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Before I can even worry about what anybody thinks or the surprised squeal from her throat, I’ve got her, grabbing her wrist, jerking her hand away from his touch.
“Weston!” Shel yips.
Hudson’s face whips up with a sneer as he stands.
“Excuse me? What the hell do you think you’re—”
I shoot him a silencing glare that says he should be happy it’s not him I’m touching. If it were, I’d already have his hand snapped clean off his wrist, and I’d probably have our new sheriff, Drake Larkin, coming for me with handcuffs.
Lucky for him he’s a cautious man.
He doesn’t move as I pivot, looking at Shelly again, whose shock melts into anger.
Too late. Let her hate me—more than she already does.
I’m sure she’s learning new ways to loathe my very existence as I motion to march her across the bar and out the back door.
7
Don’t Hog It All (Rachel)
If there’s one thing I hate more than Weston flipping McKnight right now, it’s being right.
I knew this was a bad idea from the start, long before West brought food to our table and had his little caveman fit.
He remembered I like mayo with my burgers. That kinda broke my heart.
So does the way he holds my wrist, beaming me this animalistic scowl I’m not sure what to do with.
Honestly, I’m not even sure the night with Carson Hudson would’ve lasted another hour.
He’s plenty nice, sure. Intelligent, charming, and fit.
He’s also exactly what I expected.
For all his surface charm and fawning attention, all he’s talked about is himself for the past hour. His love of antiques, how he’s traveled the world on countless treasure hunts, and how much he always looked up to his dearly departed uncle, who—if I heard right—perished on a hunt for some priceless meteorite quite a few years ago.
I should be more impressed by his stories.
I love antiques and unique collectables like space rocks, but this dude gave me a headache, yammering away about his exploits like before we even stepped into the Purple Bobcat.
Or maybe it’s because he smells like those godawful black truffle almonds.
The subtle stink filled his car. He told me he’d first gotten hooked on them in Europe and has to order them online from a German specialty shop because they’re so hard to come by.
I have no idea why he’s trying to impress me with nuts—freaking rancid nuts—and I’d kinda like to tell him it’s not working.
Then again, to pull that off, he’d have to shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise...which hasn’t happened until sixty seconds ago.
One fierce look from Weston shut Carson up.
I’m afraid to stare too long at the look Weston levels on me now.
I can already feel it, and that tells me it’s not friendly.
Neither is his grip on my wrist.
Oddly enough—or not, because he’s West and I’m me—his hold excites me about as much as it makes me want to scratch out his eyes.
