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“That’s good, and how have classes been? I know the rumor mill started up again, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Did someone say something?” Oliver’s voice cuts through the air, as he sets two cups in front of us.
“Yes,” Caroline pouts, “Tiffany and her stupid gang of barbie dolls are spreading rumors about Harlow again.”
Oliver’s gaze turns murderous, “I’m so fucking tired of them spreading lies about you.” He speaks through gritted teeth as he slams down into the seat beside me. He looks like a hungry lion, ready to strike down his prey. Placing my hand against his thigh, I give it a reassuring squeeze.
“It doesn’t bother me,” I lie. “They can say whatever they want. The only person who knows the truth is me.”
Oliver’s eyes move away from me and to something behind me. A moment later, a group of guys enter the coffee shop, their loud laughter and talk filling the quiet space. Sipping at my coffee, I try to ignore them, but it seems to get louder and louder.
“Dude, that’s Oliver Bishop, and Harlow, you know the one who likes to be double stuffed,” one of them snickers, and I can see the anger pouring out of Oliver like a river.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, even though it’s not. It’s not okay for them to say such shitty things, or to talk about me in such a degrading way like I’m not even here.
“No, it’s not,” Oliver growls, his leg bouncing up and down incessantly.
“Think he would share her with us? Let us take her for a spin?” Another guy laughs, his voice low and a little closer than the other guys.
“Never know unless you ask.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head. This is nauseating.
Caroline cringes. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be, none of this is…”
My words are cut off as a heavy body slams into the back of my chair, causing hot coffee to slosh out of my cup and onto my hand. A yelp slips past my lips, and I place the mug down on the table, before turning around in my seat, but there’s no point in scolding this guy because Oliver is already out of his chair, standing toe to toe with him.
“What the fuck, dude?”
“Sorry, it was an accident, not that it matters…” The asshole scuffs, like it wasn’t a big deal or rude as fuck.
“It matters, and you’re going to apologize for what you did.”
The guy’s eyes bug out of his head, and then he’s laughing, his voice bouncing off the walls inside my head.
“This prick thinks I’m going to apologize to his skank.” He elbows his buddy, who also joins in on the laughter. A knot of worry starts to form in my gut when I see Oliver’s balled up fists, they clench and unclench. Shit. He’s going to get himself into trouble for nothing. All because of some stupid idiots.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t notice Oliver moving until it’s too late. His fist connects with the loser’s face right as I’m getting up, the wooden chair clattering to the floor, drawing even more attention. But I don’t care. I’ve got to stop him before he gets himself into trouble. Moving fast, I curl my hand around his bicep and pull him back toward me, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall. Pointless.
The asshole stumbles backward, his posse of friends catch him, as he holds a hand to his face, fury brewing in his eyes.
“Fucking prick just punched me, and all for some stretched out pussy.”
I don’t even let the words he’s saying affect me. They mean nothing, not a damn fucking thing. Oliver, however, thinks otherwise and lunges forward, hoping to get another punch in but I’m quicker this time and instead, put myself between him and the enemy.
“He’s not worth it. He’s just some idiot listening to a rumor that’s been spread more than Tiffany’s legs.” Wrapping my arms around his middle, I hug him tightly, resting my head against his chest, the sound of his erratic heartbeat filling my ears. His chest vibrates with anger as he makes the decision to stand down.
“Get out, assholes,” he growls.
“Whatever, she’s not worth it.” One mutters, and another says, “Keep the whore.” Again, I ignore them and hold on tighter to Oliver. The dinging of the door tells me they’ve finally left, and only then do I peel myself from his chest.
“I want to rearrange their faces,” Oliver snarls, looking devilishly handsome as he does so. My insides heat, my core pulsing with need. Damn vagina always getting in the way. A loud ringing pierces the air, and it takes me a minute to realize that it’s my phone that’s ringing. Pulling the device from my pocket, I look down at the screen and see Shelby’s face and name flashing across it.
