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Like I wasn’t in my thirties.
A new low?
Not quite.
I’d married Kip, after all.
Kissing a guy whose name I didn’t know was not going to be a new low. Though I wasn’t much looking forward to it either.
The man was pulled off me before his lips could touch mine, his hand no longer at my thigh.
That was because Kip was holding him by the collar of his shirt. “Get your fuckin’ hands off mywife,” he hissed, yanking him forward.
Now, the man in question wasn’t small by any means. If you wanted to measure muscle mass against the two men, it might even lean in his favor. Likely because he injected a little something to make those muscles puff up a bit extra. You could always tell.
Kip, on the other hand, was all natural. His muscles were sculpted doing real labor. And before that, they were used to do God knew what to God knew who. But staring at them, it was very clear who the most dangerous man was.
“I didn’t fucking know she was your wife,” the man whose name I forgot stammered, trying to yank out of Kip’s grip.
As was mentioned, the man wasn’t small. But somehow his struggle looked comical, like a small child wrestling against a full-grown adult.
There was another blur and the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh.
The man was no longer being held up by Kip. He was on the ground, my husband standing over him.
“Well, now you fuckin’ know,” he spat at the man. “You lay your hands on my wife again, you eventhinkabout her, I’ll tear you to pieces.”
On that note, Kip’s furious glare found its way to me. His hand went to my upper arm, dragging me off the barstool.
“Hey!” I protested and tried to struggle, albeit weakly since I was still processing what happened.
Kip ignored me, reaching into his wallet with his free hand and then dumping a bunch of bills on the bar. “For the drinks and the trouble,” he said to the bartender, who, to his credit, nodded once and didn’t seem perturbed by the violence in his establishment.
If this was a scene in a movie, I’d think it was pretty badass. But this wasn’t a scene in a movie. This was my fucking life.
Then Kip dragged me out of the bar. Some people were staring, though most had gone back to their drinks.
“What thefuckwas that?” I yelled once we’d made it into the parking lot, the fresh air doing wonders to jerk me out of my daze.
“We’ll talk when we get home,” Kip ground out, dragging me in the direction of his truck.
I did not want to be dragged. Nor did I want the warm feeling from Kip’s mention of ‘home.’ I didn’t want warm feelings. I wanted hot, fiery rage at what just happened.
It took effort, but I planted my feet and used all of my strength to rip my arm out of Kip’s grip.
Now, even all of my strength likely wasn’t enough to achieve this feat. But in order to keep hold of me, Kip would’ve had to hurt me. He didn’t do that, even though fury was rolling off him in waves.
He let me go. But he was pissed about it. He made it clear with his hands on his hips, his tight posture, and the low sigh he let out through his teeth.
“We are talking about thisnow,” I told him, folding my arms across my chest and doing my best to shoot laser beams at him. “How did you know I was here?”
Kip was not perturbed by my laser beams. He was annoyed. He took a beat to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then he regarded me.
“You were gonna fuck that guy,” he said quietly. Much too quietly. There was rage threading through every single word he spoke.
Despite my bravado and the booze still making me think I was somewhat invincible, a shiver went down my spine at his tone.
I didn’t let that show. “So what if I was?” I demanded. “We had an agreement. Outside of town limits.”
