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Damon leans back against the bar beside me, his hand closing over my beer to aggressively yank the bottle from my fingers before I have the chance to object. I eye him while he puts the rim to his lips and gulps the entire thing down.
“First, I don’t fuck pricks. And second, what is such a problem that you think you can jack me of my happy juice? I’m preparing for war here, and that’s my fucking ammo.”
I turn to the bartender and lift two fingers, signaling that both me, and the asshole beside me, need another.
Damon slams the empty bottle on the bar so hard, I’m shocked it doesn’t shatter. He’s practically vibrating with anger, and while I should calm him down, I can’t help but see this as an opportunity.
A good friend would attempt to soothe the twin people refer to as Anger.
A good friend would attempt to avoid the potential problems that often come with Damon’s temper.
A good friend would diffuse the situation so no violence could come of it.
But agreatfriend would use the opportunity to prepare his partner for battle. He would see the need for Damon’s most valuable trait and enhance it with a well-placed question.
I’m nothing if not a great friend.
Accepting the beers the bartender places beside me, I hand one to Damon, tip my bottle to his and take a long, satisfying sip before…
“So what about you made that guy feel like you weren’t good enough for tall, angelic and blue-haired over there?”
Damon blinks.
Once.
Twice.
His amber eyes finally meet mine again before shifting to the jackass protecting the stairs that lead up to the pretty dancer.
Truthfully, I’m sure nothing is wrong with Damon at all, and the dude in the all-black suit simply feels possessive of his girl if his locked gaze on her has anything to say for it, but that wouldn’t be enough to stoke Damon’s anger.
“Not sure.”
His eyes narrow on Mr. Black Suit.
“But I’d love to find out.”
He moves to push away from the bar. I extend my arm to shove him back.
“Easy there. I’m sure he’s just a prick like you said. I mean, unless he simply took one look at you and thinks you’re not good enough.”
That does it.
Red seeps into Damon’s cheeks, his eyes narrowing more as the tendons in his neck bulge out.
To be honest, I’m a little surprised the comment worked as well as it did. My eyebrow arches in surprise to see Damon becoming angrier than I’d assumed he would.
He’s never been the type to doubt himself. But something is riding him tonight that is a mystery to me.
Great friends also happen to step in and prevent disasters from happening. And where Damon appears to be headed, at least in his own mind, is a disaster.
Time to refocus him.
“Chill. Save it for when our good buddy, Paul, gets here. Would be a shame to be escorted out before we have a chance to deal with that situation.”
Damon’s lips inch up one side only. It’s an expression that should scare the shit out of any person. It means he’s itching for a fight.
Goodie.
