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That’s what I see there.
Sweet fucking relief, and all I want to do is pull her into my arms and make her mine.
Fuck the games, fuck fucking her out of my system. Fuck it all, because that look?
She’s mine.
Strange how relief in her raises alarm in me. Strange how her relief cements my place in her life, whether she knows it or not.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I ask, voice booming in the small space, and that’s it. That’s all I say.
“Ben!“ Her voice is weak, fear drenching the single word, but relief is in her eyes. Stark relief.
“Who the fuck are you?” Johnny has dropped Lola’s hands but hasn’t stepped back, still pinning her in place with his body.
“Her neighbor,” I say, arms crossing on my chest like I give not a single fuck. “And her man.” And at this moment, I understand the mark on Lola’s wrist I saw weeks ago was from this man.
Mixed with the panic on her face moments ago, the panic of which the remnants are still there, I feel my own rage forming.
I step closer to where they are.
“Her man, huh?” I don’t respond. Instead, I continue staring.
“You need to back the fuck up,” I say. “Right fucking now.” I take another step closer, my tone full of venom. Lola’s eyes widen as I approach, my hand moving to Johnny’s shoulder, pushing him away and back from Lola.
The change is subtle, but her body—it sinks a bit. An ounce of tension leaves her veins.
Johnny’s body shifts to face me more, moving to appraise, to see how he measures up to me. If he can take me.
His eyes give me a full head-to-toe before he steps back fully from Lola, letting her free to take a single step closer to me.
Figures.
I’ve come to realize in my years that men like this? They don’t know what to do when another man, a bigger man, questions them.
His kind is all fucking talk unless they’re talking to someone they deem smaller, weaker.
I am neither of those.
“We were in the middle of a conversation,” he says, arms crossing on his chest, a small smile on his lips. “Weren’t we,bellissima.” The word makes me sick. “Just a conversation amongst . . . colleagues. Trying to get inventive with a solution to a problem.”
It’s a taunt.
He’s stepped back from me once more, three or four feet between us, and it’s given a boost to his confidence.
Because men like this, once the immediate danger is gone? They can’t resist. And he couldn’t resist.
Men like this rarely can deny the urge to poke the bear. I put a hand to Lola’s elbow, moving her behind me as I stare at him down my nose.
“Did you ask him to touch you?” I ask the question but don’t look to Lola to get the answer. I already know it. “Your conversation is done,” I say, staring hard at the man in front of me. In his eyes, there is frustration. Frustration, anger, and a hint of embarrassment.
But on his lips? There’s a smile.
And I see why when his hand moves out, reaching for my girl.
Reaching for Lola.
Her body tenses, not fully behind me yet, and instinct takes over.
