat of his chest scoring my back and shoulders. “Um,” I begin, swallowing. “I-I was just trying to⁠—”

“Ain’t talking to you, June Bug.” Deke reaches over my shoulder and grips my assailant by the throat of his T-shirt, twisting it in a fist. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The blood drains out of the man’s face. “Just teasing her a little, Deke. She’s fine.”

“You don’t speak for her.” His breath ghosts along the crown of my head. “You fine?”

After a beat, I shake my head no.

“That’s what I thought,” Deke says, his voice noticeably harder. “Get the fuck off my bus.”

Assuming he’s speaking to me, I turn to leave.

Deke hauls me back by the rear belt loop of my jeans. “Jesus Christ, June Bug. I’m talking to him, not you.”

“Oh.”

I hear the bottle of Jack being tilted to his mouth. I tip my head back to watch Deke take a long swig from the bottle, his Adam’s apple taking a slow slide up and down, before he lowers the bottle to his side again. “Why are you still on my goddamn bus?” he says, looking over my head.

The man who grabbed me scrambles to his feet and exits the bus like it’s on fire.

It’s deathly silent on the bus after that. One could hear a pin drop.

“Thanks,” I mutter, moving to take the man’s place, even though it’s beside another big, bearded dude who looks decidedly peeved that I’ve just gotten his friend fired. Before my bottom can meet the leather seat, however, Deke points the neck of the bottle toward the back of the bus. “Nope. You’re sitting in back with me, June Bug.” He urges me down the walkway. “Can’t send Sandy’s niece home traumatized, can I?”

I’m relieved beyond measure to find the final row is completely empty.

At least, I’m relieved at first.

When Deke tries to sit down beside me, his size barely allows me to occupy six inches’ worth of the seat. As the bus rumbles to life and pulls away from the arena, I find myself turned sideways and crammed up against the window.

Deke curses. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

I squirm to get comfortable. “It’s not my fault one of the buses broke down.”

“It’s never happened before. You must be bad luck,” Deke says, holding out the bottle of Jack Daniels, offering it to me. “To ward off the evil spirits.”

I push the bottle away. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Not a drinker?” Deke drawls. “Or not old enough to drink.”

“Plenty of people my age drink, even if they’re not supposed to.”

“Christ, what are you? Twenty?”

I hum in my throat, shifting to find a more comfortable position. I only end up more tightly crammed to the window. “Yes. I’m twenty. Meaning, if I consume alcohol, it’s cheap beer or coconut-flavored rum. I’m drinking for fun, not for ‘survival’ as you put it earlier.”

The liquor sloshes behind me. “Lucky you.”

“Oh, I’m lucky now?”

“You’re sitting next to me, aren’t you?”

“This isn’t sitting. This is entrapment.”

There’s a brief chugging sound behind me that might pass for a laugh. I’m not looking at Deke, however, so I can’t be sure. Several seconds tick by in relative silence, apart from the whizz of traffic and conversations taking place among the crew in the rows ahead of us. Finally, Deke sighs heavily—and without warning, I’m lifted onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.