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“Get your fucking hands off me,” he shouted, words slightly slurred with spit flying. “I was just talking to her.”
I shot Caradee a questioning glance and arched a single brow.
“He grabbed my ass,” she hissed, crossing both arms over her chest, “after I told him to back the fuck off.”
“She was asking for it,” he snapped, lunging toward Caradee. I tightened my hold, preventing him from going anywhere. “I’ll call the fucking cops.”
My responding laugh was dark, the tequila bringing out the vindictive asshole side of me. “That wouldn’t do you any good. See, here in Grandger, the police? That would be me. Now tell me who the fuck you are and what you’re doing here.”
We didn’t get many strangers to our quaint, quiet town, and Max would’ve told me if he had one of his special guests staying for a while. Being a US marshal, Max used Grandger as a stopgap when witnesses were between their old lives and new identities, or waiting for a trial to finish up.
“New to town, headed to some construction site I heard was hiring.”
My lip curled in a snarl. Of course, he fucking was. That huge distribution construction site was a pain in our ass with all the randoms it brought to town.
“Of course, you are.” I sighed. I was one of the three officers in Grandger, and these assholes were arriving by the dozen, making our work lives hell with the shit they stirred up. “If you’re sticking around, I suggest you make better choices while you’re here.” I gave him a hard shove. His back hit the jukebox, making it wobble. “If I hear you pulled this shit on another woman, I’ll find you and show you how we deal with assholes like you out here in West Texas.”
Draping an arm around Caradee’s shoulders, I guided her back to the bar. My entire body vibrated with restraint. All I wanted to do was turn around and release some of this pent-up anger on that fucker.
Sometimes being a cop fucking sucked.
Pulling out a stack of bills, I tossed them on the bar top and rushed to open the front door before Caradee could touch the handle.
“Ever the gentleman,” she said with a grin.
“My grandma would kick my ass from the grave if I wasn’t.” When I pulled out my truck keys from the front pocket of my jeans, they were quickly ripped from my fingers. “What the hell? I’m fine to drive. It’s ten fucking miles.”
“Nope. Besides, we can use the time to plan.”
“Plan what?” I winced as I squeezed myself onto the bench of her tiny truck. “Can you at least take my truck? There isn’t even room for you to shift.”
“Quit being a baby.” She twisted the key in the ignition, urging the little four-cylinder engine to rattle to life. “Your balls are not that large. You don’t have to man-spread.”
“How do you know my balls aren’t that large?” I asked, leaning against the door.
“If they are, then you need to come see me, because that shit isn’t normal.”
“Or the tiny ones you’ve seen aren’t.”
She tilted her head. “Yeah, maybe. Though this one cadaver I worked on—”
“Do not even think about talking about some dead fucker’s balls with me.”
“Elephantiasis. That’s all I’ll say.”
“Pretty sure that’s talking about a dead fucker’s balls.”
“Fine.” She sighed. “What are you bringing to Anne’s on Thursday for Friendsgiving?”
I groaned and tapped my forehead against the cold window. No wonder today was terrible. Thanksgiving was Jessa’s favorite holiday because it kicked off the Christmas season. It was tradition for us three to put up the tree Thanksgiving night after stuffing ourselves full. My heart clenched, remembering her wide smile as Shade and I worked to wrap the lights around the fake tree, bickering about the correct spacing between the strands.
I shook my head and leaned against the cold window.
I had to remember, that was then. I couldn’t dwell on the past.
As the truck vibrated down the road, shocking the shit out of me that it could go over forty miles an hour, I decided this year would be different.
Caradee was on to something with the whole needing to heal idea, not masking the pain but dealing with the root cause.
