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“Not interested. Just curious. And you are a little too late.”
She nods at the guy who just came in, looking like he takes gym, fashion, and arrogance too far.
“Who’s that?”
“That, my friend, is Chad.” Sounds like a frat name. “Lu’s ex.” Oh, shit. “He’ll make a move. She’ll cave in. He’s an asshole. She’s too nice.”
I don’t like this talk.
Becky leans over to murmur in my ear, “Remember, you don’t play, you let others score.”
I’m pretty sure Becky has scored so much in her life that she should be in a hall of fame. But for the first time, I think she might be rooting for me, though I don’t know why.
She’s gone, and I study the gym-buff tattooed Chad, who’s a little taller and bulkier than me and dressed in a shirt and jeans that are a tad too tight.
Lu laughs at something he says. I wish she didn’t. I wish his hand wasn’t on her waist. She tries to avoid it, but it inevitably comes back to touch her. My eyes are glued to it touching her shoulder, then sliding to the small of her back. Another beer and I’ll throw him off the terrace.
I can’t stand guys like this—arrogant, flashy, and pawing at everything they can get their hands on like they want to mark their territory. A frat boy, all muscle, no brain, probably a hundred female numbers in his phone, a gold necklace the size of a tire chain, tattoos—and he flaunts them too.
Is that where she got the inspiration for her stories before?
The possibility of it makes my blood boil.
Lu looks slightly uncomfortable, turns to meet my eyes, and motions for me to come over.
“This is Jace, my roommate,” she introduces us.
“Chad,” he says nonchalantly, throwing an up-and-down glance at me, and pats me on the shoulder overly strongly. “What’s up, roomie?”
Roomie…
I know this type. A natural-born bully. There were plenty in my group home, the ones who took pictures of me during what was supposed to be my first romantic experience. Then in the service.
Oh, there’s a hierarchy of bullies in the army. I was a weak link at first. It took time to get physically strong and good at my job to earn respect. That is, besides taking part in many fistfights and having a couple of my bones broken until I learned to swing my fists faster than Jean Claude Van Damme.
Chad doesn’t deserve Lu. Not even to breathe around her like he’s doing right now, standing dangerously close to her while she bends slightly backward to avoid his proximity.
I excuse myself and walk out onto the terrace.
Lu follows, and Chad goes after her.
I am a nice guy. I am a fuckingquietguy, remember? Respectful, too. Patience is a virtue, especially when it’s learned through dealing with those who test it on a daily basis.
This guy—I see Chad taking Lu aside and telling her something, stepping into her slowly, making her back away uncomfortably—stops at nothing to get what he wants.
It’s already dark outside, music booming, and no one is paying attention to them.
Except me.Allof my attention is on Lu.
Lu presses her palm against Chad’s chest. She fucking toucheshim, not me. But her touch is not gentle, it’s defensive. She pushes past him and starts walking away when Chad grabs her by the arm.
You are fucking done.
I set my beer down, push off the railing, and stomp toward them.
“Lu, sweetheart, don’t be like that,” Chad hisses as Lu tries to move away, but he yanks her toward him.
“Get your hands off her,” I say, halting next to him, trying not to snap and head-butt the motherfucker.
